When it comes to the creative act, there really can’t be half measures. One must invest total spiritual and vital energy in it, if it is to yield something true and meaningful. Such is the lesson of today’s image at Leo 9° Glass Blowers Shape Beautiful Vases With Their Controlled Breathing. Breath is life, so what we are being told here is that we must put our total being into our creation, our full spirit, inspiration being close to respiration. For a work of creation to be considered vital, we must suffuse it with our own full vitality. There is also fire, as well as air (breath) involved in the glass blowing. And fire does translate to spirit in astrological terms—this 9th degree of Leo being ruled by the 9th sign of the Zodiac, Sagittarius, in a natural twelve-fold sequence. For many reasons, most of which I go into in the Sagittarius chapters of our book Sextrology, Sagittarius is associated with the stream-of-consciousness, as, along with its two preceding signs, it comprises the mental/intellectual quadrant of the Zodiac—Libra=Consciousness, Scorpio=Subconsciousness and Sagittarius, the mutable third sign of that quadrant, blends the two. Beat poets, jazz musicians, improvisers of all sorts, stream-of-consciousness writers are all channeling this Sagittarian energy, spontaenously employing a breath of fire. Cue: Ethan Hawke extemporaneously spouting verse in Dead Poets Society. Likewise, you can’t stop the action while blowing glass, it happens or it doesn’t all in one stream of exhalation cum expression.

Glass is made from sand. The sands of time. Past incarnation and order which we are now transforming into something new. In Chekhov’s The Seagull, the young playwright Treplov calls for “new forms, new forms!” (as coincidence would have it, I was in a B’way production of that play in which Ethan Hawke played Treplov). This is the artist’s cry. All else is rehash. Not that doing an album or performance of cover songs, for instance, can’t be creating new forms, it’s all the spirit of the thing. Imitation is suicide. Those of us who do things others have never done before (the curse of the cardinal signs, especially—you Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn people know what I’m talking about) are likely, like Treplov, to live in a sort of artistic Siberia, killing ourselves for the creation of something good. Hopefully, not literally. Do I really need a spoiler-alert for Chekhov? If we’re fortunate, or stick to it long enough, or both, we might reach an audience, which is fulfilling, but it can’t be the end in itself. The true goal must be to create that vessel, that vehicle, into which we can pour our full spirit. That is the only goal. Unfortunately we mostly live in world where so-called artists are wardrobed in the Emporer’s new clothes. There is a difference between having talent and creating art. People on “The Voice” might have talent; just like the award-winning downtown performance artist might have talent. But are they creating something new or rehashing (even if from obscure forms and references most people won’t recognize, which, to me is really cheating)?

You’re either putting your all (spirit) into it or you’re phoning it in. Even great artists have the experience of phoning it in, only for them that experience is excruciatingly painful. When you’re good you know when you’re bad. A genuine form of aristic creation comes very much from the same place from which procreation stems. Putting a package together, with a ton of glitter bells and sequins whistles, playing some attitude of an “ahdist” isn’t creation but approximation, better known as faking it; something I can see through, in an artistic context, if not a sexual one. I said that for effect…or is it affect…it’s probably both. I am thinking of your amusement, trying not to forever stand on my Libran soapbox which can so often seem to be made out of the pulp of sour grapes. I’m not that person. As an artist I am content with being perceived as so-so or even lousy, so long as I am giving my original form of creation my all. I have an Aquarius Moon. I know what it feels like to be ahead of ones time, a perceived second-rate cabaret John the Baptist feeding the people what they mightn’t be in the head (yet) to chew on. It’s cool. It’s not about you. And it’s not about me. It’s about the connection. It’s about giving voice to that which hasn’t been said or heard before. It’s actually quite a relief not to care about so-called audience reaction. So long as you are honestly connecting and coming up with new goods—you’ll see—people will ultimately get it. You may be dead, but they’ll get it.

What artist do you know of would be content nowadays to fall on deaf ears, never mind cut one off from sheer madness? Who does anything anymore without thinking about how it will be perceived. If that glass-blower thought about that then piece of work wouldn’t be conceived to be perceived. The presence of mind, body and spirit necessary to create a true work of art must be total. Otherwise you’re just performing; and any wind-up toy monkey with a drum can do that. People used to want to be artists. Now people pretend they’re people who want to be artists when really they just want to be popular. Or make a comeback from a career they never had in the first place. That’s one of my favorite cultural occurances. This way you get to be the victim and the victor. How about you stop trying. How about you just spontaneously do it without thought of praise, perk or peso? I fucking dare you.

