On my Facebook page,I posted this excerpt from a Pablo Neruda love poem (translated by Stephen Tapscott): "Our love is like a well in the wilderness where time watches over the wandering lightning. Our sleep is a secret tunnel that leads to the scent of apples carried on the wind." In response, a reader named John F. Gamboa said this: "I once found a well in the desert. There was a rope and a bucket. The bucket had a small hole in it. While pulling up the bucket of water, about half of it drained. But I suppose a decent bucket would have been stolen. So a bucket with a small hole was perfect; I got what I needed!" I'm here to tell you, Scorpio, that like Gamboa, a bucket with a small hole is probably what you need right now.

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"The real secret of magic is that the world is made of words," said Terence McKenna in Alien Dreamtime, "and that if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish." Here's my version of that hypothesis: What world you end up living in depends at least in part on your use of language.

Do you want to move and breathe amidst infertile chaos where nothing makes sense and no one really loves anyone? Then speak with unconscious carelessness, expressing yourself lazily. Constantly materialize and entertain angry thoughts in the privacy of your own imagination, beaming silent curses out into eternity.

Or would you prefer to live in a realm that's rich with fluid epiphanies and intriguing coincidences and mysterious harmonies? Then be discerning and inventive in how you speak, primed to name the unexpected codes that are always being born right in front of your eyes. Turn your imagination into an ebullient laboratory where the somethings you create out of nothings are tinctured with the secret light you see in your dreams of invisible fire.
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The preceding oracle comes from my book, PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings.