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Virgo: the art of complaining
I've watched him do it many times, this muttering
master of the soundboard, tuning each pitch by easing dials. Now
it is my turn. I take his place and he watches. I listen to the
mike as the speaker starts. I turn one dial, a little. I remember
to turn on the recording tape – then I’m pushed aside
as his hands fly in front of mine, changing it, his mutters a cadence
with the rhythm of his hands: "No, not like that, like this!
It's too high on the pitch! She has a soprano voice and it needs
to be muted! And you started the tape too soon, we don't want all
the announcements! And the light needs to be dimmed in a second
-- now!" he does it -- "and then when the next person
comes, there, he's a bass so -- " I grab him, not where I would
dearly love to grab, but by both shoulders so I can turn him into
the full force of my glare, and I hiss: "Let me do it! I have
to learn! It will not be perfect. But you who wanted to teach me
so you could take some time away from the board!"
He smiles gently into my anger, which of course wipes me clean of
it. And he listens. And he backs away, all courtesy now, to let
me fumble my way as he had forgotten he fumbled so many years before…only
he is self-taught.
Master of chaos, I call him, seeking always the most perfect way
to do something before he actually gets going on the project. Leaving
it halfway because a new idea pops into mind. Forgetting details
of the day because his mind is cluttered with what he has to get
done. And he complains that what is not done is more important then
what is done, and what did get done was not done as well as it could
be done, and why is his list getting longer instead of shorter?
Virgo has perfected the art of complaining so well that it needs
no polishing any more, unlike the table that sits in the hall waiting
for the second sanding. Since the rest of the world will never be
perfected, at least s/he has this down pat, content that no other
such expert exists.
Virgos are like that: every new project a virginal one to determine
afresh what best approach to take, what structure to build, what
field to sow and reap. As seasons turn s/he changes with them. S/he
dances with the maidens in bright midsummer fullness, wondering
when s/he will lose her innocence. Then s/he sits with the wise
old ones in their dark winter caves, wondering when s/he will gain
wisdom. S/he forgets what s/he knows, since s/he values what others
know more and will serve them forever to learn their secret.
Then one day, the idea finally catches up that only the perfect
teacher makes a perfect student, and s/he begins to share what s/he
has, happily. One needs to remind Virgo that teaching means letting
someone else make the mistakes long forgotten. But that leaves more
room for the learning, and s/he does that as well, not losing the
charming innocence as aging solidifies that gentle beauty.
So words peter out for a while, there is no time to complain, as
s/he learns how even what is less-than-perfect has a place in the
cosmos, be it a soul or work of art or sound. Nothing is ever meant
to be perfected because nothing is ever meant to be finished, complete,
static. It is the striving now that enraptures, the stretching,
the hope of clarity. And s/he passes on the seeds that have collected
in the soul.
So the cosmos turns and seasons go around, seedtime and harvest.
For Virgo pairs two roles: one is the woman who comes to the farmer’s
gate and offers to reap what he has sown, sharpened sickle in hand.
The farmer is the other role: all he has to do is point her in the
right direction and she works until the complete field is bundled
and ready for market. If he likes she will even arrange that and
make sure he gets a fair profit. She asks recognition for her efforts
and decent pay then on she goes, leaving his earth fallow and ready
for the next season.
In contemporary terms s/he is the perfect secretary – sorry,
that’s not politically correct any more, is it? – the
administrative assistant without whom the CEO could not survive,
and if the CEO isn’t careful this assistant will capably take
over and run the show, especially if it’s a service industry,
a charitable NGO or health clinic. S/he doesn’t sleep her
way to the top, no, s/he works toward it. And s/he isn’t aiming
at the top but rather out into the community. S/he is the original
Green, the motive behind the Sierra Club, the organizer for Mother
Theresa. And the harvest, which s/he finds completely satisfying
and not worthy of complaint, is whole humans in a healing world.
Okay fine, s/he’s the archetypal servant, but what’s
the down side?
S/he can get so obsessed with her health that she turns the sickle
inward and becomes a hypochondriac, performing surgical incisions
for the pleasure of the pain. No, s/he’s not masochistic,
s/he’s not looking for a dominator/rix. Rather s/he’s
the perfect patient for all those experimental drugs any pharmaceutical
or alternative healer wants to test. S/he gets health-obsessed and
wants the socialist medicine of every country to help her get better,
but s/he’s got so much invested in sickness that s/he trails
down path after path, trying herbal remedy after remedy, sure that
the next one will turn things around.
How to stop it? S/he has to turn around and stop feeling sorry for
“poor me”, is the trick – and see the pain in
another’s eyes, hold someone else’s hand and help them
reap the poor harvest they’ve sown for a change. Give a massage,
pass on a pill, carry some water uphill instead of demanding that
it be done for her, and s/he will get better.
The secret of Virgo, you see, is the continual renewal of the nurturing
earth. S/he has children all over the world, but was never a child.
Virgo notices details, and this can be help or hindrance. The large
picture is of little interest, since s/he is a walker of earthy
paths not an explorer or a pilot. Ruled by the communicator Mercury
as Gemini is, s/he uses words to find out what’s wrong, not
to speculate and gossip. S/he listens to your symptoms, and rummages
in that ever-at-hand bag for herbs. Simple logic helps deduce cause
and subscribe cure, and that’s all the interest s/he has in
words. Deep meaning is not her realm. S/he is practical, not pragmatic.
S/he is a helper, not an innovator. S/he keeps the files, knows
all the right people and their phone numbers, and can organize any
celebration. Give Virgo real thanks and you get more work, but give
compliments glory and s/he blushes like a virgin and hides along
the wall.
This is the Wiccan living in the woods close to the earth and its
seasons, door open to animals and humans alike, unaware of reputation,
uncaring about a future. S/he will make love, make herbs, make sense
to effect a cure. S/he hopes only the best for you as you leave,
and doesn’t expect your return. If you do s/he is surprised
and wonders what’s wrong with you now, didn’t you get
better?
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