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Thus sharply did the terrified three learn the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true.

Yes, there are three of them, for Pisces is a sign of duality symbolized by the two Fish, swimming in opposite directions. In one sense, this symbol represents the powerful polarity of Piscean spiritual and human qualities, struggling for control. In another sense, it suggests the temptation of Pisceans to swim effortlessly downstream, with the current, rather than making the more difficult journey upstream, toward the mountains of enlightenment.

Pisceans aspire beyond the limits of earthly knowledge, because they were born under a Water Sign, and Neptune (their ruling planet) flashes into their souls the light of the spiritual vibrations of the Universe. The Piscean drug addict, alcoholic, genius and saint are all striving for the same thing. What separates them is the degree of experience each is able to wring out of life.

Taurus can be a great help to Pisces in obtaining experience in a practical way, through the reality of the tangible. Until they know each other better, however, the Bull may think the Fish is a foolish creature, swimming around in watery illusions, his head wrapped in cotton, pursuing futile daydreams.

The Fish may think the Bull is a dangerous animal, stomping around through the com, his head full of obstinate opinions, pursuing filthy lucre. Filthy, because money is (at least subliminally) a dirty word to most Pisceans. They resent having to concentrate on how to earn it, keep it, spend it, distribute it, budget it and save it. They’d be much happier if someone else handled the cash flow, and just kept them supplied with food, drink, dreams, tickets to shows and concerts, a couple of sarongs, and holidays sailing on the bright blue water – allowing them lots of free time to work on inventions, artistic creations or scientific research. Anything left over can go to the orphans’ home, the ammal shelter, the actors’ relief fund, Greenpeace, taxes or whatever.

The typical Fish doesn’t see the point of letting excess cash gather dust under a mattress, or in a bank. Pisces normally worries about money only when he or she doesn’t have it. Then it becomes a frightful necessity for the continuation of their changeable, dreamy, multifaceted existence. Otherwise, it annoys the Fish. Subconsciously, they sense that a wealthy man’s fortune is all on paper. The whole concept of currency exchange puzzles the average Pi scean, and when a Fish discusses money with a Bull (who comprehends the monetary concept perfectly) the conversation can sound like Antoine de Saint Exupery’s Neptune guided Little Prince talking with the Bull-like businessman, who is busy counting his assets, the stars, which he figures belong to him, since no one else ever had the common sense to claim them. The scenario follows:

BUSINESSMAN: Five hundred and one million, six hundred twenty-two thousand, seven hundred thirty-one… I am concerned with matters of consequence. LITTLE PRINCE: …you own the stars? BUSINESSMAN: Yes. LITTLE PRINCE: And what do you do with them? BUSINESSMAN: I administer them. I count and recount them. It is difficult, but I am a man who is naturally interested in matters of consequence… LITTLE PRINCE: But you cannot pluck the stars from the heavens. BUSINESSMAN: No, but I can put them in the bank. LITTLE PRINCE: Whatever does that mean? BUSINESSMAN: That means I write the number of my stars on a little paper. And then I put this paper in a drawer, and lock it with a key. LITTLE PRINCE: And that is all? BUSINESSMAN: It is enough. LITTLE PRINCE: (sighs) It is entertaining… but it is not a matter of any great consequence.

On matters of consequence, the typical Piscean has ideas very different from the average Taurean. For, like the Little Prince, the Fish, too, is from a far-off planet, where there exists the most beautiful rose in all creation, which he has seen, and loved with his whole being, remembers with tenderness, misses painfully. …. and to which he longs to return. (Or to whom he longs to return. The male or female Fish who wistfully longs for such a reunion isn’t certain of the pronoun. Is it a person? Or merely a concept. .. a dream? )

Piscean Cleve Backster, who sneakily, in Neptune fashion, swims and glides silently, almost unobtrusively, in and out of the pages of this book, so that you never know in which chapter he’s going to pop up and wiggle his fins – is certainly typical of his Sun Sign’s instinctive disdain for material matters. In 1970, a major New York publisher wanted to place Cleve under contract to write a book about his world-famous work with plants, eggs, spermatozoa, yogurt, and all manner of cellular life, which is proving the genesis of Oneness – that all life forces are interconnected, and inseparable. Suddenly, an editor at the publishing house had an innovative idea of his own. He asked a professional astrologer to calculate and interpret Backster’s horoscope, hoping it would reveal the extent of his reliability and potential as an author, thereby reducing the publisher’s risk.