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A Communist Activist Spreading His Revolutionary Ideals is the image for today at Leo 8°, ruled by the eighth sign of Scorpio, in a twelve-fold sequence. Fittingly, just as Scorpio boasts the destroyer archetypes of Chtonian underworld gods of Pluto and Persephone (Shiva and Kali), this symbol deals with the destruction of existing order (so to create a new order one. As the hingepin between the signs of Libra (Apollonian order) and Sagittarius (Dionysian new order) Scorpio, linked to the autumnal season, is about the falling away of existing appearances, energy diverting to the subterranean if not the subversive as a symptom of transformation and regeneration, hallmarks of the eighth house. So, fine, yesterday we glimpsed divine order in the predictably moving stars, but we know that, unlike that ordered macrocosm, the microcosm is chaotic, random and unpredictable. The Zodiac seems to have been encoded with that knowledge, which science has only of late discovered, or rather uncovered.

The communist, here, is certainly a response to the old-fashioned lady and elderly man of recent symbols, personages attached to outmoded orders. Nature is recycling. The number eight itself, akin go the lemniscate, an emblem of infinity, is a loop-the-loop expression of what goes around coming around. We must return to a state of at least seeming chaos—let us use Dane Rudhyar’s word of “non-differentiation”—as a natural transition to new orders. It’s a step one often wants to skip. We stress this with our clients: We don’t go from paradigm to paradigm in our life experience we go from paradigm to transition to paradigm and so forth; it is very important, especially for one’s emotional state, to value the transition period, with time and energy, just as much as we do the so-called desired paradigm it is meant to bring about. Focusing on all of life as transition, indeed, is more accurate and healthy a view. Process over stasis, progress over perfection.

Rudhyar:

The old order is confronted by the youthful drive for a new way of life and a new sense of values. As the old order refuses to yield its prerogatives, this refusal polarizes violent revolutionary action. The revolutionary may have beautiful dreams of a “classless” society free from greed and harsh struggles for survival, but the first practical result of his activity almost inevitably appears as “chaos.”

Appears being the key word: Things never change quite drastically. Like in Orwell’s Animal Farm, there’s always some pig ready to prove that it wasn’t compassion or empathy that spurred them to revolution is was jealousy and greed for what the haves had. And then what goes around comes around. America fought a revolution against oppression, too—that’s a laugh. We are totally oppressive as any Plutocracy is. That destroyer god of death is also one of riches, the dragon lays waste so to collect and horde all the coin. Hello the Bushes. Hello Halliburton. A nod to that dragon: we don’t call them the Lizard Kings for nothing. Back when Starsky + Cox first performed we embraced the characters of those whose families ran antithetical to those age-old Lizards. I used to say, “for each and every one of those tired old Bushes, there have always been any number of Cox.” Conspiracy theory humor, people laughed; while, in effect it isn’t really that funny. What goes around comes around. But that works for good as well as evil. It’s Mr/Ms/Mx in-between you have to look out for. It’s not just a matter of Republicans being devils and Democrats being good. They can put the d in d-evil, too. I’m concerned about Hillary (a Scorpio) and the whole son-in-law-father-went-to-jail-for-fraud-failing-hedge-fund-slash-bargain that might be going on. Rich democrats pouring money into sonny’s hedge fund (that continually loses them money) for what? a greater payoff if Scorpione becomes elle-presidente? I dunno. Sounds like a new order not so dissimilar from the old one. But what do I know.

We all have a bit of Robespierre in us, I’m sure. All the more reason to rage against that machine, even as it seeks to work its Orwellian voodoo in us. Those in-betweeners: Most work their whole lives, hours and hours a week, with little time off, to get to some place in the future when they can sit back and what? survey? all that they’ve ammassed. Pretty dragony if you ask me. And even if your aim is to get to this mystical time-space without dropping dead from exhaustion when will you know you got there? When is enough enough? I think way sooner than most people realize. You know when the planet experienced the truest form of communism? It wasn’t in Russia and it sure as shit at China. It was right here in America in the communes of the 1960s and 70s but the Utopian vision couldn’t hold. It never can, really. There’s always going to be some asshole who elects himself the leader or guru or helter-skelterer or some shit. Because there will always be sheep. There will always be those willing to give up their own authority and their own autonomy. I say fuck that. You say you want a revolution? Well go ahead and have one. The only real revolution, one whose effects will stay in place, is the one you have inside yourself.

