☯
I haven't posted on this blog very much. I initiated it to save the name. Coin Of The Realm used to be an e-mail discussion group that I owned for 4-5 years. It never was a big hit as a discussion group, but I liked the idea of people being able to discuss any topic that crossed their mind.
I suspect discussion groups about people's interests lost steam when social groups like MySpace and Facebook and Twitter came on the internet scene. I didn't really understand why until I read an article in Wired.com that confronted the possible reasons e-mail discussion lists failed.
My problem in understanding why the interests groups failed is that I guess I didn't really understand the groups were based on common interests. Maybe people only find certain topics interesting to a limited degree, whether they know it or not, and then when they've taken these interests as far as they can, it's over for them, and they unsubscribe.
The odd thing to me is that many subscribers to e-groups is that many of them are lurkers, and never intended to contribute much. I've never been much of a lurker so I wouldn't really know. If I don't feel like participating or a group starts getting heavily moderated, then I simply unsubscribe and look for other interesting groups. I can still do that if I get bored, but it's come to the place that it's difficult to find other groups to flee to. They're all dead from a lack of interest in their own personal interests.
Investigating to find out if the real lack of interest lies with me seems tedious. It may be that if such is so, it started when I began keeping blogs. I suspect that my real interests are about writing to contemplate my own life, and I merely used the e-mail discussion groups to facilitate my hobby of trying to describe my drifting thoughts with words.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Esoterically Yours
☯
This series of prednisone pills I'm taking presently have my hands looking sort of normal again. My fingers are shaped like candles. Except for the ring finger on each hand where the middle joint bulges out a little. They're not knotty like some peoples middle joints. People who are constantly worrying about something; "It takes a worried man..."
I'd rather have my twenty year stint at reading palms as my education about how to relate to other people than a Master's Degree in statesmanship from Georgetown University. Using the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching provided thirty years of daily practice surely affected me.
Reading palms was not so difficult to do after I had studied Tarot layouts and generated over a thousand natal charts in astrology. It's a way of learning to say what I saw in my own minds eye, but in the end it turned out to be a form of projection. That was the real learning. I had to find out about my Self by perceiving only my own idea of myself in the sensory dimension.
It took me a long time to realize that everything I told people whose palms I read was about me. That's all I could grok in other people's palms. The same thing I grokked in their torso and arms and legs and head and facial features. My idea of what life would be like for me if I had the other persons features.
I get accused infrequently of possessing a misguided outlook that is both obvious and arrogant. Such elicits an undue, obnoxious pride. Other people don't behave the way they do for my shoddy reasons. No blame. They can't know what my reasons are in order to obey them. They have to interpret every mumbling word I speak.
All's fair. I have to interpret what they utter to make themselves understood too. . Why would we not? If they insist on doing what they do for their own misguided reasons and refuse to cater to my off-the-wall tastes there is nothing I can do about it. Frankly, my learned reticence seems to work out best for all concerned.
It the time of life for me that I'm going through my third stage of puberty presently. My physical puberty began at about eleven years old. My mental puberty happened at the age of forty-two, and now my spiritual puberty has matriculated now at around the age of seventy-two.
Each stage of puberty, whether physical, mental, or spiritual causes a particular thing to happen. The ability to procreate on each particular level of ex-is-tense co-me-s into being by being granted a ground for using that attained being to make somethingness out of nothingness, and sometimes, for no particularly good or bad reason at all.
☯
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
A Species Of Born Gamblers
☯
I've written one blog entry today for felixperegrino.com, and I still got the urge to express myself. God knows why. I seem to be doing less scheduled events than ever. At least I'm done for a while. I may have an appointment in a couple of months, but that's it for now. The appointments I keep are a big deal. I sorta have to keep them or I lose out on free stuff that could cost me more than I'm willing to pay. Not that it matters.
The lottery tickets I've been faithfully checking were not valid. October 4th was the last date they were. That's how it's been going with me as far as time is concerned. It flies when I'm having fun. I must have been having a lotta fun. I was checking the numbers on tickets that were dead and I didn't even notice. I remedied that by buying some more.
Buying lottery tickets is something I do by habit. I got a method, but it's apparently not a winning way. I buy the same numbers for ten sequential drawings. It costs me $10. Recently, the State Lottery added the MegaMillions lottery to the PowerBall lottery. Now it costs me $20 every five weeks to play both lotteries. Presently, I got numbers for both lotteries. The PowerBall is 250 million, and the MegaMillions is at 48 million. As long as I got legitimate numbers, there IS a chance in hell that I could win. '-)
The anthropologist Margaret Mead was a popular read when I was young. Her writings allowed me to convince myself that humans of the masculine gender are born gamblers. Personally, I don't think gambling is exclusively masculine. Getting pregnant appears to be just as much a gamble as betting the farm on a roll of the dice is.