The editor then visited Cleve in his research laboratory to bring him the awful truth. Silently and sadly, he handed the Fish the neatly typed astrological analysis to read. Among other things, it stated that Backster must “always be associated with an organization around him, for he can’t bear the entire responsibility on his own shoulders” – and that “his business sense is absolutely nil.”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news,” the editor commiserated, “but I felt you should know the worst.” Cleve’s elfin ears wiggled in pure pleasure, and his visitor was shocked to hear him say, “That’s amazingly true! It fits my character perfectly. I’ve always suspected astrology is an accurate science, and now I’m even more convinced. May I keep a copy of that analysis please?” The poor editor was nonplussed. It was obvious that Cleve’s delight was genuine. A few years later, when Backster was considerably overdue in turning in even the first chapter of the proposed book about his work, the publishing house wrote him a stern letter, which Cleve promptly answered. “Remember,” Fish Backster wrote cheerfully, “you people were the ones who had my character analyzed in the beginning, not me. I never claimed I enjoyed responsibility or had any business sense.”

I know a Pisces banker, with a Capricorn Ascendent and a Taurus Moon Sign, who carefully counts copper and silver and paper all day long, but he frowns as he counts, and wonders why he’s cursed with aching feet and asthma. As a Fish he’s allergic to currency, you see, but the earthy influences in his horoscope won’t let him chuck it overboard and swim away.

I also know a Taurus musician, whose Pisces Moon Sign and Ascendent cause him to leave huge tips on the bar, and squander his money at the race track. But he has a few extra gin and tonics each time he loses, to quiet his guilty Taurean Sun Sign conscience.

It’s important to be true to your Sun Sign, whatever conflicting planetary influences pull on your inner psyche, because each of the twelve signs has its purpose in human evolvement. An idle, extravagant Bull is always an extremely unhappy person, just as a sober, mercenary Fish is always a pathetically sad, neurotic human being. If these two join forces, they could then each do what comes more naturally.

Pisces could show Taureans more imaginative ways to make money, and teach them the joys of sharing it with others, along with the truth of the infallible Universal Law that the more you give, the faster it multiplies.

Conversely, Taurus could teach Pisces the proper respect for minimal security, that it’s wiser to save at least a few dollars, even if you give away a hundred or so, in case there are a few lean days before that Universal Law goes into effect. It’s such a drag to have to sit on the corner in the rain, holding out a tin cup. The very idea gives the Bull nervous palpitation, and makes his hair stand on end.

There are, of course, Pisceans who are forced by circumstances, and memories of childhood poverty, to worry and fret about having to take a turn with the tin cup, so they pinch their few pennies, but privately hate themselves for being so miserly. Yet, when they stop pinching, the money to replace what was spent appears like magic from unexpected sources. If these Pisceans would listen to their own hearts, they’d get over their tin-cup traumas, and end their poverty at the same time.

An odd and interesting difference between Taurus and Pisces is a fact as simple as their names. Very few Bulls have nicknames, and if they do, they usually don’t like them. As for changing his or her name legally, a typical Bull will balk, even if the name is Percival Perriwinkle or Clarestine Clapper. They may suffer as children, but by the time they’re adults they will have convinced themselves their names have a good, solid sound, and anyone who doesn’t think so can go sit on a tack. Remember the true story about Ms. Hogg, who named her three children Ima Hogg, Ura Hogg and Hesa Hogg? Since I’ve never heard or read that any of the three ever changed their names, I suspect they all had Taurus Sun Signs, Moon Signs, or Ascendents.

As for Pisces, almost every Fish you meet will either already have a nickname, or secretly longs for one. After a while, if their friends don’t oblige them, many Fish will adopt an alias on their own. A Pisces girl or woman named Catherine will flirt with the idea of spelling it Kathryn – a Pisces boy, or man, named John, will doodle it as Joshua, or toy with the idea oflegally changing it to a more romantic Jonathan. Anything to make life more exotic, and to keep your identity hidden from snoopers who pry into your personal life.

Pisces can’t stand direct questions, or being pinned down to a positive stand. It’s the nature of the Fish to glide in and out and around a situation, looking at all sides, and absorbing its various implications – or glide away quietly from a controversy that chops up the waters around him, and threatens his equilibrium.

None of that sneaking away for Taurus. What is there to be faced, he faces, with open courage, and he will remain standing there stubbornly, until he proves his point. If he can’t prove it, after much effort, he turns his strong back and leaves, but he doesn’t glide away. He stalks off heavily back to where he started from, with his original opinion clutched tightly in his arms, across his beefy chest.