You see, if you’re not happy (and most of you say you aren’t—not really) than you have to overthrow your own government. You have to storm the bastille of those people and situations in your life that lock you in. Wherever you say “I have to” instead of “I choose to” or “I want to” that is where oppression lives in you. And you only live once (in this embodiment at least). So what are you so afraid of? Are you afraid that you’re not sure of the love there is no cure for? Yes folks, that’s wisdom via the Partridge Family. And that love that dare not speak it’s name is the self-kind. So be ye like that revolutionary in todays image and start spreading the news: That envy- and greed-green wicked witch of a fear-based drag-on your personality is dead, dead, dead. Ding dong. Who’s there? My new faith-driven self. Do come in…

[pardon any typos]

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Now how could I not love Leo 7°—The Constellations Of Stars Shine Brilliantly In The Night Sky? And of course it’s ruled by Libra in a twelve-fold sequence, the cardinal-air sign of Light. It is a symbol of our highest spiritual nature and values, our shared humanity, and our enduring archetypal nature. We are all stars. Something which we might one day find out to be a literal statement. We get glimpses of it, individually, in meditation just as we do, collectively, in scientific pursuit. And we use it as metaphor in literature and in song, of course. But I think it might actually be true—that for each star in the universe there is a soul which might be organicially, or holgraphically?, embodied in us here on earth. Too far? Okay, we’ll stick to the metaphor. After all these past days of imagery focused on our ephemeral nature, we now have a solid “image” of our own eternal one, our immortality, portrayed as points of beaming light. Is that better?

Did you know that cultures with an astrology were mainly located in places on Earth with the clearest and most brilliant display of the stars whose movement was as basic to them as a sunset or the change of seasons. The impetus to an astrology came out of the human need for order—Order as well as Light are the domains of Libra whose male archetype is Apollo, the god of order and light. Libra is ruled by Venus on the astral plane. Venus’s energy is centrifugal, that is it seeks union and connection. Libra is balance and harmony, notions of other being intrinsic to those precepts, just as it rules the seventh astrological house of “other” the opposite of the Aries-ruled first house of Self. See! Order! And as a Libra person I’m designed to embrace it—as well as a minimal aesthetic (please send Cy Twombys)—just as I am obsessed with the notion of (permanent) archetypes that we (impermanent) people express, most likely, over and over and over again, ad infinitum. If you didn’t quite grasp that, don’t worry about it.

Dane Rudhyar picks up from there in saying that astrology also stems not just from a need to find order but also to “personalize everything” that could be given a permanent form. It’s like he knows me. These personalizations are called “psychic projections”. Also like the sound of that. And it’s a two way street. If people are to project their human nature on the starry sky then why would the universe not project its contantly morphing patterns upon us? Hmm? Well? What do you have to say to that? In any case, we are now looking at something even longer lasting than the cliffs and canyon of the image of a few days hence. This is some serious eternity, now, sister. It makes the difference between the old-fashioned lady and the flapper-hippy look pretty silly and supercilious. We are made of stuff (stardust, if not starlight) finer and more permanent than our fashions let alone our mortal coils.

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The Sabian Symbols thus far in Leo all seem to be on a similar theme; again that is fascinating in light of these images having been “divined” randomly by a clairvoyant. I’m powering through, still, trying to catch up to myself here. At Leo 6° A Conservative, Old-Fashioned Lady Is Confronted By A “Hippie” Girl is the symbol, hitting home the fact that Sabian scholar Dane Rudhyar updated these images in the 1960s and 70s. I need to find what the original one was—okay just did that—the original “Hippie” was a “Flapper”, these having been created in the 1920s. Same difference. Right off the bat I think this is an image of self-confrontation, the hippie within us is challenging the conservative nature of how we were formed. Again we are dealing with or fashions, morés and, yes, morals and how they are all outmoded in the face of the evolving self and human race.

