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My first deep dive into spirituality came fourteen years ago or so when I stumbled across Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Tao Te Ching in a bookstore. This was a balm for the injuries sustained in my abusive, fundamentalist upbringing, and I spent the next few years studying Taoism as deeply as I could. For some reason, even though I read quite a bit, I never came around to studying the I Ching—I just wasn't ready for it, I guess, since it took most of a decade for me to open up enough to take up the tarot (which didn't work out very well) and geomancy (which did).

The I Ching has just sorta been sitting there in the background, quietly waiting for me. My family is presently in the middle of moving to Colorado, and my copy of the I Ching is stuffed away in a box somewhere, so I figured it wasn't the time to try taking up anything new... but I suppose there's something in the air, here, since when we visited here last autumn, I was led to a Taoist Feng Shui book; and just yesterday a copy of The Fortune Teller's I Ching jumped out at me at the local library's annual book sale. I took this as a hint that I should go ahead and play with it: not really for anything serious, since I can use geomancy for important questions, but more as an avenue for exploring Taoism more deeply once again.

So I thought I'd start putting the oracle through it's paces by asking the obvious question: "How can I expect my study of the I Ching to proceed?"

䷬

45: To Collect. Success. The king approaches the temple. It is good to see the great man. There will be success. It is good to behave properly. The use of large offerings brings good fortune. To move forward in any direction will also bring good fortune.

Top six moves. He sighs and weeps floods of tears. There will be no mistakes.

I am disciplined, I am committed to the work, and the path before me is easy. I will have success, but what comes easily doesn't last.

Do you know the story of the man who lost his horse? It's an old and famous parable from the Huainanzi, written a bit over two millennia ago. It's about a farmer who has various things happen to him, and the apparently good things turn out to be bad, and the apparently bad things turn out to be good. He simply does his best in the moment, and is successful in a way, since he never suffers any harm... but, on the other hand, neither does he see any material benefit from the "good" things that happen. His true success is the perspective he has to see through the illusion of each occurrence. This reading feels a bit like that to me: what success is to be found is abstract, rather than concrete. Studying geomancy required a lot of effort, and granted rewards commensurate with that effort; but since I've already put in all that work, studying the I Ching will go much easier but not really move the needle in my life, since I already have the tools I need.

Still, though, it's fun. Why not play a game with my angel?

My family and I are on vacation: we're exploring the Rocky Mountains, which we've never seen before. I still do my daily divinations while on the road, of course, and I got another one of those funny charts today:

Once again, it's a felicitous chart. Of particular interest is Conjunctio rejoicing in the first in company with Albus in the second (of my property), fifth (of created objects, and given the Mercury association, I might assume books?), and eighth (of things owned by others). Looks like my angel's again got something set aside for me which they would like me to read. Just like before, Via rejoices (guidance, direction) and Lætitia rejoices (blessings).

We stopped in town to pick up some supplies and my wife suggested we go to a bookstore a friend of hers recommended. Sounds fine to me, of course, so I poke around. The only book that stood out to me was in the "Metaphysics" section, Susan Levitt's Taoist Feng Shui. I flipped through it and it seemed interesting, but I'm studying so many things already... I figure it's probably best to leave such a thing for another time.

As I'm putting the book back on the shelf, though, my angel says to me, clear as day, "You sure you want to put that one back?"

"Oh," I said, "is this what I was supposed to look for, today?"

"You should give it a try, I think you'll find something interesting in there."

So, I bought it. Indeed, after doing so, my family and I went over to a cafe next door and I read the first chapter while sipping some tea; and, indeed, I noticed something interesting. The first page of the book, introducing the Tao, quotes the Tao Te Ching XXV:

The Tao is great.
The universe is great.
Earth is great.
Each human is great.
These are the four great powers.

A human follows the earth.
Earth follows the universe.
The universe follows the Tao.
The Tao follows only itself.

