Grandma Gaia Needs a Drink: Her Horoscopes for the Gods

Once upon a time, when the universe was young, Mother Gaia and her partner Ouranos created the gods. Now her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren rule the roost, exerting their cosmic influence through the signs of the zodiac.Rachel Lugneavesdrops on the great earth goddess’s advice to her rambunctious family, and invites you to connect with as many of these larger-than-life entities as draw your attention. Never limit yourself to your sun sign!

Artemis (Cancer), as the moon you seem to glow on your own. Very smart of you, given how your boisterous brother, Apollo, the Sun, has such a hard time being a glowing ball of gas. We’re pretty smart down here on Earth too, though, so we’re on to your little trick of reflected light. Artemis, I know you like to save the fluffy bunnies from the trickster coyotes. But your vet bills are going to send you to the poor house. You cannot care for everyone except yourself. Your kind and caring nature makes you what you are, a Cancer, but remember your totem animal, the crab, has a thick protective shell. Care away, Artemis, but keep up your mask. Remember, deary, Grandma likes the trees and animals, too — you can mingle more with your friends if you take care of you.

Jacopo Zucchi, “The Assembly of the Gods” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Apollo (Leo), my brightest great-grandson, you truly are magnificent, but I caution you: turn the brightness down every once in awhile. We don’t always need 5 million gigawatts of you! You’re also a bit of a kleptomaniac. You acquire more and more power from your friends and claim it for your own, like when you took your Uncle Helios’ job as the sun. And now you complain that you never get a day’s rest. Though you are quite the scoundrel, Apollo, you know you are my favorite grandson. But keep our little secret to yourself. I’ll make your favorite butterscotch cookies the next time you visit. Oh dear, who am I kidding? We both know you won’t keep our secret — it’s just not your nature, my handsome, brilliant, arrogant grandson.

Ares (Aries), what a handful you have been over the years — so headstrong! You must remember that not everything is a battle. Take a breath, cool your hot head down, stop screaming at the baristas that they forgot to top your extra-hot triple espresso with whipped cream. That’s not how to make friends, sweetie-pie. Aphrodite favors you as her red-hot lovah, so you don’t need to prove you’re macho. Face it, you have arrived, so enough with the temper tantrums. Just remember: it helps when full-steam-ahead has a destination.

Hermes (Gemini), my little lamb. All the gods think you’ve fooled even me, but I see your deceitful, playful nature. Yes, you enjoy the lighter side of life, the sparkles, the tricks, the lies, the thievery. Well, you don’t mean any harm, so we’ll let it go. But you are such a Gemini. Why can’t you focus? Pick a career, pick a spouse, pick a city, decide where your life is going. Glitter, glam, and sparkle are not enough. I want great-great-grandchildren some day. For goodness’ sake, Hermes, put down your phone and listen when I talk to you!

Aphrodite (Libra), please stop taking selfies for two minutes. Let’s get serious for once. You have your wealthy husband, Hephaestus, and your gorgeous lover, Ares, but you keep thinking you have to choose. I’m giving you permission to embrace it all. Mistress Libra, you can have love, money, comfort. Use the gifts you were born with and seduce everyone. Sometimes I see you dithering, thinking you have to choose between chocolate and caramel on your ice cream, when all you need to do is bat your pretty lashes at the clerk and you can have both! Honestly, this world I created is about taking what you want and being confident you can have it.

Hera (Taurus), my dearest granddaughter, I don’t know why you haven’t returned my messages lately. We have so much in common. You are Taurus, the bull — rooted, grounded, stubborn, and not a word from you since you ate all the ambrosia at the family picnic. I want to reconnect. I can make more ambrosia. I’ll even give you the recipe. Who cares whose bed your husband, Zeus, is in? Let’s hang out and braid each others’ hair, the way we used to when you were little and sitting in my lap. You’re such a homebody these days. Don’t you see you can have your own life instead of just reading those girl-kicks-ass books all alone? Join a gym, take up yoga with Athena. Yes, dear, your garden is lovely, but who do you share it with?

