Bono is the Johnny Galecki of Rock Stars. Ventriliquist dummy. If Aries is self and Taurus other than Gemini is interaction. If Aries is big-bang creation and Taurus Eden the Gemini is the Fall resulting from consciousness—the sign’s motto is I Think—duality knowledge of good and evil, right wrong, mortality-immortality. Gemini is mutable air, the buzzy electric ether of thoughts and information.
Mercury, named for the buzzy, eternally adolescent street-wise god of commerce and communication rules the sign. He is the messenger, the word of god, the logos. Yet he’s a trickster and psychopomp, one who travels freely from the heights of heaven to the depths of Hades. Just like our minds. Right. Gemini people can be the most vivid mixed messengers. But we all create our own heaven or hell via our thoughts and speech. Try, try to go an hour, let alone a day without saying or thinking anything negative.
Mercury is god of the literal crossroads namesake markets and merchants, petty thieves, deal-makers, buskers, artful dodgers, streetwalkers and of the figurative crossroads—our choices, our messaging. Gemini rules our breath and nerves, neural pathways and pathologies. How we’re wired in childhood, adolesence, the dominion of the third house along with our immediate surroundings. Jesus is a product of the streets and the rabble were his first followers in his own adolescence. He stayed on message. Down to the gutter up to the glitter. Gemini subscribes to a soaring sense of spirituality one which easily forgives our petty antics, our own divinity being written in the stars and, like code into our neural nets.
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