Scorpio 4° Internet Outage
October 26, 2026
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I have zero news, and since absolutely nothing has happened since the last entry — with the possible exception of a single 15-hour internet outage — I have nothing to write about.
I’m really glad the internet outage happened now and not next week, when my online remote job kicks off. I take it as a lucky omen. Well, and over the past few days, I’ve also had plenty of time to chat with AI about horses, mammoth donkeys, and mules.
Yeah, it was awesome.
Even if it has zero practical use in real life.
Seriously, though, I have this massive urge. To write!
I have nothing to write about. So right now, I have no choice but to write about how sometimes nothing happens at all. About how things occasionally occur, yet zero transformation touches us. It’s completely transparent and clear, like a lit lamp made of pure glass. About how sometimes a disaster strikes that teaches us absolutely nothing. About how certain shops shut down, just like certain roads, and nothing else is ever done about it. About how we lose three hours somewhere. Or a person. How fate denies us even a single mule. And no wisdom arrives later so we can declare: And right then, I became a mature individual! Sometimes someone just gets older. No, life is neither logical, nor fair, nor does it make sense later.
This current situation is starting to fall short for me. It’s getting on my nerves.
Maybe I’m somewhere halfway there. Heading toward a place that will allow me to become who I’m only just meant to be. I can’t wait to finally meet myself. That’s my current working fantasy, anyway. It doesn’t have to mean anything at all yet. It also doesn’t have to have anything to do with that new job.
“What could it have to do with, then?” Lucius tossed in.
I tried to picture Tom. What he probably looks like today. Let’s see: a fifty-year-old, weather-beaten guy. Gray in his beard, crinkles around his eyes, and secrets we didn’t have a clue about back when we were kids. His knees and back ache.
“He’s not just some ordinary guy,” Anima says, laying out cards on the little table. “Not an ordinary guy at all. He’s a former scribe of God who ran away from the angels, carries blood inside him (Ace of Cups), and knows what it feels like when both heaven and earth betray you,” she rattled on.
Why a scribe? I don’t get it. I look at her cards: The story opens with an apparent gift — that’s the Ace — but in the Supernatural edition, that cup of emotions is dark, bottomless, and brimming with blood. Maybe a generational curse, maybe just a bond you can’t outrun. The Knight of Wands smiles silently. He knows what the hero is walking into, yet says nothing. And at the end of the row lies total exhaustion. The Ten of Wands, with Castiel sitting right beside them — that’s a guy who got answers he doesn’t understand. That’s the exact moment he realizes that fulfilling a higher calling (or the will of heaven) is pretty much purgatory. He’d love to know the reason behind all that suffering. Neither logical, nor fair, nor any wiser. Not even now does he know.
In the second row is the Page of Swords, which is basically a kid who just wanted to race and explore, until fate grabbed him by the throat and now he can’t cancel the obligation. The Eight of Cups hit him — the card of departure, tearing him away from his life up to that point. His life is now led by: “Ruthless force, Knight of Swords, Smells Like Teen Spirit, Fanatic.” He gets to be pissed off at the whole world because heaven backed him into a corner.
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In the third row sits the Major Arcana. This is where fate snaps: The Hanged Man, The Lovers, and The Magician. That signals a voluntary sacrifice, a willingness to submit, which hands you a view of the world from a different angle. You freeze in time a little. You move inside one and the exact same loop that never ends. It was the only way to shoulder the weight heaven dumped on you. And survive. And The Lovers? No romance here. That’s the mark of a fateful, fatal choice with no turning back. And The Magician right at the very end? That’s the birth of someone who learned to master all the elements. Himself? Magic? Maybe the magic of the word. A defenseless scribe turned into a powerhouse player. You can probably live with that.
Put those cards away.
When I look back behind me, I see all those paths I trod so dutifully, as if a medal were always waiting for me at the finish line! I see a girl, a woman, who wanted to save everything and everyone. To write stories with happy, meaningful endings. I see years where nothing happened. People with whom there was either nothing to say, or who walked out before we ever got to anything that actually mattered. Idiotic white lies. Pointless expenses. I see how everyone just drifts in and out chasing their own themes and motives. I see internet outages that force you to pull out a deck of cards. And read stories out of them that speak of love, betrayal, and a broken heart. We can’t stop time. We can’t run faster. We can’t go back.
Tell me what’s going on. Tell me where you are right now.
The space inside this meditation is actually a Yidam. I’ve named every aspect I cannot see.
“Do you think anyone will ever come apologize?” Anima asked me.
I think Tom has a dissociative EP. His Golden Horse is elsewhere. He doesn’t feel me. He has his own narrative. And that’s why he won’t come. He’s where he matters. Both of us cared, worked, loved, endured, and carried our roles honestly. That much is certain. Our lives flowed separately. Each of us has our own story, taking care of our own health, relationships, body, work.
It’s strictly a navigation issue. We don’t live logically; we live in stories. When your old life stops being enough, you look for new sentences. They aren’t the ones that speak of loss.
“Is it in those cards?” Anima wanted to know. “Is it in them?”
It isn’t. We just needed to name the things I can’t see and admit to myself that this whole thing is seriously getting on my nerves. The old story stopped being enough for me. I’m trying to find the next one. We haven’t even started yet.
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Rudhyar: “PHASE 214 (SCORPIO 4°): A YOUTH CARRIES A LIGHTED CANDLE IN A DEVOTIONAL RITUAL. KEYNOTE: The educative power of ceremonies which impress the great images of a culture upon its gathered participants.”
Note 1: Yes, I am stuck in a banal and annoying present. This entire Supernatural reading didn’t come from some lofty enlightenment, just pure boredom and irritation when the Wi-Fi went down.
Note 2: The concept of the dissociative Emotional Part (EP) is described in detail by leading psychotraumatology expert Hana Vojtová in her book Trauma a disociace (Trauma and Dissociation). The author explains that when a person is exposed in the past to overwhelming stress or pain that the nervous system cannot process, dissociation occurs — an internal division of the personality. To allow the individual to function in everyday life, a so-called Apparently Normal Part of the personality (ANP) is formed, handling daily tasks, work, and roles. Alongside it, however, a separated Emotional Part (EP) continues to exist within the psyche. This dissociative emotional part remains locked in the time of the experienced trauma or inside an isolated inner world.
This entry is part of Solar Ragas, an ongoing autofiction diary cycle mapping intrapsychic reality through the degrees of the Sun. You can read all previous chapters from the beginning in my Reading List.