Having read Plotinus, I can't help but see his four levels of reality in this: "the Tao" is the One, "the universe" (e.g. the cosmos, all that is) is the Intellect, Earth (e.g. the living world) is the level of souls, and "a human" is the level of bodies. Maybe it's time to give the Taoists another look, after all...

In any case, don't be too surprised if you start to see musings along those lines in the near future.

Let me excerpt an entry from my diary, dated Mar 2011:

While walking by my house today, there was a little leaf devil swirling in the road. I stepped past it, and it began to follow me, darting forward and back, playfully nipping at my heels. It spent ten minutes or so with me in this manner, all the way down the street: I leading, and it chasing. When I finally reached the end of the way and turned onto a side road to continue my walk, the leaf devil balked for a moment, spun in place, and finally whirled itself apart now that the game was over.

When I see such things with my own eyes, it is very difficult not to believe in magic.

I had completely forgotten about this lovely little incident, but was reminded of it by today's chapter of Sallustius, which speaks of circular motion being the imitation of Mind and linear motion being the imitation of Soul. We think very little of plain, old wind—but, for some reason, when the wind moves in circles, it seems intelligent, as my diary indicates!

So reminded, I thought I might ask if there was intelligence behind it, after all.

I'm Laetitia in the I, a figure of inspiration. The prospective spirit is Conjunctio in the VIII, the figure of forces coming together—and, I might note, a figure of Mercury, lord of intellect. Perfection exists through the translation (resolution by a third party, here Sallustius) of Fortuna Major (of success after long and patient effort) rejoicing in the IX (of philosophy) and in the XII (of blind spots). As a figure of the Sun, it's almost as if He's shedding light on the situation, and I would certainly say that taking ten years to make sense of an experience qualifies as long and patient effort!

The court takes a step back and looks at the bigger picture. At the time, I (Rubeus RW) was full of confusion and turmoil—I was just beginning, then, to take my first steps back into spirituality after harsh treatment at the hands of Christianity and materialism, both. This was soon to end (Cauda Draconis LW), but for the time being I was at a loss about the nature of the world (Amissio IV and J).

Puer in the III and XI seems to be my deity, winking and saying, "see how far I have led you?"

I tend to spend a lot of time in prayer each day. I've been pretty sick for the last couple months, but I was feeling strong enough today that I decided to get out for a walk while I did my prayers today. About halfway in, a few dogs streamed in from all over the neighborhood I was in and started following me as if I was the Pied Piper of Hameln. I went on praying and as I wound down, the dogs trailed off one at a time until I was left alone by the time I reached home again.

What a strange experience! I've never had that happened before, and I wondered if there was a connection to my prayers, or if there was a more mundane explanation.

I'm passionate Rubeus in the first. Normally, this is a pretty bad sign, as it's an indicator that one isn't thinking clearly, or is even engaged in self-deception. In this case, though, I think it's simply showing that I was completely consumed in prayer, or perhaps, since Rubeus also occupies the fourth house (of private things), it indicates that my assumption that my prayers are private is quite mistaken! The quesited is shining Laetitia in the ninth house and occupying the third, indicating that yes, my prayers were in fact shining like a beacon for the neighborhood to see.

These perfect in three ways (which act as emphasis):

1. Through the translation of Fortuna Minor in the second and tenth, indicating the intensity of my prayer.
2. Through the translation of Populus in the eighth and twelfth, indicating receptive spiritual pathways.
3. Through the mutation of Laetitia and Rubeus in the third and fourth, indicating the unexpected or surprising nature of the connection.

The dogs, as it happens, are masculine Puer in the sixth. (The largest dog, who was closest to me, was male, at least!) It is interesting that perfection also exists between me and the dogs, and between my prayer practice and the dogs, all facilitated through translations of receptive Populus.

I'm not clairvoyant, but this makes me wonder what the world looks like to one who is.

America around the turn of the millennium is almost literally a hell of a time to be born! I am so poorly matched to the era that everyone has told me, ever since I was a child, that I was born in the wrong century. (Some years ago, I was given the nickname, "H. G. Wells," in reference to the author of The Time Machine.) After ditching "random chance" as a plausible explanation some years ago, I've wondered, "Why here? Why now?"

