Sorry for that bad joke, but genuinely I’ve no tarotscopes for you this month. It’s a very difficult and busy time for me just now (as it is for everyone in some way or another, I know, judging by planetary indications) so you’ll have to make do with my quick and dirty stichomancy readings where I choose a book and ask for messages for each sign before I randomly open to a page, and blindly point to a random line on the page.
Hopefully this will still yield some important insight or points to ponder for you. If not, mea culpa! I shall return hopefully next month with your monthly readings!
Since T.S. Eliot, for very different reasons, did feel “April is the cruellest month” summarising how I’m feeling with my life plans and chores just now, I have chosen Selected Poems by T.S. Eliot to get everyone’s messages from. Surely a poet will know best how to make sense of the chaos that might have hit your life in the last month and ongoing period (hint: it’s the kind of astrological environment that frustrates you into life-changing decisions)!
Stichomany Readings for the Signs
ARIES: (Blank space) Page titled: ‘The Waste Land’ 1922
(I’m sorry, that’s all it said, and I tried twice, it opened to the same page! What could it mean? You tell me! Do the numbers mean anything? Is your life feeling like a waste land? Perhaps it’s just a matter of perspective. If there is *nothing* to look forward to, then there’s everything to look forward to! Perhaps this is the time for you to be the Tarot’s Magician who can conjure up anything he wishes from nothingness by the sheer force of will putting all the four elements in his command. Where there is a vacuum or a feeling of emptiness, there might be opportunity to go freestyle! Balancing your autonomy with collaborative enterprise might be the key. See what I did there? I made SOMETHING of a reading out of nothing!!! :-P)
Your building not fitly framed together, you sit ashamed
and wonder whether and how you may be builded
together for a habitation of GOD in the Spirit, the
Spirit which moved on the face of the waters like a
lantern set on the back of a tortoise.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the
And four wax candles in the darkened room,
Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,
An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb
Prepare for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
The collocation of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident.
(My personal note: Go figure!)
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon
You have the scene arrange itself — as it will seem to do —
With ‘I have saved this afternoon for you’
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold coat, and
And in short, I was afraid.
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
And some say: ‘How can we love our neighbour? For
love must be made real in act, as desire unites with
desired: we have only our labour to give and our
labour is not required
…Until next month! 😀