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    Go Back  The Sublime Irritations of January 2005  Go Forward
    Gadzooks, my little bullish types! How are you? No, don't bother to answer! The question was purely one of form. Last time, you were closing the door on your ill-fated encounter with the arts and the world of orgiastic sex as you resigned your post as a bright young thing, largely because it was all too noisy and too much trouble. We left you quaffing coffee and cake at a favoured establishment with a shaman you had met. Blithely were the two of you discussing water features and landscape gardening and the magical properties of stones as the memories of artistic success and your mother's standard lamp faded into the background hum of city life.

    Later on, the orgiastic arts were practiced in a more private and personal arena. And it's there we find you now, my tiny bovine things. In fact, with marauding Mars still crashing through your solar eighth house with his beady eye fixed on a gruesome encounter with dark Pluto, underworld lord, there'll be more than one use to which you can put a water feature and a support beam. In the twilight magic of the after glow, your shaman begins to sing songs and tell stories of faraway lands and the adventures to be had there, as a raft of ghastly planets waft through silly Sagittarius.

    You are captivated, moved to travel far and wide in search of that ineffable ideal of beauty you crave in your simple bovine heart. Magic stones! Desert winds! The shamanic voyage! Ah! Mischievous Mercury and vamping Venus shift their nuisance value to gloomy Capricorn and your solar ninth house. As the New Moon comes in that insufferable sign, inspiration seizes you! You leap to your feet! Egad! Both of them at once! Eek! There and then you suggest you and your shaman lover pack a few simple bags and fly to far climes to seek the magic of distant worlds and lost horizons. You make a few hasty phone calls and send a few hasty emails. In a trice, you're in the air, headed for a place whose name you can't pronounce and whose food you may not be able to eat.

    By my little brown bottle, what a remarkable development! In no time at all, you are camped in the desert, the ancestral home of your guide and companion on this voyage of magical discovery. As unspeakable planets rut in the gutters of Heaven, you sit in silence like the very stones themselves, listening to the wind and wondering vaguely where the nearest restaurant is as you're getting somewhat peckish.

    But what's this? Great gods alive and dead, I don't believe it! The spirits of the desert begin to speak with you. And you begin to listen. My sainted aunt, this cannot be! But it is! You forget your rumbling belly. Your shamanic lover seems to rise up and glow with spectral light. The ghosts of this lost world dance about you. You rise up too and dance with them, singing ancient songs and stamping your bovine hoofs on the drum of mother earth. The Full Moon blazes with the lunatic light of loathsome Leo and you have found a spiritual home here in the desert!

    Gadzooks, my misbegotten ninnies! The path of holy wisdom has claimed you! And all because you spoke of water features and magic stones with your lover. Mischievous Mercury moves into nitwit Aquarius and your see a new mission laid out before you. Once more you will begin the art of landscape gardening, your shaman lover at your side. But this time you will make mystic gardens, bordered with magic stones, threaded through with water features that are drawn as maps of ancient rivers, haunted by the touch of desert wind.

    Just think! You will be rich, sexually satisfied, gainfully employed and guided by the hand of spirit. Now, if we can only think of what it is that will go wrong. Perhaps next time! Yes! Click here next month and read about it, little future shoes and leather jackets! Ta! Ta!

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