Being born a miser has always placed limitations upon any inherent penchant for gambling that has popped up on occasion. There were unnecessary complications involved with this dynamic because I didn't know my chief feature was avarice back then. I've only been aware of that possibility for a decade now. When I became aware via intuition that this was definitely the case it changed everything for my contemplations of self.
The behavior patterns I exhibit when some deep understanding opens in consciousness for me are recognizable now, but they haven't always been. I became aware of what a "chief feature" was and what mine probably is in one fell swoop, back when I was out driving a semi, and the reason I know the intuition was gospel for me was that I didn't drive semi trucks for long after that. I got what I needed from that deluded endeavor, and hit the road from hitting the road.
I mean to indicate by the phrase "hitting the road from hitting the road" an away sort of thing. In fact, I meant to indicate that I came home and have been here since. Driving that truck was the last time I lived on the road. It's probably not coincidental that the Sun in my natal chart progressed into Cancer, the sign of the home. I'm taking a vacation from my life as a vacation.
Staying at home presents problems for me. Maybe the biggest one is how I relate to other people who have been here the whole time I was out and about. I have a tendency to treat people like I probably won't know them long. I treat them like they're gonna stay a stranger, but only because I have had itchy feet, in the past. What's the point of getting too intimate with people that are usually here today, but gone tomorrow.
People who have stayed in the same place and grew where they were planted are admirable to me in certain ways. It's like, when I grow up I wanna be just like them. The thing is that here I am seventy-two years old and counting... and I still feel the same way.
The people I admired for being domesticated grew out of it, and they don't know how to not treat people like they are strangers who won't be around forever. I'm not telling. I told them suckers they'd come around before the cows came home, but they called me a fool. My reaction was to shut my mouth so they wouldn't know it, and so they still don't. No blame.
☯
I've written one blog entry today for felixperegrino.com, and I still got the urge to express myself. God knows why. I seem to be doing less scheduled events than ever. At least I'm done for a while. I may have an appointment in a couple of months, but that's it for now. The appointments I keep are a big deal. I sorta have to keep them or I lose out on free stuff that could cost me more than I'm willing to pay. Not that it matters.
The lottery tickets I've been faithfully checking were not valid. October 4th was the last date they were. That's how it's been going with me as far as time is concerned. It flies when I'm having fun. I must have been having a lotta fun. I was checking the numbers on tickets that were dead and I didn't even notice. I remedied that by buying some more.
Buying lottery tickets is something I do by habit. I got a method, but it's apparently not a winning way. I buy the same numbers for ten sequential drawings. It costs me $10. Recently, the State Lottery added the MegaMillions lottery to the PowerBall lottery. Now it costs me $20 every five weeks to play both lotteries. Presently, I got numbers for both lotteries. The PowerBall is 250 million, and the MegaMillions is at 48 million. As long as I got legitimate numbers, there IS a chance in hell that I could win. '-)
The anthropologist Margaret Mead was a popular read when I was young. Her writings allowed me to convince myself that humans of the masculine gender are born gamblers. Personally, I don't think gambling is exclusively masculine. Getting pregnant appears to be just as much a gamble as betting the farm on a roll of the dice is.
Being born a miser has always placed limitations upon any inherent penchant for gambling that has popped up on occasion. There were unnecessary complications involved with this dynamic because I didn't know my chief feature was avarice back then. I've only been aware of that possibility for a decade now. When I became aware via intuition that this was definitely the case it changed everything for my contemplations of self.
The behavior patterns I exhibit when some deep understanding opens in consciousness for me are recognizable now, but they haven't always been. I became aware of what a "chief feature" was and what mine probably is in one fell swoop, back when I was out driving a semi, and the reason I know the intuition was gospel for me was that I didn't drive semi trucks for long after that. I got what I needed from that deluded endeavor, and hit the road from hitting the road.
I mean to indicate by the phrase "hitting the road from hitting the road" an away sort of thing. In fact, I meant to indicate that I came home and have been here since. Driving that truck was the last time I lived on the road. It's probably not coincidental that the Sun in my natal chart progressed into Cancer, the sign of the home. I'm taking a vacation from my life as a vacation.
