There’s a lot I don’t get about the birth of Jesus, but one thing is certain: he was a Capricorn. This actually explains a few things. For those new to Babylon, Capricorn is the creature who is one half horned-goat and one half fish, most likely a plus-sized Tilapia. The constellation butts up against Aquarius on one side and Pisces on the other in an area of sky known as the “Sea.” The Winter Solstice, Capricorn, and the Fisher of Men all go together like gherkins on the olive tray.
We’ve probably all known a Capricorn or two. The Capricorn personality is one of a natural perfectionist who always strives to do and be the absolute best possible. They thrive as entrepreneurs, trailblazers, accountants, and idea men. The Horoscope Compatibility website adds that “Capricorns are typically diplomatic sorts who win people over with their razor sharp wits and biting senses of humor.”
There is only one sign a Capricorn cannot tolerate. That would be an Aries. Especially one like me. I think this explains a lot of the deeper mysteries I wrestle with. As a Capricorn, Jesus honors tradition, neatness, goal-oriented objectives, and so forth. As an Aries, I sleep on the other side of the couch, blending a little slop with a little laze, taking risks, rocking the boat, generally being a jackass.
Life is so unfair. Forgive me while I poke my finger into the socket and vent. Everyone else gets the teachings of Christ and I get Detention Hall.
I think a lot of it has to do with the Immaculate Conception. Jesus was born on December 25th and if we cautiously assume a normal nine month gestation, that puts the Shangri-La between his mother and God smack dab at the beginning of Aries. It’s one of history’s greatest dramatic tensions: Jesus’ birth sign is absolutely contrary to his conception sign. In fact, his conception and his birth signs are notorious rivals.
If it existed back then, I’m pretty sure Mary would have been reaching for a valium from time to time. Imagine a naturally born Republican conceived during the sign of the Democrat. No wonder the Capricorn creature is a sea-goat, half goat and half fish. No wonder we eat fish on Holy Friday and lamb on Easter Sunday.
2016 has led me to question my faith, or rather, my lack of faith. I feel bombarded by too many signs for, and against, the Holy Trifecta. Gregarious in my curiosity, I ought to be able to pick and choose truth as I would at the produce market, sniffing the melons, gently bruising the avocados, maybe popping a strawberry into my mouth when no one was looking.
The holidays are tricky times for gamblers. It’s nearly impossible to turn a gift over in your hands and shake it without making some small quiet bet to yourself about what’s inside. Perhaps, a shirt? Three pairs of woolen socks? A box of pinon pine incense cones to make your room smell like New Mexico is burning?
Christmas is basically a time of ancient routines married to the mathematically ridiculous, which has always been my fetish. To this I like to add a heaping measure of superstition, which all fits squarely in what astrology purports to be.
Jesus as a Capricorn? It’s my angle and I’m sticking with it. As for Saint Peter, I’m pretty certain he was a Virgo, but I can’t prove it.