Well, I'm a computer programmer by profession—and, in fact, a prodigy at it, having started when I was a young child and going to university a few years younger than my peers. I've always been fascinated by the study of algorithms, and the other day, I offhandedly noted to open_space that I suspect that there's some occult significance to it. (In many ways, it reminds me of alchemy: instead of being a universal method of purification, it's a universal method of economy—that is, acting efficiently. Yes, it is ironic that the study of efficiency is mostly used in the service of squandering resources.) In meditation today, I realized that my field of study is limited to a very brief moment in time—computers have only been around for a few decades, and likely will only be around for a few decades more—and that I probably answered my own question: I'm here and now to learn it! I thought I might cast a chart to confirm.

I'm represented in this chart by contemplative Albus in the I. The study of algorithms is a skill and therefore goes in the IX, and is also represented by Albus. The chart therefore perfects by occupation, suggesting that naturally there is some purpose for it. (Perhaps we carry everything we attain with us, so nothing we learn is ever a waste, though to be honest, if I had my way, I'd repurpose all the neurons devoted to the minutia of managing MySQL databases.)

It also has a second mode of perfection, a translation through Populus in the II and VIII, strengthened a little by company capitular between the I and II. Populus, company of houses, and translations generally all suggest other people, and the VIII is the house of death and legacies, so this mode of perfection seems to hint at the skill being used to benefit others down the line.

Albus, a figure of Mercury, strikes me as an extremely positive figure for study and understanding. In fact, it also occupies the V (of created things), suggesting that the purpose is creative. (I'm still trying to understand aspects in house charts, but the mutual trine between the I, V, and IX seemed significant.)

The court is also interesting, as the witnesses are both Laetitia. Laetitia is suggestive of enterprise, and the court itself speaks to my being in alignment with my circumstances.

For months, I've been seeing the number 1234 everywhere, multiple times a day. About a week ago, this stopped, and I've started seeing 1248 instead. I took "1, 2, 3, 4" to indicate a simple sequence: "you're on the right path, keep taking it one step at a time." In that context, "1, 2, 4, 8" would seem to indicate a geometric sequence—a similar message of growth, but a much faster (and accelerating) pace. That's encouraging! But, of course, I am as prone as anyone to flights of fancy, if not moreso, so I thought I'd double-check.

I'm passive Populus in the I: certainly not a figure of flights of fancy! In fact, it's rather the opposite: a figure of being easily influenced by others. The message being communicated by the numbers, if any, is Amissio in the IX (of faraway things, including messages from afar, and thus omens, divination, etc.). Amissio is a fascinating, double-edged figure in the context of the IX: on the one hand, it's the figure of devotion; on the other, it's the figure of a lack of understanding. Either way, it's a mobile figure, which relates to the rate-of-change metaphor I assumed from the nature of the geometric sequence. The chart perfects in two ways (a conjunction through the II and a conjunction though the X), emphatically affirming the question. Interestingly, Populus and Amissio also make up the court; and, just as in my previous question, Caput Draconis (indicating beginnings and new possibilities) makes a significant showing (particularly in the XI of beneficial things for and the XII of hidden things).

All told this seems to suggest that my spiritual practices are bearing fruit, and something is likely to come of it sooner rather than later. This'll perhaps involve the loss of something in exchange for something new.

I wear a (pagan) rosary, which I use for prayer. It broke over the weekend while I was playing with my daughter! I'm of a rather nervous disposition, so I was worried that I upset my deity somehow and so I wanted to ask about it.

I'm happy Laetitia in the I, while omens generally are girly Puella in the IX. No perfection exists, but Puella also occupies the V (of children and play). This quite literally says, "don't be silly, you were just playing with your daughter."

