Another Case Study of the Geomantic Joys

The above was my daily reading for today. It's an extremely felicitous chart: Luna (Via in the III), Venus (Amissio in the V), and Jupiter (Lætitia in the XI) all rejoice, and the XII is besieged (indicating that I am protected from troubles).

In particular, though, I would like to draw attention to the court. Caput Draconis in RW also occupies (and is in company with itself in) the VII and VIII: this quite clearly says "I have set something aside." ("I" being indicated as "the other party," "the one across from you," "your partner," etc. In my readings, it generally refers to either my wife or my deity.) Lætitia in the LW also occupies the I and XI: this says, "It is a blessing intended for you." (Lætita rejoicing also carries the connotations of something that will make me very happy, furthermore possibly something idealistic or philosophical.) Via in the J also occupies the III: this says, "Go out and get it!" (But also notice how Via is besieged by Fortuna Major on either side—it is quite literally "under the beams" of the Sun, and this has the same meaning as combustion in astrology: it is something hidden from me! I won't know where to go or what to look for, but go out all the same. I will also note that a rejoicing Luna is always associated for me with intuition and luck.)

What on earth could it be? Naturally, I'm as curious as it gets. After the morning's chores, I went out to walk and pray as I often do; for whatever reason, I grabbed my wallet and walked east towards downtown. Both of these are unusual: one doesn't usually need money to pray, and downtown is noisier than the residential districts north and west of my house—but intuition suggested I do so. I tend to get engrossed in prayer, sometimes to the point of nearly being run over by traffic, so I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going, but exactly as I finished my prayers—exactly!—I happened to be in front of the used bookstore in town.

"Well, okay," I thought, "I might as well go in if I'm here." I start poking around for a few minutes, and what should I happen to find on the shelf?

It's a 1977 reprint of Stephen MacKenna's celebrated translation of Plotinus, looking for all the world like it has never been opened before. My deity whispered, "you're welcome," in my ear, and I laughed so hard that I startled the poor shopkeeper.

It seems as if my course is made plain for me.