Cosmic Café Part Eight:
Kim and Uranus in Wonderland

As the carpet sped along, I realized that the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. It made sense—traveling with the god of electricity will do that to you. Strangely enough, however, although my body was showing unmistakable symptoms of terror, my mind was fascinated, and I wasn't at all worried. Okay, so I have an Aquarian Moon. Is that why I felt comfy with being on a "magic-motion" ride with a madman? Maybe—but it might also have been the wonder of what I was seeing beneath my feet.

This sure wasn't Kansas—or anywhere else I'd ever been.

We were flying over a distinctly surrealistic landscape that reminded me of What Dreams May Come, that recent Robin Williams movie. The sky was painted in vibrant Technicolor—and it may have been my imagination, but I could swear I could taste and smell those colors. For a split second, I wondered exactly what kind of wine I'd been drinking back at the Café. Almost immediately, a huge field of mushrooms appeared under us. I covered my mouth and giggled, and glanced at the crazed sky-god at my side. He wasn't looking at me—or that wild mushroom field my subconscious had conjured. He was pointing over the horizon—a horizon that was pulsing and seemed to be buzzing, too.

Uranus' job description includes "the future"—so was he about to show me something that hadn't happened yet? Could be. As unpredictable as he is, however, it could also be something that might not ever happen—or something that was about to change. I ran down the list of possibilities, trying to prepare myself—which, of course, is out of the question with Uranus—as the carpet skidded to a stop, just short of the edge of the horizon.

We perched there, mid-air, and finally it hit me. Since Uranus was in Aquarius at the moment, his favorite, most cerebral sign, I wasn't supposed to be watching what was happening. Uranus transits are times when sudden bursts of insight come along—if you're quick enough to catch them. I closed my eyes and thought of where Uranus was in my own chart at the moment. He was just a few degrees away from my Aquarius Ascendant, the "front door" we open to the world. Was it my appearance or personality that was about to change? And why would this magic carpet ride be part of it?

Suddenly, he spoke. "Make a wish," he said. "Don't think about it. Just wish for what you want."

I didn't open my eyes. I wished for an appearance that would better reflect my personality—which certainly had been rather unpredictable lately.

"Good," he said. "But go a little deeper."

I wished for total independence, for the ability to make my own schedule—and maybe not to have a schedule at all. I wished for interesting and unusual friends, and the gift of spontaneity.

"Very good," he said. "Now do you realize that you've already got all that?"

Talk about enlightenment. I "woke up" back at the Café on the barstool next to Jupiter.

"Nice 'do," he said, grinning. I fumbled for the small hand-mirror I kept in my purse, took a look at myself, and couldn't believe what I saw. My hair wasn't dark and straight any more. It was bright red—Scully-red, you might say—and quite curly. I decided I liked it—and I liked the way I felt, too. Different. Totally different. And bold—as if the red on my head had set fire to my personality.

I glanced over at Jupiter, who sat with his chin on his hand, smiling at me. "Have a good time, honey? You sure look great"

"Well, thanks. It was certainly "enlightening," Big Guy. So what's next?"

He laughed out loud. "Jeez. Give the girl a taste of adventure, and she's dying for more! Ain't you somethin', honey?"

I hugged him. "Thanks for giving me the guts to go—I would have missed a wonderful trip."

"No problem, babe. I knew you'd be okay. And now the next time he shows up, you won't be scared, right?" He lit another huge cigar, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Still want to know what's next?"

"You bet," I said. "But let's have a glass of wine first, shall we?"

"Absolutely. Besides, you might need it," he said, as Neptune appeared with two glasses.

I was about to ask him exactly what he meant by that when Mercury burst through the door to the Café, cell-phone in hand. "It's for you," he said, then covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered, "Just so you know—it's Saturn."