Back in 2012, my wife was working as a live-in nanny and we lived in a one-room studio apartment off of her employer's house. This was out in the country, amidst woods, farms, and estates. It was a Friday evening in September, and after a long work week I was interested in some quiet conversation with my wife, but she was intent on watching a movie. Movies cause me anxiety and I found the noise of it unbearable, and with no place to escape to in the apartment, I went for a long walk. It was a waning quarter moon with crystal-clear skies, so easily bright enough to see by. After an hour or two, I started to hear music: very faintly at first, but louder as I continued. It was a flute, beautifully playing some classical piece that I did not recognize. I thought this strange and interesting, so I followed the song down the road until I realized that it seemed to be coming from the woods. I stepped off the road and after a few minutes followed the music to its apparent source: a fairy-ring. I walked around it and the music seemed to be coming from, and not beyond, the fairy-ring! I listened to the music for a few minutes longer, and considered the ring curiously; but even a person as stupid as myself knows better than to step into a fairy-ring under such circumstances, and I was starting to get a bit alarmed, so I turned back and hurried home. I swear the music followed me for perhaps a quarter-mile before giving up and fading into the distance. I have always wondered what might have become of me, had I stepped within the ring!

For context, let me note that I was convinced there was no supernatural element to this story at all: there were several ritzy country estates in the area I lived, and I figured that one of them must have been having a party that night. Perhaps I had even had a drink or two before going for my walk—I can't remember! But, this little journal has a lot of affirmative geomancy examples, and I figured I would include this as a negative one. So imagine my surprise to see that it perfects, and strongly!

I'm represented by tense Cauda Draconis in the I. (This is also a traditional indicator that I'm already full of my own preconceptions.) Spirits generally are represented by Populus in the VIII, indicative of a crowd or gathering. This chart perfects in three ways: a conjunction from the I to VII (indicating that I stumbled into meeting them), a mutation between the II and VII greatly strengthened by company simple between the I and II (indicating that a third party—an advisor, very closely aligned with me, and also a partner—had a plan to make this happen and took an active role in doing so), and a mutation between the XII and VII (indicating that a second third party—a limiting or restricting factor and also a partner—was being disruptive to me and also took an active role in events). I take these to be my guardian angel (with whom I am now close) and my wife (who, on this night, was certainly frustrating me!), respectively. Populus also occupies the IX, hinting that the spirits in question were from a faraway place: given the general similarity to some stories of the Celtic Otherworld, I wonder if these were fairies. As a cute aside, Rubeus in the IV speaks to the disruption I felt at home, while Albus in the III speaks to the peace and solitude I found on my walk.

The court is straightforward: I (RW) wanted companionship (Conjunctio), but external factors (LW) pushed me to go for a walk instead (Via), resulting (J) in my needing and getting some space (Carcer), having the personal effect (S) of widening my horizons (Caput Draconis).

One of the big difficulties I've had in learning geomancy is house associations: these strike me as fairly arcane, and rote memorization of lists of associations doesn't give enough information to cover the full panoply of human complexity. Filling in the gaps has felt like my greatest struggle in understanding the art.

One of those gaps is, where does one put questions about oneself? Tradition covers some pieces of this: one's state of mind goes in the I, one's elementary knowledge goes in the III, one's diseases goes in the VI, one's death and legacy go in the VIII, one's skilled knowledge and religious beliefs go in the IX, one's ambitions goes in the X, one's hopes goes in the XI, and one's fears goes in the XII. But this is a very pale expression of a person! Traditional lore doesn't seem to allow for houses to perfect against themselves, so if one's current mental state goes in the I, how does one ask about it? Or where, for example, do questions about one's memories go? How about questions about one's body, when the question isn't about disease?

For the latter of these, I've been seeing hints in my readings over the last couple months indicating that the VI may refer to one's body and/or one's feelings about it. Not finding any traditional lore about the topic, I figured I ought to simply ask the expert—that is, the spirit with whom I'm communicating.