See page for author [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Mosaic pavement of a 6th century synagogue at Beth Alpha [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Zeus (Sagittarius), I have to say you’ve done a hell of a job, but you may be pushing your moral code a bit too far. Your Sagittarian nature can be overwhelming to those around you. Surely you can come up with more healthy ways of lowering your blood pressure than laying your head in Leda’s lap at night. We all know you’re strong and powerful; you don’t need to keep waving your lighting rod. You fathered some of the most magnificent gods in our family. You rescued your siblings from the belly of your father, Cronos — really, you’ve done a lot of good in the world. You are Sagittarius, though. Try taking your blinders off. Check to see if your kids are still talking to you or not. Sure, you have big ideas and ambitions; nothing wrong with that. I’m the earth, after all. I know about being big. But work some realism into your plan. Maybe talk it over with your brain-child, Athena.

Cronos (Capricorn), for the love of all of us, stop watching the clock already. It brings out your anxious side. Let’s just let bygones be bygones. Even though your son, Zeus, locked you in an underwater prison, rest assured it was out of love and respect for your wisdom. I informed Zeus that I would swallow him if he attempts to dethrone you again. So stop watching your back, watching the clock, watching the masses. It’s boring when you check the time all the time. Take a page from Dionysus’ fun-filled life, live a little! Speaking of which, I met a very nice Naiad the other day. I gave her your number. And while you’re at it, stop planning my life too. I may be ancient, but I’m still ticking, and you can’t put me in a nursing home. I’ll retire when I’m good and ready — that will be at the end of eternity!

Ah, Dionysus (Aquarius), this is your time. The Age of Aquarius is here. All hail the god of the grapes! Let’s shake things up and get the world ready to party — just don’t forget to invite me. Be who you were born to be. You have no rules to follow, but watch who you associate with. Your friends can lead you down perilous paths. Be bold, drunken, dastardly, a musician, a writer, an artist, a teacher, a roller derby skater, a pro golfer, a lawyer (ok, maybe not). Make sure you know your own limits, but don’t listen to the limits that others place on you. You are the only you, so be that.

Poseidon (Pisces), my favorite god of the deep. Although I have always appreciated your creativity, I would like you to make me a prettier great-grandchild than the Leviathan. I know you’re spacey, and that’s fine, but could you use some of that creativity to clean up your oceans? Really, you let those humans pollute you all they want. I have champions on the ground and in the air, but you just sit back and let the oceans fill with garbage. Get a champion — and no, the Cyclops does not count! Even Odysseus defeated him. Surely you can do better than that big oaf. You are Pisces, the fish, the trident, the god of the fathomless depths. Use your resources to make something happen. Stop watching the rainbows come and go.

Hades (Scorpio), I know you’re generally misunderstood. Your home has been labeled hell, but really it’s a magnificent kingdom — it’s just underground. It’s the domain of gems, gold, oil. I know you like to keep your secrets hidden, but the above world isn’t so bad, and they could use a little of your depth every once in awhile. Live a little in the sun, but be sure to wear sunscreen. Your cool factor increases with your dark mysteriousness, but if you’re sunburned that won’t work. No one wants to shag a lobster. Still, never underestimate your allure. The chicks dig it, hell, the dudes dig it. You are Scorpio, a scorpion, a leader of the underworld creatures. My grandson, you know how to play in the dark.

Apollo 8 Image of the Earth, by NASA [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Apollo 8 Image of the Earth, by NASA [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Athena (Virgo), my strong, willful great-granddaughter, you are Virgo, lover of structure and master of your body. Technically, you are a virgin, yes, but that’s all metaphor since you’re a mother, too. Most important you have a plan AND you know how to execute it. Yes, Athena, you are all about balance — but you could go out on a date with Dionysus every once in awhile, or let Aphrodite dress you up in a pretty frock. You might prefer silk to armor; you have to give it a try. Like your brother Ares, you are so focused on life being a battle that you forget to let your hair down. I heard from Hermes (he’s such a little snoop) that you took up yoga. I’m sending you some hot pink yoga pants. Added bonus: they glow in the dark (hint, hint).

About Rachel Lugn

Rachel Lugn is the funniest Lunatic oracle this side of Jupiter. An artist and mythologist, she studies astrology, tarot, and the occult. She is a tight-rope artist, metaphorically speaking, walking the line between the material world and the metaphysical. She knows how to make a soufflé but doesn’t know what to do with a vacuum.
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