Aztec king Montezuma II quenched his daily thirst with one specific beverage. He rarely drank anything else. It was ground cocoa beans mixed with chili peppers, water, vanilla, and annatto. Spiced chocolate? You could call it that. The frothy brew was often served to him in golden goblets, each of which he used once and then hurled from his royal balcony into the lake below. He regarded this elixir as an aphrodisiac, and liked to quaff a few flagons before heading off to his harem. I bring this up, Aquarius, because the coming weeks will be one of those exceptional times when you have a poetic license to be almost Montezuma-like. What's your personal equivalent of his primal chocolate, golden goblets, and harem?

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No one knows you better than you do, but maybe I can help you dig up even more self-knowledge. Listen to your EXPANDED AUDIO HOROSCOPE.

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SACRED ADVERTISEMENT. The oracle below is excerpted from my book PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings.
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When an old tree in the rain forest dies and topples over, it takes a long time to decompose. As it does, it becomes host to new saplings that use the decaying log for nourishment.

Picture yourself sitting in the forest gazing upon this scene. How would you describe it? Would you dwell on the putrefaction of the fallen tree while ignoring the fresh life sprouting out of it? If you did that, you’d be imitating the perspective of many modern storytellers, especially the journalists and novelists and filmmakers and producers of TV dramas. They devoutly believe that tales of affliction and mayhem and corruption and tragedy are inherently more interesting than tales of triumph and liberation and pleasure and ingenuity.

The German actor Udo Kier summed up the general consensus in an interview he did a few years ago. "Evil has no limit," he sneered, blustering like a naughty genius. "Evil has no limit. Good has a limit. Good is not as interesting as evil."

Two hundred years ago the poet John Keats said that if something is not beautiful, it is probably not true. But Udo Kier and his many compatriots disagree with Keats. With one voice, they imply that if something is not ugly, it is not true . . . .

Hear or read the rest of this meditation.