Original
Western Astrology

Putting The Plutonium In Your Love Tank, Part Four - Taurus and Scorpio



by Matthew Currie November 12, 2009 05:21 PM EST
(This series is written from the perspective of the house placements in your birth chart, specifically with regard to the transit of Pluto through Capricorn. However, much of this applies to your Moon and Sun Sign placements too.)
Pontius Pilate stared into the eyes of the marble statue of Jupiter through the final wisps of smoke rising from the remains of the sacrificed swan. Being a former Prefect had its advantages, even here in far-flung Hispania where he had retired to enjoy his sunset years, and the priest had let him in after hours. Pilate's coughing and retching had gotten worse over the last few days, and now there was blood. It was time to pray.
He waved the rest of the smoke away with his hand. His knuckles, knobby and misshapen and painful, refused to yield even to the healing baths in Nova Carthago. Still, he couldn't blame Hygeia for not heeding his prayers and sacrifices. She may have been a Goddess, but was as fickle as any woman... as fickle as Pilate's wife Claudia Procula, who had run off to Gaul many years before. Just as well, really: her family connections had served their purposes for his career long ago. 
Claudia. Her pleas to spare that Judean rabble-rouser many years past had been out of character for her. It was back then that her mind fist began to leave her. 
This brought Pilate's thoughts back to the agitator, whose name he hardly remembered. It wasn't what most knew him by in these parts anyway. What were they calling him now? Chrestus? The Christ? Whatever that meant. The name often eluded Pilate now, but the man's strangely calm and even stare had never entirely left his memory.
Judea, of course, was always a source of trouble, and the locals were always raving about this man or that man being their divinely appointed savior. But the cult of Chrestus had only grown over the years, bringing with it a stubborn refusal among its followers to make the proper sacrifices and to obey the law. It would have been easier at the time, Pilate often supposed, to have simply let the raggedy, delusional carpenter go in order to avoid stirring the rabble.
But of course, sedition was sedition, and Pilate loved Rome and all things Roman too much to hear of that at the time. And above all, it had been Pilate's job to uphold the law. And now the cult founded in his name was nothing but trouble.
Pilate stared at the tiled floor and considered terrible thoughts. What if he had somehow invested all his efforts in the wrong Gods? What if all his years of public service, his regular sacrifices, his prayers were... unheard? Should he have listened to Claudia? What if his love had been... misspent? Should he have listened to his wife instead of to Rome?
Momentarily frightened by these thoughts, he looked up to appeal to the statue of Jupiter Optimus Maximus... the Best and Greatest of all Gods. And Pilate's gaze was returned by...
Stone. Cold, unliving, uncaring stone.
***
Leaving the temple, Pilate clutched his robe closer to himself against the uncharacteristically chilly evening air. And, he found himself missing Claudia. This feeling soon passed when he saw the graffiti on the wall of the temple since his arrival there earlier. A fish, symbol of the Christians. He rubbed at it with his sleeve, trying to remove it. Too late. It had dried into place.
"Leave it," he muttered to himself. "You're not a Prefect any more. Let the proper authorities handle it."
There was no need to fear, Pilate thought comfortingly to himself. Rome, and her Gods, were Eternal. Always were, always would be. He was certain of it. And he had given Rome and her Gods all his love, and all his duty, for as long as he could recall. And it had worked well for him. And such nagging doubts as he felt this evening were just symptoms of being a tired old man, foolishly questioning the eternal verities of Ritual and Destiny. That's all those doubts were: a tired old man's foolishness.
Weren't they?
He walked on towards his villa, the evening silence broken by his ragged coughing.
***
That's the next fifteen years of your love life, Taurus and Scorpio.
 
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