Taurus Horoscope for Week of January 29, 2004
By Rob Brezsny
-reprinted without any attempt at permission to do so, but maybe if I pimp him, he won’t sue me, so go check out www.freewillastrology.com and save me from certain litigation!
"Mathematician Paul Erdos used to describe himself as a 'machine for turning coffee into theorems,'" writes philosopher Helena Cronin at www.edge.org. "In much the same way, genes are machines for turning oxygen, water, light, zinc, calcium and iron into bears, beetles, bacteria or bluebells." According to my reading of the astrological omens, Taurus, it's a perfect time to apply this way of thinking to yourself. By the end of this week, see if you can fill in the blanks in the following sentence: "I am a machine for turning _______ into _______." In other words, define the nature of the alchemical magic you are here on Earth to carry out.
I’ve been thinking about this all week. Lately it seems I am a machine for turning energy into sleep. Or maybe stress into cigarette ash (yeah, I’ve fallen hard off the smokewagon with this nerve-wracking home loan application process, boo hiss to my unfatherly weakness). Any better ideas from the banana gallery? Be a machine for turning my fears into comedy.
Meanwhile, my unborn son grows larger and more unruly as we rapidly approach stork touchdown. One can now recognize actual human-looking body parts when he presses them hard against the inside of Mom’s tummy. Look, honey, there’s a foot! Right there, behind your bellybutton. No, wait, now it’s over here. That must hurt like a sunovabitch. And wow, what’s that thing? Is that his little butt crack? He’s mooning me! Awww! Our little frat boy.
We also started our birthing classes this week. I am very tired and cannot think of anything interesting to say about them, except that our teacher is one cool doula, and also that the whole couples-massaging-one-another-in-the-floor-as-a-group routine sort of makes me feel like I’m on ‘Real Sex’ or something.
By Rob Brezsny
"Mathematician Paul Erdos used to describe himself as a 'machine for turning coffee into theorems,'" writes philosopher Helena Cronin at www.edge.org. "In much the same way, genes are machines for turning oxygen, water, light, zinc, calcium and iron into bears, beetles, bacteria or bluebells." According to my reading of the astrological omens, Taurus, it's a perfect time to apply this way of thinking to yourself. By the end of this week, see if you can fill in the blanks in the following sentence: "I am a machine for turning _______ into _______." In other words, define the nature of the alchemical magic you are here on Earth to carry out.
I’ve been thinking about this all week. Lately it seems I am a machine for turning energy into sleep. Or maybe stress into cigarette ash (yeah, I’ve fallen hard off the smokewagon with this nerve-wracking home loan application process, boo hiss to my unfatherly weakness). Any better ideas from the banana gallery? Be a machine for turning my fears into comedy.
Meanwhile, my unborn son grows larger and more unruly as we rapidly approach stork touchdown. One can now recognize actual human-looking body parts when he presses them hard against the inside of Mom’s tummy. Look, honey, there’s a foot! Right there, behind your bellybutton. No, wait, now it’s over here. That must hurt like a sunovabitch. And wow, what’s that thing? Is that his little butt crack? He’s mooning me! Awww! Our little frat boy.
We also started our birthing classes this week. I am very tired and cannot think of anything interesting to say about them, except that our teacher is one cool doula, and also that the whole couples-massaging-one-another-in-the-floor-as-a-group routine sort of makes me feel like I’m on ‘Real Sex’ or something.
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