This symbol is ruled by Virgo in a twelve-fold sequence. And if you know your astro-mythology, then you know that the Virgo virgin is Kore, the maiden aspect of the Earth goddess (her mother) Demeter. I see this archetypal mother and daughter in this image, just as it has been mirrored in many folk tales, works of literature and modern film and television. Mrs. Robinson and Elaine in The Graduate, come searingly to mind.

We need to break out. Yesterday we saw an expanse of eternity. Surely we needn’t have that wide of a perspective to know that the Flapper of yesterday becomes the Old-Fashioned Lady of today, confronted with that Hippie who is now, in the time of this writing, rather Old-Fashioned herself. And the beat goes on….the parade of societal values keeps on marching by, generations often running antithetical.

When I was a wee child we had something called the generation gap. It mirrored the racial gap and the gender gap and the gap of sexual identity. Now we delude ourselves we don’t have one. At that same time when I was a child we had a thriving middle class. We didn’t know then it was an anomaly, we thought it was a mainstay. Now we have a culture gap, a great divide created by the love of money that has seen most people on the have shore having been born there with a silver spoon handed down for centuries or those willing to sacrifice every human shred of empathy in order to simply claw at that shore. And then there is the other side, the ironical have-nots whom, I believe, have already inherited that proverbial kingdom, access to which is like the eye of a needle. Everything goes in the end; so those of us who willingly eschew the trappings of materiality for just enough and then some to live another day focused on giving have the easiest passage through life as those hills of time come rolling in. It is we who gain the sense of true abundance because we are closest to it. I know many very rich people. I would venture to say that I live just as well if not better than they do; and I’m constantly being shown the truly generous essential nature of life and the cosmos which never ceases to provide.

Think of the impermanence of what society seeks to impress upon your consciousness as important to achieve and hold onto, neither of which is actually possible. Want what you have and nothing more. It’s what we tell our clients and readers constantly. It sounds so easy but it’s so difficult to remember and put into actual practice. We immediately think “but what if…”…what if what? You’ll get sick? You will. You’ll die? You will. All of the physical world is impermanence; any advanced placement twelfth-grade English teacher would have had you explore that theme. Keats and Yeats. We know all this intellectually. But can we live the perspective the hills of time represent. Can we function and operate in the presence, act in it, with the ultimate panoramic view of life eternal? You can get back to me on that.

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The metaphorical meaning of the symbol for Leo 5° is Rock Formations Tower Over A Deep Canyon is that of evolutionary power of time. We are challenged to widen our perspective, to think beyond the immediate in our own, dare I say, petty lives; and perhaps to focus on what is eternal. Again I give props to the upper case version of the lower-case kardashians (definition: people who literally suck) for providing me a word to sum up, in human form, all that is wrong with the world. Fine, so you don’t meditate on eternity or even your own death; but we saw what happened yesterday when a person’s need for worldly trophies (for killing something wild) ran amok, just as we saw that lion-killing fuckwad this week do it for real. Take it as a wake up call to examine everything you do. You kill one lion than you have caused the extinction of the entire species. You buy some diamond, chances are there is blood on your hands and an entire race might be at risk. You buy one piece of overblown real estate, you’re guilty of displacing thousands. Shit has consequences, yo. And you’ll be long dead before they manifest. But what do you care, right? Well, if there were any argument for reincarnation here it is. You might just be reborn to witness, and be victim to, the devestation that you caused. I’m with Nina Simone these days: “I’m not about to be non-violent, honey”—metaphorically speaking of course. Any activist worth his or her salt understands what that means. We can stand up and fight without hurting anybody. Stop worshipping the rich and famous—by deluding yourself into thinking if you act like them you’ll be them—because you’ll never be like that (at least that is my hope). You can have money and you can have influence, but if you use it selfishly you’re a destroyer. And you’ll be left, impoverished, at least spiritually, with nothing but a file of selfies to upload. You can do better than that. Think on eternity. And if you don’t give a rat’s ass about the inheritors of the planet, imagine yourself reincarnated as someone easily abused by our society. Do it for yourself(s).

Stop wasting your precious time on this planet trying to look young in this life time. Do what you can for your immortally youthful soul, and that of the collective spirit of this world within worlds. See the big picture. See over the expanse of Time. See all eternity now in an instant. And just be a good person. Nobody cares how many invites you have or followers on Facebook or pairs of shoes you possess. Possessions are so last millenium. Make a change. Contribute your money. And if you aint got none, then contribute your time. Make sacrifices. Gravitate toward the good and the lasting and ditch lousy people, places and things. Especially the faux self-helpers; oh lord, Mary, they’re the worst.

