James Joyce was a great novelist but not much of a fighter. He picked a more imposing and athletic buddy to go drinking with, though: Ernest Hemingway. If the two men encountered any alcohol-induced trouble, Joyce would slink behind his friend and yell, “Deal with him, Hemingway, deal with him!” I don’t anticipate that you’ll be in the vicinity of any bar scuffles in the coming week, Aquarius. But I do think you would benefit from having a potent and persuasive ally on your side. It’s time to add some heft and clout to your arsenal of resources. Whether it’s your time to ferment in the shadows or sing in the sun, fresh power to transform yourself is on the way. Life always delivers the creative energy you need to change into the new thing you must become.
Beauty and Truth Laboratory researcher Firenze Matisse traveled to Antarctica. On the first day, the guide took him and his group to a remote area and left them alone for an hour to commune with the pristine air and unearthly stillness. After a while, a penguin ambled up and launched into a ceremonial display of squawks and stretches. Firenze responded with recitals of his favorite memorized poems, imagining he was “engaged in a conversation with eternity.” Halfway through his inspired performance of Thich Nhat Hanh’s “Please Call Me by My True Names,” the penguin sent a stream of green projectile vomit cascading against his chest, and shuffled away.
Though Firenze initially felt deflated by eternity’s surprise, no harm was done. He soon came to see it as a first-class cosmic joke, and looked forward to exploiting its value as an amusing story with which to regale his friends back home.
Beauty and Truth Laboratory researcher Michael Logan was the first person to hear Firenze’s tale upon his return from Antarctica. “You might want to consider this, Firenze,” Michael mused after taking it all in. “Penguins nurture their offspring by chewing food—mixing it up with all God’s enzymes—and then vomiting it into the mouths of the penguin babies. Perhaps you weren’t the butt of a cosmic joke or some Linda Blair-esque bad review, but in fact the recipient of a very precious gift of love. Who knows?”
Now Firenze has two punch lines for his tale of redemptive pronoia.