Hooray to you, my tiny chortling noodles! Last time, you were hurled into the midst of uncanny experiences as jolly Jupiter, the arrant fool and inebriate that is your ruling lord, stumbled drunkenly into Scorpio and your solar twelfth house. Eek! Now, toddling ning-nongs, the twelfth house is a ghastly realm of liars, lunatics, longshoremen and other riffraff such as artists, poets, fakirs and spiritual teachers (ugh). No one in their right mind would wish to go there, so it suits you rather well, I suppose.
Notwithstanding the fact that I'm late with the forecast (I fell asleep but I woke up again), I suppose that I'd better remind you of the fact that you're on trial before the Akashic Council with regard to your generally profligate nature. However, you fell ill, fell unconsciousness and were met in the realms of Morphia by a more childish part of yourself which is difficult to imagine but perfectly true in the sense that anything can be said to be true.
Anyway, as I understand it now, you've learned a great deal from this childish (or was it 'childlike') part of yourself and are ready to face the music with the Akashic Council. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but then it is your life so what can one expect! I think the best thing is just to proceed with the vile and bitter prognostications for nasty November before this whole business sends one of us to sleep again (probably me but you can never be sure). We've missed the New Moon in Scorpio, with it's ghastly congress between aging Saturn, the great Sol Invicti and loony Lady Moon where, I am reliably informed there was a deal of improper rubbing. And, by my sainted aunt, that only served to make you more depressed and woebegone than you already were (you may distantly remember you had decided to become a pessimist some time ago). And, while I've been wittering on, you also missed the clash of Uranus, the idiot god, with mischievous Mercury, which unsettled you emotionally and made you stammer. In addition, you missed the entry of vamping Venus into lugubrious Capricorn, which made you worry unduly about money.
Now, I think I can actually discuss something that's about to happen rather than something that already has. Ghastly planets erupt in a display of cosmic flatulence that suffocates birds in flight and denudes the last remaining acres of rain forest of all foliage. Marauding Mars is the chief odiferous offender, groping the private parts of narcotic Neptune and the great Sol Invicti in the process. It is thus that you're hauled back to the dock to face the music, my tiny ning-nongs. But what's this? By my little brown bottle, it's the raucous racket of mischievous Mercury as he moves into perverse reverse in your sign. You stand up in court with the Akashic Council, facing the grim and humourless persons who dwell in this strange village into which you wandered so long ago.
They begin with the charges against you, reading from a scroll carried by maidens wearing spectacles and with the hair of each one pulled back into a tight, almost painful bun. The line of them stretches into the middle distance. Ugh! And so does the reading of the charge sheet stretch on into the afternoon. Aargh! You try to speak out but can only stammer! You occasionally chuckle at a sudden recollection, brought on by the recitation of past incidents, but the court instructs you to be quiet. Eek! After a time, you become confused and agitated, lost somewhere between the memories and the present, as the story of your life is recounted as an interminable and unspeakably dull series of incidents from a scroll. Say not so!
As the Full Moon blazes in the cloddish sign of Taurus, you feel unwell once more. But, as Uranus moves direct and clashes with mischievous Mercury again, you raise your voice in complaint at these heartless dealings. Your life and peccadilloes are neither cold nor calculated! Nay, you cry! Your sins were warm, heated even, and filled with a reckless abandon proper to your idiotic nature. You cry aloud your protest. Marauding Mars clashes with lugubrious Saturn and stern judges attempt to frown you into silence. But, the great Sol Invicti now sidles into your own addlepate sign and you will not be cowed. The busy messenger moves back to morbid Scorpio, sneaking in by the back door (eek) and the still small voice of your inner child pleads with you to accept the judgement of the court. But, by all the gods, the great Sol Invicti clashes with Uranus, the idiot god, and the rebel in you rises. 'Guilty as charged! Do your worst but I do not accept the authority of this court! Karma shmarma! Give me all you've got! So sayeth the Centaur.'
Great toads and urinating donkeys, my tiny loonies! What have you said? And what will happen now that you have flaunted your bravado in the face of ancient wisdom? Hmm! I think I shall have to rest before I can answer those questions. I shall hie me to the medic who has a brown bottle and silver tube with my name on them. Click here next time and, if consciousness has returned, I shall write more of this egregious drivel. Ta! Ta!