Over the past few days we’ve seen symbols about trying to stay young and self-aggrandize. I kind of love that these are happening in the sign of Leo and, in a double-whammy, today’s symbol is ruled by Leo in a twelve-fold system. We are dealing with the negativity of that sign’s energy: Pride and tyrrany. And, life being the greatest symbol of them all, we have collectively, as a world (thanks to the good that social media can do) we have seen the sacrifice of an actual lion whose death will have been for naught UNLESS you take to heart the lessons of this sainted creature: Worldly achievement is not only ephemeral it is often the cause of great evil. Let’s eternally wipe out all that stands for. Let’s have our efforts be as clearly defined in the future as those towering cliffs are over that deep canyon. We are the carvers of reality and Time is of the essence.

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A Formally Dressed Elderly Man Stands Near Trophies He Brought Back From A Hunting Expedition at 4° Leo is hinged on “the masculine will to conquer his animal nature and to impress his peers with his skill in performing the ancient traditional power rituals.” In some ways it’s quite similar to yesterday’s image of the middle-aged woman styling herself as a younger person. But instead of seeking to overcome the biology of age through one’s individual expression with their look, the older man herein wishes to overcome his own animal nature, symbolized by the hunter’s trophies. He is taking pride in showing them to those who would be impressed, that is to say other members of his presumably high-class culture, and male members at that.

Being formally dressed also hits home the notion of needing to impress, so the social importance of this image is foremost….

[I wrote the above days ago and then fell down a rabbit hole with work on the Afterglow Festival, which is a not-for-profit performance festival I founded in Provincetown. For some reason this year is really challenging. As the rich get richer they seem to want to hold onto their money all the more; and even those who actually live or own homes in Provincetown. I don’t know folks. It’s getting harder and harder to be a giver in this world. And yet it’s all the more reason to embody that spirit of generosity. Greed isn’t just some random vice of seven; it’s real; and it’s the root of all that’s wrong in this world from hunger and poverty to the prison (read: slavery) system to the disappearance of the arts from our schools and communities. I can’t change the world but I am trying to change my little corner of it which (if you Google dat shite) is “the birthplace of modern American theater. I’m beginning to feel a bit like Elizabeth I (an alchemist: a little known fact) slapping on that white make-up and “becoming” something other than who she was born as—morphing into the thoughtform of the virgin queen. Well it’s too late for me (on both fronts) but I’m not letting obstacles get in my way or make me give up. Quitting is for losahs.]

Now to catch up on where I was…..since the weekend when I started this, we saw that evil fucking douchebag dentist—I’m not even going to utter his name—kill that beloved Lion while we are in the sign of Leo. And now this symbol takes on a whole new meaning: This isn’t so much as overcoming ones animal nature but self-aggrandizing through the murder of fellow sentient beings. Perhaps the death of Cecile the lion isn’t less important than the murder, yes murder, of Sandra Bland—from social media you’d think Cecile’s death more the tragedy—but it surely isn’t less so. When we put people in jail for decades or life on meager charges does this not also constitute trophies for the people who own the privatized prison system.

Screw the fact I can’t raise enough money for a festival in P-town. Let’s focus on what’s really wrong with individuals in this country especially. So many of you are sick. Sick, sick, sick. Whether you’re buying a mansion in Provincetown in which you’ll spend one week a year, or you’re a “starving artist” whose self-obsession passes for performance art, you’re not giving, you’re taking. And frankly I’m nauseated even hearing about you. What is your trophy, then? Hmm? What natural spirit are you killing? Do you wake up and think what can I do to make things better? Or are you just looking for the next accolade to place on your Instagrammatical mantle piece.

Where’s my white pancake makeup?

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A Middle-Aged Woman In Her Long Hair Flowing Over Her Shoulders In A Bra-less Youthful Garment is the symbol at 3° Leo and it is focused upon “the will to meet the challenge of age in terms of our modern society’s glorification of youth.” Apparently, in the 1920s, the original symbol image was that of a woman who dared to bob her hair; this is the first time I’ve encountered the fact that these images may have been updated—sounds like in the 1960s or 1970s from the description. I’ll have to research that. The details may have changed but the fact remains: that there are those of us who try to hang on to trappings that we may very well have outgrown.