Staying at home presents problems for me. Maybe the biggest one is how I relate to other people who have been here the whole time I was out and about. I have a tendency to treat people like I probably won't know them long. I treat them like they're gonna stay a stranger, but only because I have had itchy feet, in the past. What's the point of getting too intimate with people that are usually here today, but gone tomorrow.
People who have stayed in the same place and grew where they were planted are admirable to me in certain ways. It's like, when I grow up I wanna be just like them. The thing is that here I am seventy-two years old and counting... and I still feel the same way.
The people I admired for being domesticated grew out of it, and they don't know how to not treat people like they are strangers who won't be around forever. I'm not telling. I told them suckers they'd come around before the cows came home, but they called me a fool. My reaction was to shut my mouth so they wouldn't know it, and so they still don't. No blame.
☯
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Are Trillions Of Us Enough To Be Called Legion?
❧
My gut bacteria are in a constant state of war over who gets to control my decisions about what kind of stuff I put in my mouth. I haven't been aware of this interminable war of the germs that uses my gut lining as their habitat of choosing, or not, depending on who is currently winning this war of woids (words, woe-to-the-id-s). Alas and alack. Yabba, dabba, doooooo!.
The daily consumption of medicines and additives can be a perilous business. Particularly the inorganic ones tortured into being by trickery and/or force. It's not that I'm unfamiliar with the concept. My previous encounters with the "he who has the gold, rules" theory of Capitalism happened inside of big industrial plants I worked at doing shutdowns.
Some or part of every industrial plant will be completely shut down for a limited period of time for the sake of maintaining the manufacturing system itself. Parts have to be repaired or replaced. Scheduled shutdowns are the most apt time to upgrade such systems for making value-added products.
One such job was done for one of the Dupont plants. It's a large plant that occupies a huge industrial campus, but basically, it's a one-trick pony. It makes polyester threads of various color and sizes to make household objects like rugs and carpets, and in some plants, polyester threads from which uncomfortable, sweaty clothes are made of.
My point is that polyester is not a natural product like cotton or silk. It requires huge industrial plants that cost billions of dollars to build and maintain. I'm trying to establish that as an external example of what's going on externally with man-made products as opposed to what goes on internally with man-made, prescription-only drugs instead of herbs and roots and jeweled amulets made and worn for a pretty penny.
Prednisone is one such man-made drug that has no brain receptors for it's best use as traditionally done by centuries of step-by-step acclimation to what might ordinarily or previously hurt you. Maybe not physically hurt you, but drive you to exasperation because your limited brain don't know what to do with this powerful new shit.
It's easy to imagine that many people might just shut down and die rather than devising new coping strategies. It gets worse with age. Nobody likes to change their old way of doing for what might turn out to be a passing fad, but sometime it's true.
"If you snooze, you lose." "To hesitate is to lose." "Why am I always the last to know?" These adages and quotes come in every case from a masculine point of view. To more than a few, for all kinds of reasons, most men won't even challenge such a proclamation because they'll be forced to defend it. Who wants that?
There is in nature a quick willingness to let the other be the Alpha male, at least in face value. I believe it's nature for some men to have many wives because they can afford them, and for many more men to be satisfied with one wife or less. In my specific case, it's been one wife at a time every once in a while.
This I am is (mostly was) only a part-time Alpha male at best, and slyly even at that. Physical confrontation for the favors of an impregnable female has never been my bag. I was much more likely to hang around woodpiles for secret open encounters while the master is away. I bear shame. Not much. Just enough to make my slinking around the edges unsuspicious because real.
Women always know the truth about men (?) like me. I am is not here to change the world. It is not a world savior. I was a hitch-hiking beggar for years. I know better to hold on to physical objects that have no real use than to make my load unnecessarily heavier.
My entire spirit quest seemed full to the brim with the temptation of adored objects. My quest was a process of learning to not adore physical objects. It was about letting go rather than holding own. YMMV.
Sometime in the past I was given a reason to support the notion that this particular Earth School was designed to produce Galactic Gods. The reasoning was that there are billions, perhaps trillions of galaxies 'out there' who go batshit crazy because they don't have their own God.
This reach for prophecy has never been a crowd pleaser. Since it didn't cause my audience members to reach deeper into their change purses. I sort of let it slip into the background. I don't like it much when something happens to make it pop back into relevance. Such is the case with it's relation to probiotics.
