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    Taurus | Soul Connection | Relationships | Runes | Zodiac


    Click for Last Month  The Awful Ambiguities of November 2006  Click for Next Month
    Taurus Hail to you, my hideous artichokes! Last time we left, you were in Finland. You had been renamed Nine Books and were the leader of the cult of the Midnight Sun, channelling your way through sex, sausage and sauna in the seemingly interminable saga of BEEF ON A BIKE. However, things had taken a nasty turn (as things so often do) and a fearsome occult power had possessed you, determined to speak through your mortal coil. Such utterances will doubtless be drawn from the deathless wisdom of the nine lost books of the KALEVALA, written eons ago to ensure that all Finns sleep the sleep of the just, such sleep coming on the instant that a reading of said books begins.

    This is noxious November, a fact that may be read from the eleven knots in my handkerchief! These are the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto. Drink deep of the dread cup, bullish types!

    As proceedings get underway, mischievous Mercury is the first cab off the rank, reversing into the obscene clutches of aging Saturn. Thus, you find yourself in the grip of a greater power, one that mutters in a dark and foreboding manner, bringing a confounding terror to the deepest reaches of your inner being, making you aware of your mortality. Timor mortis conturbat me, as the ancients say. You feel depressed by the weight of the eldritch lore that hovers in the air about you.

    But what's this? Ye gods and little fishes! It's a Full Moon in your own unspeakable sign. As you sink further into the well of an all-consuming trance, a figure appears before you, emerging from the murky gloom of your subconscious. Eek! What a ghastly murk that would be! Doubtless the use of a scented handkerchief would be required! However, scented handkerchiefs are outlawed in Finland and 'death by sauna' is the punishment for using one. Oh well! How sad! Never mind!

    Let us return to the figure emerging from the murky gloom. As narcotic Neptune ravishes the sensibilities of a series of ghastly planets, this figure introduces itself, booming from the murky gloom and thereby banishing the awkward silence that tends to be the status quo in your subconscious mind. Although, it must be said that phrases such as 'I want more food', 'I want more sex' and 'where can I lie down' regularly punctuate the silence. Back to the tale! The substance of said booming is that this phantom is the being wishing to speak through you in your trance and is, in fact, the shade of someone that you were in a past life.

    Eek! Egad! Gadzooks! And other quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm. That's a karmic conundrum if ever there was one! A right raddling riddle of reincarnation! The gist of this bizarre story is that you were once a mighty warrior and a ruler of ancient Finland, which is why you have been drawn here to this odd and distant land. It was this past life persona that wrote the aforementioned nine lost books, as well as lording it over oppressed subjects, pillaging, slaying the enemy and drinking vast quantities of mead or ale or whatever kind of pigswill it was the ancient Finns enjoyed. And, as further ghastly planets indulge in further nasty cosmic flatulence, the upshot of this belligerent spiritual counsel is driven home to you in no uncertain terms. Your past life incarnation thinks you're going about the business of life in a pusillanimous and disorganized manner. As a consequence, as mischievous Mercury moves forward and a New Moon comes in evil Scorpio, this shadowy figure sets a course for the future. You will be taken over and re-established as a ruler and invincible warrior, thus imbuing you with a sense of mightiness that will see you triumph instead of riding about on a bike like a twit. A laudable ambition but it may be beyond even the power of spirit to accomplish such a work as this. We shall see!

    As vamping Venus gropes the rude bits of the idiot god, Uranus, and marauding Mars plays havoc with the nether regions of lugubrious Saturn, you arise from your bed of trance-like woe. The great Sol Invicti and jolly Jupiter slope into silly Sagittarius and your solar eighth house, a nasty realm of taxes, the hideous subconscious and other evil manifestations and spirit fills you as you intone in mighty manner! Eek! It is you! Yet it is not you! But it is you, if you get my drift!

    What will the consequences of this onrush of mightiness be? As I'm unwell and in dire need of my little brown bottle and a silver tube, you'll have to come back next time to read further perorations in an attempt to decipher if there is a modicum of sense somewhere in piffle such as this. In the meantime, my bullish types! Hail and farewell! And give my regards to the Lords of Karma, should you happen to run across them in your future travail! Ave!

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