Taurus 8° (corresponding to April 26, 2016)
(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree: click here)
Sometimes you just have to do everything. That is to say, in a world where we pick and choose our priorities, there are moments in life when doing it all is the most relaxing choice. Yesterday (five minutes ago) we talked about standing back and assessing all the plans and projects in your life as beds in that fixed-earth Taurus garden; and yes that is exactly how it is that we must view not only what’s on our plate but the full scope of all we possess. We will be told what needs doing by meditating on this bed or that. It isn’t linear, you see. We don’t power completely through one project, always, creating perfection and then move onto the next bit of business—yes, there are exceptions if we have a deadline imposed by an outside source, entity or authority but, let’s face it, the expectations of others are far easier to fulfill than our own, especially, if we are perfectionists living in an otherwise second-rate state. But when it comes to our own self-started and -made projects and plans, what’s the rush? Why not prepare the soil, plant the seeds and then sit back and see what takes and what needs redirection, cultivating, editing, etc.
We must let time be on our side in this—it is, after all, one half of the unfolding. It facilitates our ability to bloom without struggle or slightest hesitation. Fear. That is the factor. Fear. Of not having enough. That is the consequence, if we heed the allegory of the garden, of giving into temptation. Temptation to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The tree that makes us second guess—are we good enough. Self-consciousness sets in near the end of the span of human life ruled by the sign of Taurus, 7-14. It is then we are suddenly aware of our nakedness. Adam and Eve in their blissed-out, insouciant Garden are undeniable metaphors for our human existence at that time in our life when we are budding toward sexual maturity, unaware, perhaps ourselves, but typically not unnoticed by certain snakes in the grace that might be egging us on to take a bite out of sexually mature life. In the Greek mythos, Taurus is represented by the nymphs and nubile flower gods who are likewise unawares of the attraction they invite until its thrust upon them. And typically it’s not a pretty ending to the story.
We said that the Taurus chapters are called The Idol (Man) and The Ideal (Woman) both terms being dependent on the attention, attraction and opinion of others. Taurus people will tend to give others what Taurus thinks they want from them. And they tend to be very good at that. Typically, they are imitators, not to take anything away from them on that score. Not that they live the adage that imitation is the highest form of flattery—they scarcely know they are imitating at all. Or if they are, they will convince themselves of the viability of doing so. For, woe it is to the cardinal signs of the Zodiac, the Initiators, who aren’t often widely credited for their accomplishments in pioneering until that precious commodity of Time rediscovers them in hindsight; while the Imitators, typically the fixed-signs of the Zodiac, take the seeds that are sown by cardinal signs and fertilize the fuck out of them, perfecting their efforts down to the last detail, through rigid repetition, though they would have you think they haven’t put in all that much effort at all.
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