The similarity between my rap about Earth as a school for Gods and probiotics is the sheer numbers. Trillions of godless galaxies. Trillions of gut bacteria. Learning to be the virtual God of trillions of gut flora could be a small example of the skills and talents needed to manage multiple solar systems all rolled up into One spiral galaxy.
What I don't understand about learning to be a God so that I can serve some uber God by managing one of it's many galaxies with aplomb, is why does this need to be so? What's the point. It's just another job, man, and I hate working for The God of Gods (as macrocosm) just as much as in this microcosm. Whatta they tyke me fer... a fool?
This is not my first rodeo. I went to another one. Once. In Pendleton, Oregon. Free. I got carried there on somebody else's dime because they wanted a redneck like me to see how "real men" had fun. I went. Why would I not? There were also free beer and western barbecue (not barbeque).
None of those "real men" needed to know I was a hardened "unreal" man. How could each time I granted my detractors the satisfaction of saving a wimp from a fate worse than death, to them, if each person who "saved" me didn't truly believe I was their projection of themselves?
It was impossible for me to get this kind of action living a domesticated life of any sort, and especially married with children. How can one's behavior reach out to those who want to use you to save themselves if they have to compete with what they already walked away from? People wanted to save themselves from what they were. Not from what they might be.
I've written about it before. I told about hitch-hiking around North America time after time, coast to coast, and some days I got "saved" for Jesus more than once a day. As many as five or six times a day. The world saviors aren't good for a long ride. They wanna save you for Jesus right damned now. They ain't got no time for lollygagging. They only got their lunch hour to rack another convert for Jesus.
It took a while for me to understand that it was a good thing for me to let them "save" me. It almost always meant some food or shelter. Maybe both if I appeared to need more than a quick salvation. After this dynamic revealed itself to me again and again, I became a sort of quick study on how to predict what these particular type of drivers were up to.
If they were in a hurry to save me from my immortal sins, and for to let Jesus become my personal savior through their prayer for me, then I had to let myself become the prey of their prayer. I had to feign innocence of guilt. I had to act like they couldn't reach the likes of me with their personal Christianity. I had to force them to be-co-me Alpha males to keep Jesus from being ashamed of their lack of faith in His power.
That's why I figure I was sent on my "go-ye-therefore" spirit quest. I had to find my spirit animal. I had to know it was me. It took others needing my me to save them from their own lack of insight to realize all of us ignore that mind is speech, and speech is mind.
❦
My gut bacteria are in a constant state of war over who gets to control my decisions about what kind of stuff I put in my mouth. I haven't been aware of this interminable war of the germs that uses my gut lining as their habitat of choosing, or not, depending on who is currently winning this war of woids (words, woe-to-the-id-s). Alas and alack. Yabba, dabba, doooooo!.
The daily consumption of medicines and additives can be a perilous business. Particularly the inorganic ones tortured into being by trickery and/or force. It's not that I'm unfamiliar with the concept. My previous encounters with the "he who has the gold, rules" theory of Capitalism happened inside of big industrial plants I worked at doing shutdowns.
Some or part of every industrial plant will be completely shut down for a limited period of time for the sake of maintaining the manufacturing system itself. Parts have to be repaired or replaced. Scheduled shutdowns are the most apt time to upgrade such systems for making value-added products.
One such job was done for one of the Dupont plants. It's a large plant that occupies a huge industrial campus, but basically, it's a one-trick pony. It makes polyester threads of various color and sizes to make household objects like rugs and carpets, and in some plants, polyester threads from which uncomfortable, sweaty clothes are made of.
My point is that polyester is not a natural product like cotton or silk. It requires huge industrial plants that cost billions of dollars to build and maintain. I'm trying to establish that as an external example of what's going on externally with man-made products as opposed to what goes on internally with man-made, prescription-only drugs instead of herbs and roots and jeweled amulets made and worn for a pretty penny.
Prednisone is one such man-made drug that has no brain receptors for it's best use as traditionally done by centuries of step-by-step acclimation to what might ordinarily or previously hurt you. Maybe not physically hurt you, but drive you to exasperation because your limited brain don't know what to do with this powerful new shit.
It's easy to imagine that many people might just shut down and die rather than devising new coping strategies. It gets worse with age. Nobody likes to change their old way of doing for what might turn out to be a passing fad, but sometime it's true.
"If you snooze, you lose." "To hesitate is to lose." "Why am I always the last to know?" These adages and quotes come in every case from a masculine point of view. To more than a few, for all kinds of reasons, most men won't even challenge such a proclamation because they'll be forced to defend it. Who wants that?
