Ave, my cretinous cupcakes! It's that time of the month again! So open wide those prim and disapproving lips of yours and prepare to receive the dose of vile and bitter prognostications pertaining to awful August! The doctor is in!
Last time, you wove a coat of many colours to be a protection against the evil and infectious forces of the naughty world in which you dwell. This spiritual couture was the culmination of your apprenticeship in the hidden valley where dwell and work the weavers of life and death, the Fates or the Moerae! Cloth-O, Lack-Cheese and Atrophy (who only had a small part in proceedings) were your sisters and teachers for a time. But that time is expired. The red flag on the parking meter of the giggling gods is risen and so must you rise and take to the road to find your fortune.
Though lugubrious Saturn dances, nude and insane amongst your fears, anxieties and phobias, you say your farewells and set out. However, Uranus, the idiot god, assails the wrinkled skin and aging bones of Saturn with unwarranted and lascivious attentions, causing you to seek the company of fellow mortals (ugh), largely to see if the protective coat actually works.
But, by my sainted aunt! An extraordinary thing now takes place, in Heaven and on Earth. The great Sol Invicti gropes the fleshy expanse of jolly Jupiter and you meet the Buddha on the road. Eek! What does one do, encountering the enlightened one?
'Kill him,' cries marauding Mars in your vexatious sign as he flings his nastily erected self upon the eccentrically flailing limbs of cranky Chiron. And so you do in one rash moment you strike a fatal blow!
Ye gods and little fishes! What is this, my little loonies! You've slain a being of light just because marauding Mars was improperly placed. It's said to be an adage of the ancient teachings, 'if you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him' but were you meant to take it literally? Is this a teaching on the nature of illusion and reality?
The great Sol Invicti conjoins in unseemly fashion with grim Saturn and you stand by the corpse, struck by guilt at this ghastly act, coming so soon upon the heels of your seeming release from the burden of the past. Odds bodkins! What will happen now, tiny turnips? How will you atone for this crime?
You fall to your knees beside the body (putting a clean cloth down first) and howl imprecations to the sky, troubling Heaven with bootless cries. Except the boot is on the other foot as a benighted universe replies to this tortured enquiry instanter by means of the nasty glare of the Full Moon in idiot Aquarius. 'Give your life in service by doing useful work' is somehow written in the chill necrotic brilliance. You bow your head in obedience. As Mars and Jupiter assume the prone position and you straightway meet a swarthy person with dark eyes and great wealth who offers you work. As the great Sol Invicti grapples with narcotic Neptune, the work is in a healing sanctuary, devoted to the betterment of human kind.
Great elephants and dancing monkeys! Such endeavours are right up your alley, are they not! What do you think? You take the job and travel to the premises which is conveniently located down the road from the slain Buddha.
But what's this? Great trundling tea-trolleys! Mischievous Mercury is now in lackwit Leo, hobnobbing with grim Saturn and narcotic Neptune! Voices begin to chatter in your head, expressing the agony and fear you have about encountering once again the risk of human contamination, first hand. You've been away so long and dwelling only with immortals. And you never much liked humanity in the first place! Nasty, dirty thing that it is! And yet, as marauding Mars belligerently battles to penetrate the nether regions of Uranus, idiot god, your fire and desire rise as you thrill to the prospect of conjugating certain crucial verbs in the erotic vernacular.
Gadzooks, my tiny ninnies! Again the question! What will you do? You're torn in awful August between a reserved, neurotic withdrawal and brazen advance. It's as if there are two of you! By my little brown bottle! A depressing prospect indeed, given that even one of you is surplus to requirements!
Thus, as ghastly planets cavort in opposing Leo and Aquarius, your first day on the job at the healing sanctuary sees you stepping in and out of doorways, shadows and darkened rooms as you oscillate between pusillanimous retreat and reckless attack. How much longer can this continue? Fortunately, we are saved from the onset of screaming ennui and terminal insanity by the entrance (eek) of the great Sol Invicti into your odious sign, bringing a New Moon there as well. Thus, at last, you steel your resolve and step forward to take your place among the ranks of healers, puling do-gooders and milksop lunatics that generally inhabit such a place as you have come to dwell in. You don the coat of many colours and step into the light. Egad! How bold you are!
But will boldness be your ally in accord with the dictates of marauding Mars in your odious sign? Or will boldness be your self-undoing in accord with the grim presence of gloomy Saturn in the shadowed misery of your solar twelfth house? You will have to click here next time to discover this as I stand (or more properly recline) at risk of perishing from terminal ennui if I continue. Medic! Bring me my brown bottle and that lovely silver tube you have. For the nonce, ave, surface-wiping types!