That’s more or less what happens when these two get into an argument.

There’s seldom a satisfactory or final settlement. But the day can be saved by laughter. The Bull has a rich, delicious, absolutely marvelous sense of humor. It’s not the bright, brittle, sophisticated comedy of caustic wits, but a warm humor that stems from the colorful reality of everyday living, the kind that spilled over in the musical Fiddler on the Roof Since the very bright, sometimes super-intelligent Fish has a fine appreciation for humor – somehow, between the grins, they’ll either forget their differences, or resolve them through the compromise of their Earth and Water elements, which are essentially, in astrology, as in Nature, compatible. As mentioned elsewhere in this book, Water enriches Earth, and Earth provides a home for Water, but the wrong blending of these two can create mud or quicksand.

Because this is a 3-11 vibratory pattern, the meeting of the Bull and the Fish is seldom accidental, or a “first incarnational encounter.” Like all 3-11 Sun Sign Pattern people, the two of them are guided by Fate to insure the return, the even exchange of devotion or hurt given, one unto the other, in past incarnations – sometimes the former, sometimes the latter – but more often a combination of both. Like those people whose day of birth (not including month or year) adds to the number 4 or 8, will be bound firmly to the lives of other 4 or 8 persons, like it or not, pleasant or unpleasant – those under the influence of this Sun Sign Pattern will find they have no choice in deciding to meet, or when to part.

They’re magnetically pulled together, in order to carry out the karmic balance of action and reaction, under the direction of the Higher Angels of themselves – the Supraconscious of each. Numerology and astrology are sisters or brothers – whichever you prefer, the relationship of these two arts and sciences being one of the very few situations thus far not initially labeled as masculine by male chauvinist pigs, nor later challenged and switched to the feminine gender by female chauvinist sows. Help yourself. Taurus and Pisces will have, like all other 3-11 influenced people (and also like all those born on a day which adds to the number 4 or 8), abundant opportunities for happiness and harmony in this present existence together, if they’re willing to accept the duties and responsibilities of past karmic obligations to one another – i.e., bear the frequently tense aspects of their association, from time to time, as well as each other’s weary burdens. The rewards for uncomplainingly assuming the duties, however, are great indeed. An example of a Taurus-Pisces, 3-11 fated Sun Sign Pattern, including both the light and shadows of necessary mutual sacrifice … and mutual ecstasy … is the destined relationship of poet and poetess Robert Browning (Taurus) and Elizabeth Barrett (Pisces). There are thousands, millions of others – including, of course, the Bull and the Fish reading this chapter.

Basically, Taurus and Pisces are tolerant of one another’s weaknesses. But Taurus is deeply concerned with the need for facing reality – even those occasional Master-Avatar Bulls, who now and then pass among us (yes, also now), such as the ultimate-enlightened, and esoterically aware alchemist, the very Taurean Count de St. Germain. These particular Masters are here to teach the necessity of the “reality trip” for human evolvement, however spiritually advanced they may be themselves.

Pisces is here on a totally different teaching trip. The Fish are all very old souls, whether they’re swimming upstream or downstream. Pisceans have journeyed past horizons of such unearthly beauty they tear at the Neptune heart when he (or she) revisits them in dreams. And so, the Fish cannot bear to face reality, as it appears to be on Earth. They know the real “original sin” is in seeing, in recognizing sadness and ugliness, when our co-Creators conceived and manifested only harmony and beauty. In his or her subconscious, Pisces hears the ancient cry of the Tibetan monks whose chants echo across the vaulted ceiling of their monasteries: This is the world of illusion. . . . this is the world of illusion.

To Taurus, the Bull, the recognition of a different kind of sin is necessary for the soul’s enlightenment and final salvation. Therefore, the Bull feels compelled to force the Fish to confess his (or her) guilt of self-deception and fantasy – to see things as they are – and the clear, sparkling streams of Pisces visions are forced back to the rich, stable Earth by the practicality of the watchful Taureans.

“Jonathan (Kathryn) that is not your real name. You are make-believing and fantasizing again,” scolds Taurus, never suspecting that the tears of the chastised Piscean then are not for Neptune’s transgressions against Taurean reality … but for all the lost and lonely souls in this “world of illusion.” “Jonathan (Kathryn) are you not terribly sorry?” persists the Bull. “Oh, yes … oh, yes,” replies the Fish.