There is in nature a quick willingness to let the other be the Alpha male, at least in face value. I believe it's nature for some men to have many wives because they can afford them, and for many more men to be satisfied with one wife or less. In my specific case, it's been one wife at a time every once in a while.
This I am is (mostly was) only a part-time Alpha male at best, and slyly even at that. Physical confrontation for the favors of an impregnable female has never been my bag. I was much more likely to hang around woodpiles for secret open encounters while the master is away. I bear shame. Not much. Just enough to make my slinking around the edges unsuspicious because real.
Women always know the truth about men (?) like me. I am is not here to change the world. It is not a world savior. I was a hitch-hiking beggar for years. I know better to hold on to physical objects that have no real use than to make my load unnecessarily heavier.
My entire spirit quest seemed full to the brim with the temptation of adored objects. My quest was a process of learning to not adore physical objects. It was about letting go rather than holding own. YMMV.
Sometime in the past I was given a reason to support the notion that this particular Earth School was designed to produce Galactic Gods. The reasoning was that there are billions, perhaps trillions of galaxies 'out there' who go batshit crazy because they don't have their own God.
This reach for prophecy has never been a crowd pleaser. Since it didn't cause my audience members to reach deeper into their change purses. I sort of let it slip into the background. I don't like it much when something happens to make it pop back into relevance. Such is the case with it's relation to probiotics.
The similarity between my rap about Earth as a school for Gods and probiotics is the sheer numbers. Trillions of godless galaxies. Trillions of gut bacteria. Learning to be the virtual God of trillions of gut flora could be a small example of the skills and talents needed to manage multiple solar systems all rolled up into One spiral galaxy.
What I don't understand about learning to be a God so that I can serve some uber God by managing one of it's many galaxies with aplomb, is why does this need to be so? What's the point. It's just another job, man, and I hate working for The God of Gods (as macrocosm) just as much as in this microcosm. Whatta they tyke me fer... a fool?
This is not my first rodeo. I went to another one. Once. In Pendleton, Oregon. Free. I got carried there on somebody else's dime because they wanted a redneck like me to see how "real men" had fun. I went. Why would I not? There were also free beer and western barbecue (not barbeque).
None of those "real men" needed to know I was a hardened "unreal" man. How could each time I granted my detractors the satisfaction of saving a wimp from a fate worse than death, to them, if each person who "saved" me didn't truly believe I was their projection of themselves?
It was impossible for me to get this kind of action living a domesticated life of any sort, and especially married with children. How can one's behavior reach out to those who want to use you to save themselves if they have to compete with what they already walked away from? People wanted to save themselves from what they were. Not from what they might be.
I've written about it before. I told about hitch-hiking around North America time after time, coast to coast, and some days I got "saved" for Jesus more than once a day. As many as five or six times a day. The world saviors aren't good for a long ride. They wanna save you for Jesus right damned now. They ain't got no time for lollygagging. They only got their lunch hour to rack another convert for Jesus.
It took a while for me to understand that it was a good thing for me to let them "save" me. It almost always meant some food or shelter. Maybe both if I appeared to need more than a quick salvation. After this dynamic revealed itself to me again and again, I became a sort of quick study on how to predict what these particular type of drivers were up to.
If they were in a hurry to save me from my immortal sins, and for to let Jesus become my personal savior through their prayer for me, then I had to let myself become the prey of their prayer. I had to feign innocence of guilt. I had to act like they couldn't reach the likes of me with their personal Christianity. I had to force them to be-co-me Alpha males to keep Jesus from being ashamed of their lack of faith in His power.
That's why I figure I was sent on my "go-ye-therefore" spirit quest. I had to find my spirit animal. I had to know it was me. It took others needing my me to save them from their own lack of insight to realize all of us ignore that mind is speech, and speech is mind.
❦
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Chopped, Not Minced
❧
This post was originally an e-mail that I sent to a discussion group moments ago, so if you belong to that group you've already read it. It's Saturday and a little bit warmer than it's been for weeks, and that makes me lazy like spring fever even though it's not Spring.
I suspect I don't have a standard way to interpret a natal chart and horary charts get even weirder for some people who have a more formal approach. In the past, prior to my setting all my ephemerides and interpretation books on a black rock at some National Park in southern Utah where they have a canyon full of whodoos, and walking away never to draw another chart. Not because there was anything wrong with the system. It's the lingo that got me off-track and unappreciated by people who meant me no harm. They just didn't and still don't do nothing to cross Jesus and their worship of the Bible.
