Taurus 17° (May 7)
I will end up taking myself out for a Caesar salad and chicken wings at Captain’s Choice. I’m chatting with these chaps called Doug and Paul and they are big Montano’s fans. Organizing as best I can in the bunker. The list of things to do is a mile long and not sure I can get it all accomplished.
Scorpio is an immoveable figure, seemingly born with an intact moral code and fixed opinions. She embodies the notion of nature-over-nurture. The original Sphinx, she appears to have all the answers and she’s asking all the questions. A born psychologist—think Lucy of Peanuts fame—she compels others to bare their souls, trading her default caustic style for a professional one. Scorpio draws out others, typically with series of queries, triggering true confessions. Then, stony faced, she will tell you exactly what to do, when, and in what order to fix or refocus efforts. Ruled by Pluto, planetary principle of elimination and transformation, named for the god of death, which, in astrology, signals regeneration, Scorpio aims to kill off that which drains energy. An autumnal sign, when we prune and nature sheds its leaves, rerouting energy to that underground root level, Scorpio likewise won’t go out on limbs for any reason, rooting herself ever deeper into her exacted design for living. She is dug in, setting the agenda with loved ones with inexorable gravity, and thus can be a bit of black hole, too. You can’t easily escape her spider’s web once drawn into her vortex of directives. Her main mythic archetype is Persephone, the entranced queen of the underworld, the proverbial maker you meet upon your demise who tells you which way to go—Scorpio does tend to collect lost souls and finds power and purpose in doing likewise, and, as the fixed-water sign she can be something of an ice queen herself.
When it comes to a life partner, Scorpio has a composite sketch in mind of perfect match. She will seek to develop the desirable qualities she observes in a mate, and the rest she’ll aim to kill off, characteristically, with withering looks. On some level every Scorpio woman sees herself as a femme fatale, a Scarlett O’Hara, as Mammy sees it: “sitting there waiting for him just like a spider.” Scarlett also ends up munching on a root vegetable, fist to heaven, vowing, determining her future, and everyone elses in the process. She has a notoriously high opinion of herself (overcompensation for insecurities), such that she might declare, without irony, that her partner couldn’t do any better than her. She is an alpha of the first order, but unlike other signs that fall into this category, she is not an aggressor; on the contrary, Scorpio does everything by seduction, inviting every prospect and opportunity. She will have you do for her, unabashedly asking for favors, connections and entrées; and she couldn’t be more certain that, in granting her request, she’ll provide a feather to your cap. Circling back to Lucy,—even she was convinced she drove ’em wild; unaware of Schroeder’s eye rolls from the piano. The Scorpio paradox in a nutshell: bossy as hell, wearing the trousers; with who knows what underneath. Undeniably, it makes for a potent, if not figuratively lethal combination. She can kill off relationships with her selfish motivations. In truth she brims with skills and talents and wisdom and wiles. And if they don’t find proper expression and deepest appreciation, she will become cauldron of frustration and fury. She does not take her existence lightly, and you best not either. She incarnates all the mysteries of the ages, Mona Lisa smiling wryly, luring others to, and inspiring longing for, her.
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