Personally I think there is nothing more charming, dignified and, indeed, ageless than allowing your style to mature with your age. I personally don’t subscribe to even the slightest touches one will make, surgically or so on, to remain youthful appearing. I think it actually has the opposite effect: People tend to wear the knowledge they’re trying to hide the truth. And these days it’s no longer celebrities or ladies who lunch who make such alterations. I have plenty of friends you’d least expect would have had procedures done. Again I think about the downtown arts scenesters who, twenty years ago, would never dream of getting injections, let alone going under the knife. That was for plastic people. Now, even people I know who can scarcely afford their rent in the East Village will make regular trips to Dr. So and So.

And yet the true meaning and power of this image would seem to take their side. For today is about refusing to be bound by biological or social standards as an expression of Independence. I can understand that in theory, but I think the more and more people attempt to fight the natural effects of aging the more damage they do to the collective perception of the elderly in our society. America, especially, being such a youth-motivated culture has everything to do with our inability to care for the elderly or to keep a place of relevance carved out for them. I do think there are opponents of this (many of whom have tons of face work) like Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda and their NetFlix series, which portrays the vitality and importance of individuals in their late 70s. This is probably the first time in our culture when women, in particular, d’un certain age, have been able to play characters that aren’t pigeon holed as grandparents or cranky characters.

I suppose plastic surgery has contributed to their ability to present this youthful image. My hope is that, eventually, these crutches won’t be necessary. Diet and exercise and a youthful, optimistic attitude can probably take us just as far. In the meantime, maybe it’s me, but I fantasize about what I’ll look like older. In fact I often wish my hair would turn whiter faster. I’m looking forward to being an older gentleman, in so far as it’s distinguished. I’m surely not looking forward to the aches and pains. But that’s what yoga is for; and no amount of collagen injections is going to change the internal clock that is forever ticking.

Copyright 2015 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

The oracle for 2° Leo, An Epidemic Of The Mumps, is about the spread of individual actions, thoughts and attitudes into the collective. On the negative side, which this symbol is mostly about, we are all guilty of causing such infections from time to time, and some of us are more susceptible than others to what certain individuals give off. I have long been aware of my own hypersensitivity, which is the down side perhaps of my empathetic power if not my sometime psychic one. I am engineered to focus on others, surely, to a fault; and if people are giving off a strong vibe, especially a negative one, I pick up on it way too easily; to the point of infiltrating my own moods and attitudes.

I’m not good in crowds. I naturally stay on the periphery at parties, quickly dipping in and out, making a “French exit”; and I’m terrible with tight groups or cliques, their collective energy being overwhelming, and, mostly, negatively so. At times, my need to avoid certain people or groups of them has overriden my affection for individuals and I’ve had to sacrifice relationships to save myself from the effects of such negativism.

Recently, as often happens, I was gathering together a group of people, some of them close friends, for an occasion where the focus was on showcasing the one person’s talent. Others, one character in particular, who is used to being showered with attention bordering on worship, entered into the scene with an attitude and behavior they have exhibited before: attempting to set themself apart from the rest, taking an exalted position, instead of just participating in the same way all the rest of us were. Apparently just being one of the crowd wasn’t good enough for them. I’m taking license here using the third person plural.

Immediately I felt infected by this person’s vibe and it infiltrated my being. It’s near impossible for me to shake, which I’m loath to admit—I wish I had a better filter. For the same reason, I seem to get lost sometimes, even here in this blog, in what seems to be complaining about society at large. I just don’t understand why it is we live in such a selfish world, everyone driven by greed. Greed for money and greed for attention; I’m not even sure which is which. Self-reliance is a wonderful thing. Self-serving-ness feels, yes, like a disease. And I think most people give in to it, probably, initially, as a means of combatting it. It’s sad to me. And I hate when I fall into it, myself, which I sometimes do in my own attempt to get some sugar, an exclusive diet of which so many around me seem to live on. The irony is that those most in need of worship tend to give off what seems to be charismatic air, drawing others in, when in fact it’s not charisma, it’s narcissistic need.