I learned astrology by creating natal charts of specific people and then interpreting their chart in their presence to gather feedback as to what might or might not seem true between the two of us. Some woman from up in Boston told me I should make a thousand charts and do readings on my own work to figure out what's wot according to the conversations I had with real people and not other people's graven images. My own graven images is what she told me was important, and I pretty much went along for the ride. So, as usuall, I drew at least two thousand natal charts and used other systems for horary data.
I began astrology after I had traveled around the country with this dude who taught me the tarots layouts every night after work for months on end. Both strung out on white crosses. Chronic fatigue and study seem to go hand and hand with my shoddy accomplishments in this regard. I ended up with this crazy living with this crazy woman in Key West, and had started using palm reading instead of tarot, when I became aware that astrology is the mother of all occult "sciences". I needed to know astrology to do better palm readings. I began holding hands with people while interpreting their natal charts. Who doesn't like holding hands?
It was palm reading that discouraged me from drawing charts after twenty years or so. I could be breezing along saying what i saw in some other's palm when my use of the astrology lingo interfered with people trusting me because of what they had been taught by some church. It really interfered with my flow for them to be suspicious. I was born in the Year of the Rabbit. We don't do confrontation with power, but provoke and retreat. Provoke and retreat. Movement and rest, movement and rest. First this, then that. First this, then that. Neti-neti.
When I use the term "perseverance", the me-and-thee-ing of it derives straight from the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching. The lingo in this classical Chinese book (one of the five) ruffles no feathers. Unless I bring it up myself, nobody suspects I'm using a system, although I might throw in a biblical phrase or two if they're obviously of a Christian upbringing. The GoT makes that more fun. They know, but they don't gnow, and confusion is the first step of hypnosis.
I talk out of my head, but from real time images that are like drifting thoughts I capture with words. Some mine, others... well, they could come from anywhere or originate in anybody present or past, but I treat what drifts in as if it's from the other whether it actually is or not. Nobody knows.
Saturn could be represented by anything "in the other person" in real ti-me. Why would I use historical data from dead prophets when the whole point is that I'm holding the hand of a living one. I only talk to hypnotize and suggest they are secretly their own prophet, and they need to tell me what they'll only remember as something I sayid, but in actuality wasn't me, but them.
Granted, Saturn in my natal is in 22° Aries in it's Fall, and in weak conjunction with my sun in 0° 2" Taurus that is in close conjunction with the Descendent. I let their credentials (they don't know they have, yet) overwhelm me and my perceivable weakness elicits the strength of how Saturn makes them walk the line.
I may frame it in feminine or masculine terms according to wot they sot before me. Sometime I force them to use their strength to rescue me from myself in order for me to continue to astound them with their own unkn-own discipline. It's better for both of us that way. I really have nothing to lose. I have great recuperative powers with Mars exalted in Capricorn, and the Moon exalted in Taurus, and Venus exalted in Pisces conjoined to Jupiter the old co-ruler of Pisces, both trine to Pluto. It's actually fun to let people get over on me while all the ti-me knowing nothing at All is lost by their gain.
One aspect of Saturn and Capricorn and Aquarius that continues to intrigue me (although I've obviously put astrology on the back burner) is the Roman god Janus (Janu... worry) and the fact that Saturn is one of the seven planets that can be perceived with the naked eye consciously, and your anus (if you have any couth or never mind at all) is unseen, yet Mercury is exalted in Aquarius. Mercury represents the mind, and the taint is the wholiest spot in one's physical (earth) body. Is that why some people can fly by the seat of their pants or why Jack keeps saying I pull all my rude statements from out of my ass? Okay, I do. So what? Sha-men gnow sha-me mo' bettah than yo' average bear. '-)
❦
This post was originally an e-mail that I sent to a discussion group moments ago, so if you belong to that group you've already read it. It's Saturday and a little bit warmer than it's been for weeks, and that makes me lazy like spring fever even though it's not Spring.
I suspect I don't have a standard way to interpret a natal chart and horary charts get even weirder for some people who have a more formal approach. In the past, prior to my setting all my ephemerides and interpretation books on a black rock at some National Park in southern Utah where they have a canyon full of whodoos, and walking away never to draw another chart. Not because there was anything wrong with the system. It's the lingo that got me off-track and unappreciated by people who meant me no harm. They just didn't and still don't do nothing to cross Jesus and their worship of the Bible.