I am represented by the I, and characterized by energetic Laetitia. Divination is a skill and is therefore represented by the IX, characterized by deliberative Albus. (The reception of these two figures is Amissio, symbolic of loss, indicating my lack of understanding.) My geomantic spirit is represented by the VII, characterized by mischievous Rubeus (!). The chart perfects in two ways, emphatically affirming the question. The first is a translation provided by Rubeus in the X and XII, which is strengthened by capital company between the IX and X: this indicates that my spirit is intentionally stirring things up—Rubeus is sometimes symbolized as an overturned cup—in order to answer the kinds of questions that interest me. The second is a weak translation facilitated by capital company between the I and Amissio in the II and provided by Populus in the III and VIII: this indicates that my geomantic spirit is using a nontraditional house assignment in order to facilitate discussion with others and thereby bridge my lack of understanding.

More fancifully, the combination of a strong, direct mode of perfection and a weak, roundabout mode of perfection seem to indicate that the spirit is using the VI to represent both the physical body and the metaphorical "body," which is something else I was wondering about.

The court tells a story of it's own: I, as the Right Witness and characterized by Conjunctio (the figure of things coming together), am doing my best to understand; but traditional geomantic practice, as the Left Witness and characterized by Carcer (the figure of separation and even frustration), is proving a barrier to me. But, Carcer is also a very productive figure, hinting that the traditional methods are intentionally inscrutable in order to train one into alternative modes of thought. These two figures come together in the Judge, representing the overall situation and characterized by journeying Via, indicating the learning (and, indeed, personal transformation) that these contending forces ultimately bring about. Underscoring this, the Sentence, representing how the situation affects me personally, is characterized by Caput Draconis, indicating fertile ground and readiness for growth.

Consequently, this use of the VI (and its relation to the tradition) is something to meditate on: hopefully, leading to a deeper understanding of the practice.

Finally, as a bit of sightseeing, I would like to draw your attention to something cute: Tristitia, the figure of pure earth and form—almost literally "the body"—appears in the VI, the house I was asking about. I find references like this to be typical of the good humor I see in communications with my geomantic spirit.

I save most of the charts I cast, so that I can go back over them later on and see how they panned out. One things I've noticed repeatedly is that a chart's prediction is correct, even though I made a complete mess of the house attributions. Because of this I have tended to not worry too much about getting my attributions correct; however, this seems to be pretty idiosyncratic: most other practitioners I've heard from seem to suggest that the chart is always drawn to the "correct" houses, and if we get our attributions wrong, then our prediction will be incorrect. I thought I might follow up on this properly.

I, personally, am represented by the first house, characterized by the figure of journeys, Via. Divinatory practices are represented by the ninth house, characterized by the figure of gain, Acquisitio. The first house perfects to the ninth in two ways: conjunction through Acquisitio in the twelfth (suggesting that, yes, the spirit I am working with is working around my limitations so that I might gain), and translation with Amissio in the second and tenth (suggesting that an outside party is helping me because lack the knowledge to manage on my own). Furthermore, the latter mode of perfection is greatly strengthened as the first and second houses form company capitular and the ninth and tenth houses form company compound. The multiple modes of perfection act as emphasis, saying that this is important! Acquisitio also appears in the eleventh house of friends and benefactors, suggestive of the relationship I have with the spirit on the other end of the line. Also of interest is the figure of outside help, Fortuna Minor, in the third house (of communication or advice), and joyful Laetitia in the eighth house (of spirits).

The court confirms the reading: the right witness represents my side of the situation, and is also characterized by Via, saying that I am eagerly learning as quickly as I am able. The left witness represents the other side of the situation and is characterized by the figure of inertia, Populus, saying that my divinatory practice is set to encourage what I'm already doing. Thus the Judge, giving the overall assessment of the situation, is also Via.

A couple thoughts on this:

1. This should not be taken as an excuse to not make an honest effort of mastering geomancy. Divination is communication, and communication is founded upon respect: if one isn't respectful to the spirits, why should one expect them to reciprocate? Consequently, while I don't think it's worth agonizing over getting everything perfect, one should always do one's best.
2. I rather doubt everyone is working with the same spirit or angel when they divine, and mine and I are rather close. It is entirely possible that they are uncommonly lenient with me! As with all things, your mileage may vary.