When narcissists aren’t given the bulk of the air, they will suck the oxygen more and more out of the room. And they will often do so by telegraphing to the rest of us that they are doing you some kind of favor just by being there. You know what, don’t do me any favors. Why not just sit and listen for a change. Take in what others are saying. Just this past year I sat and wrote out a list of people I call friends; and then I aimed to put a check next to the names of those whom I thought were good listeners and truly interested in what was going on in my life. There weren’t many checks. I realized—holy merde—that most people I had listed had the same metaphoric mumps: it was always all about them: If I met them for dinner or at an event, I was mainly in for a running monologue consisting of self-aggrandizing events and anecdotes and posturing and it terrified me at first. People are supposed to have friends, right? Everyone else seems to like these people. In fact many people worship them. That was the problem. I’m the problem. I don’t worship anyone. I’m incapable of being the person that carries your purse. I will only do that for one person in my life and you can probably guess who. And she isn’t someone who seeks worship and she’s the best listener on the planet.

So I’ve made a conscious effort to ghost, quietly removing myself from relationships and, guess what, most people, the check-less from my list, scarcely noticed. People with metaphorical mumps will easily and quickly replace you with a willing devotee. This symbol is ruled by Taurus in a twelve-fold sequence and it does speak to the shadow side of that sign. The sign is fixed-earth and it is akin to a garden or a flower, and the main archetypes are the nymphs and flower gods like Adonis, Hyacinth and Narcissus for whom the -ism is named. The energy of Taurus is subjective and there can be an obsession with self and the image in the mirror—how we are seen by others and what worship we can amass. This also speaks to the choice of mumps, being a child disease. Taurus rules the ages 7-14, the age of innocence leading to certain temptation. The mumps affect the glands in the throat and neck, the body part ruled by Taurus. And, secondarily, it affects the sex glands. The female nymphs and the male flower gods are innocents who, like flowers, attract attention and then certain seduction.

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Not only does today mark the first degree of Leo, but the first sign of Aries rules this oracle in a twelve-fold sequence; which is most fitting, since, for starters the sign rules the head. For, Blood Rushes To A Man’s Head As His Vital Energies Are Mobilized Under The Spur Of Ambition is the Sabian symbol for the day, and it speaks to the fire signs of Aries, Leo and Sagittarius. Or so says the preminent scholar on these symbols, Dane Rudhyar, whom I here quote: ‘”The occult tradition speaks of three kinds of “Fire”: Electric Fire, Solar Fire and Fire by friction. The three signs of the zodiac correspond to these. Aries refers to the “descent” of spiritual energy of the Creative Word. In its material aspect we know this energy as electricity, and without electrical energy no life processes could exist. Le represents Solar Fire, the energy which is released from an integrated person, either through spontaneous radiations of apparently nuclear fors of energy, or, at the truly human and conscious level (and also superhuman in more transcendent realms, through conscious emanations (e-mana-tions, from manas meaning “mind” in Sanskrit. Sagittarius is related to the fire by friction, because all social processes are based in interpersonal relations, which imply polarization and often conflict.”‘ Thanks Dane.

I mostly concur; but I wouldn’t call Aries’ fire “electric” per se; I would say that belongs to Sagittarius—ruled by Jupiter, named for the lightening god—but I’m down with the Leo interpretation, which is being, as Shakespeare’s Henry II  said, like the Sun. Astrologically, fire symbolizes spirit. Aries is the cardinal-fire sign, so it is akin to a spark of life, the animating force. Aries people are sparkplugs, the whole of ones being, metaphysically integrated, expressing that pure energy. With the fixed-fire sign of Leo, which rules the heart, fire, life animation is kindled in the heart center, the heart being the hearth of the body; and it is channeled through the individual from the heart chakra and the solar plexus. As such Leo rules the fifth house of the Zodiac, that of “co-creation” with god, our hearts are like power stations to keep that pure spark or ignition of life burning, and from whence we share (co-creating with god) with others, and from where we power up our own passions and creations. Today’s oracle deals with the connection between the heart (Leo) and the head (Aries). Thus on this day of firsts, we let the passion fuel of our heart’s desire fuel our ambitions, projects and current quests.