I learned astrology by creating natal charts of specific people and then interpreting their chart in their presence to gather feedback as to what might or might not seem true between the two of us. Some woman from up in Boston told me I should make a thousand charts and do readings on my own work to figure out what's wot according to the conversations I had with real people and not other people's graven images. My own graven images is what she told me was important, and I pretty much went along for the ride. So, as usuall, I drew at least two thousand natal charts and used other systems for horary data.
I began astrology after I had traveled around the country with this dude who taught me the tarots layouts every night after work for months on end. Both strung out on white crosses. Chronic fatigue and study seem to go hand and hand with my shoddy accomplishments in this regard. I ended up with this crazy living with this crazy woman in Key West, and had started using palm reading instead of tarot, when I became aware that astrology is the mother of all occult "sciences". I needed to know astrology to do better palm readings. I began holding hands with people while interpreting their natal charts. Who doesn't like holding hands?
It was palm reading that discouraged me from drawing charts after twenty years or so. I could be breezing along saying what i saw in some other's palm when my use of the astrology lingo interfered with people trusting me because of what they had been taught by some church. It really interfered with my flow for them to be suspicious. I was born in the Year of the Rabbit. We don't do confrontation with power, but provoke and retreat. Provoke and retreat. Movement and rest, movement and rest. First this, then that. First this, then that. Neti-neti.
When I use the term "perseverance", the me-and-thee-ing of it derives straight from the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching. The lingo in this classical Chinese book (one of the five) ruffles no feathers. Unless I bring it up myself, nobody suspects I'm using a system, although I might throw in a biblical phrase or two if they're obviously of a Christian upbringing. The GoT makes that more fun. They know, but they don't gnow, and confusion is the first step of hypnosis.
I talk out of my head, but from real time images that are like drifting thoughts I capture with words. Some mine, others... well, they could come from anywhere or originate in anybody present or past, but I treat what drifts in as if it's from the other whether it actually is or not. Nobody knows.
Saturn could be represented by anything "in the other person" in real ti-me. Why would I use historical data from dead prophets when the whole point is that I'm holding the hand of a living one. I only talk to hypnotize and suggest they are secretly their own prophet, and they need to tell me what they'll only remember as something I sayid, but in actuality wasn't me, but them.
Granted, Saturn in my natal is in 22° Aries in it's Fall, and in weak conjunction with my sun in 0° 2" Taurus that is in close conjunction with the Descendent. I let their credentials (they don't know they have, yet) overwhelm me and my perceivable weakness elicits the strength of how Saturn makes them walk the line.
I may frame it in feminine or masculine terms according to wot they sot before me. Sometime I force them to use their strength to rescue me from myself in order for me to continue to astound them with their own unkn-own discipline. It's better for both of us that way. I really have nothing to lose. I have great recuperative powers with Mars exalted in Capricorn, and the Moon exalted in Taurus, and Venus exalted in Pisces conjoined to Jupiter the old co-ruler of Pisces, both trine to Pluto. It's actually fun to let people get over on me while all the ti-me knowing nothing at All is lost by their gain.
One aspect of Saturn and Capricorn and Aquarius that continues to intrigue me (although I've obviously put astrology on the back burner) is the Roman god Janus (Janu... worry) and the fact that Saturn is one of the seven planets that can be perceived with the naked eye consciously, and your anus (if you have any couth or never mind at all) is unseen, yet Mercury is exalted in Aquarius. Mercury represents the mind, and the taint is the wholiest spot in one's physical (earth) body. Is that why some people can fly by the seat of their pants or why Jack keeps saying I pull all my rude statements from out of my ass? Okay, I do. So what? Sha-men gnow sha-me mo' bettah than yo' average bear. '-)
❦
One Sweet Morning
❧
This wireless thing is killing me again. I know that I wrote before that if humans are wireless since the umbilical cord was cut, then each of knows everything there is to know about wireless technology, but I have one problem. Knowing what question to ask to get the universal mind to be specific with it's answers on what means wot?
In my own assessment of my personal needs, visualization plays a huge part. I have other ways of finding satisfaction with what's wot, but visual is the one modality that has always had legs for me. I hate going blind, but that's nothing compared to what's coming up. Maybe one sensory reception system after the other. I'm already legally deaf and have cataracts so cloudy I don't see well on a clear day.
I can't see what I need to know to know where to look to solve my problems. The problem is never in my mind or my visionary process, but has roots in the real world if I just knew where to look. To know where to look I have to ask my nebulous sources the correct question. They indubitably gnow the answer.
Learning to ask the right question is the most powerful lesson I feel like I learned from using the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching daily for over thirty years. It was a simple deal that wasn't hidden in the slightest. If I asked the oracle the real question that acted as impetus to my seeking it's wisdom, then the results I got finished the deal.
If I didn't ask the question that truly resided in my heart, then the oracle's response was non-sensible gibberish. I couldn't make heads nor tails of it's omens (pun intended).
There are admonitions throughout the Yellow Book (The I Ching, The Emperor's Yellow Book, The Book of Changes) warning that repeated questions indicating doubt of it's original pronouncements would be repudiated, and no answer would be given.
This is about like Percival leaving the Grail Castle after failing the Grail King's test, and the drawbridge it crossed to leave jumped up at the last second causing his horse to stumble, and a voice was heard that indignantly guffawed "Bumpkin!"
The question to the oracle has to be the sa-me question that your heart wants answered. How the Book of Changes knows when you've been naughty or nice isn't so clear to me. I mean, I know, but I don't yet gnow what I know. I am is me.
One Sweet Morning
Day after day, night after night,
I sit in awesome wonder,
and behold the thoughts I thought before,
that set my life asunder.
The controlling power of bygone years,
has lived within innately.
I've lived my life along with tears.
Some times the sun shines brightly.
I know not the reason for your mourning,
but I understand that you must cry.
The world is turning rather slowly,
while your heart is in the sky.
I feel the pulse within a'pounding,
as you slowly walk away.
Your melancholy is contagious,
the blue of clearness returns to gray.
But, soon within you'll find the answer.
Soon within the tide will flood.
The light will then break through the darkness.
The rainbow's red will turn to love.
The thought of changing will not frighten.
The past is lost in yesterday.
Then, one sweet morning I'll come a'calling,
when you have found the other way.
fmp
October, 1973
Edited: Today
❦
This wireless thing is killing me again. I know that I wrote before that if humans are wireless since the umbilical cord was cut, then each of knows everything there is to know about wireless technology, but I have one problem. Knowing what question to ask to get the universal mind to be specific with it's answers on what means wot?
In my own assessment of my personal needs, visualization plays a huge part. I have other ways of finding satisfaction with what's wot, but visual is the one modality that has always had legs for me. I hate going blind, but that's nothing compared to what's coming up. Maybe one sensory reception system after the other. I'm already legally deaf and have cataracts so cloudy I don't see well on a clear day.
I can't see what I need to know to know where to look to solve my problems. The problem is never in my mind or my visionary process, but has roots in the real world if I just knew where to look. To know where to look I have to ask my nebulous sources the correct question. They indubitably gnow the answer.
Learning to ask the right question is the most powerful lesson I feel like I learned from using the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching daily for over thirty years. It was a simple deal that wasn't hidden in the slightest. If I asked the oracle the real question that acted as impetus to my seeking it's wisdom, then the results I got finished the deal.
If I didn't ask the question that truly resided in my heart, then the oracle's response was non-sensible gibberish. I couldn't make heads nor tails of it's omens (pun intended).
There are admonitions throughout the Yellow Book (The I Ching, The Emperor's Yellow Book, The Book of Changes) warning that repeated questions indicating doubt of it's original pronouncements would be repudiated, and no answer would be given.
This is about like Percival leaving the Grail Castle after failing the Grail King's test, and the drawbridge it crossed to leave jumped up at the last second causing his horse to stumble, and a voice was heard that indignantly guffawed "Bumpkin!"
The question to the oracle has to be the sa-me question that your heart wants answered. How the Book of Changes knows when you've been naughty or nice isn't so clear to me. I mean, I know, but I don't yet gnow what I know. I am is me.
One Sweet Morning
Day after day, night after night,
I sit in awesome wonder,
and behold the thoughts I thought before,
that set my life asunder.
The controlling power of bygone years,
has lived within innately.
I've lived my life along with tears.
Some times the sun shines brightly.
I know not the reason for your mourning,
but I understand that you must cry.
The world is turning rather slowly,
while your heart is in the sky.
I feel the pulse within a'pounding,
as you slowly walk away.
Your melancholy is contagious,
the blue of clearness returns to gray.
But, soon within you'll find the answer.
Soon within the tide will flood.
The light will then break through the darkness.
The rainbow's red will turn to love.
The thought of changing will not frighten.
The past is lost in yesterday.
Then, one sweet morning I'll come a'calling,
when you have found the other way.
fmp
October, 1973
Edited: Today
❦
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