Stella Starsky in Birth of the American Baroness tonight at Joe’s Pub at the Public

It can be a double-edged sword, as we want our passion to fuel our ambitions in so far as they are a perfect expression of unfolding creation—we want not for the ego to get in the way to color it with pride or pomposity, shadow sides of Leo energy. Leo is the king and Aries is the knight, and the knight rules here in such a way to remain vigilant—holding vigil—sacrificing the self to the will of the spirit or edicts of the heart-king as ere the twain shall meet. We can almost trust this energy of the spirit more to a vigilant mind meditating on egolessness than we can to the passionate heart from whence this fire derives. It may be too personally passionate and result in a crime of the heart without the filter of a focused mind. Sun energy can be life giving, but it can also be scorching, just as a king might nurture the realm and his subjects or make it a wasteland as a result of his tyranny. So the lesson here is to draw on our passion but to keep our mind focused on purest expression without a need for personal payoff. Our acts of creation can thus be a holy sacrifice. We all take to the world stage to make our offerings but we must do so for the sake of giving birth to our creations, not for praise or renown. We cannot be married to any desired result; indeed we must be vigilant against even the temptation of imagining such perks. Aries’ rule here keeps our conscious creations aligned with a pure biological impulse to create, astrology never distinguishing between literal offspring and that of our brainchildren. Procreation or creation are all the same in Divine Mind.

On that note come and see the great Stella Starsky in her funny and moving original show: Birth of the American Baroness, tonight! at Joe’s Pub at the Public Theater in New York City.

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A Daughter Of The American Revolution is the image for today. It shows us how given the passage of Time (Saturn ruled Capricorn) the revolutionary spirit (Uranus ruled Capricorn) dissipates, becomes something vague or refined (Neptune rules Pisces) something fabulous, as in something of fantasy, or a bit fatuous. The ancestor of said daughter might have been a thief or a religious fanatic, let alone a rabble-rouser or revolutionary. Funny that the sons and daughters of any revolution always want the buck to stop there; they don’t want any more upheaval coming up behind them; they want to be the last stop, the new and final crème de la crème. But we needn’t speak of descendants of Mayflower voyagers vis a vis immigrant waves to understand the resonance of this.

I was just encountering something similar this morning while casting my cynical gaze upon the social landscape near at hand. Here I am, downtown New York; and when I first moved here the scene below 14th street had a sort of benign contempt for the paparazzi-driven society centered around Park Avenue. And now, our own sons and daughters of these downtown revolutionaries seem to emulate the likes of Nan Kempner and C.Z. Guest, never mind Pat and Bill Buckley. Of course the selfie-ish amongst us are now their own paparazzi for the most part. Look I’m all for self invention, but just as that daughter of the revolution might remember that her ancestor rallied against an oppressive monarchy, the artist barely surviving in their rent unstablized walk-up might recall that s/he descends from a long line of dissidents who actually created the world in which they’ve managed to thrive. We aren’t supposed to turn into some artistic aristocracy; we aren’t meant to art direct our personas to appear to belong to some sort of elite, and especially not for public consumption.

But look, this is the pattern of things. And people do tend toward the creamy and want to forget their own humble orgins, breathing more rarified air standing on the shoulders of those who came before. I suppose I’m still rather unsinkable Molly Brown about it all, preferring to preserve my own personality and allow it to change society via any power or influence gained over the course of my journey from my scrappy origins, instead of adopting the attitude and characteristics of some fabulous existing society which might now, at this point in my illustrious (as if) career, accept me. The ancestor of that daughter rebelled against the fox hunters and polo players while she and her brood would have become them. I don’t believe we need to lose our revolutionary spirit no matter how high we might rise, worldly wise. In this battle between retreating into the past and forging ahead into the future, it would seem that the past wins out.

Pisces, which rules this oracle in a twelve-fold sequence, is ruled by Neptune, the power of dissolution. So we see the dissolve of all our forward moving efforts and we thus reveal the importance of the past. However, in the dissolve, some residue remains, and this film cannot be removed. Pisces, mutable-water, is likened to mist, foam, vapor, film and any such slime, the primordial kind especially, that from which we emerged and to which we will ultimately return, each subsequent generation, whether of people or of thought or ideology (indeed everything), adding its layer of influence to that which came before. So try as you might to completely blend in, you can’t help but change the mix even ever so slightly. Some strive to leave as think and creamy a layer, distinguished from the past fossilized layers, as they possibly can

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