Ouspensky Addresses A Congress of Virgos Will you permit me to expose certain dangers those born under the sign of Virgo often are done in by. The clouds of pot and ale. But if Masters work they move behind the scenes. All of them. There are no scenes that are not dangers. I am talking of course, man to man, Virgin to Virgin. Others need pay no further attention, unless of course certain configurations are predominate: Mercury in the Eighth House if it is Virgo; an afflicted Venus or Capricorn on the ascendant. A Virgo dis- -believes in Astrology, refuses his own Virginity and is often putting mud or paint of tasteless colors on his body, his cock into women he cannot touch. He is a man of letters. Or the clouds of pot and ale. He moves in every, distressed he is not touched by any scene. To be a woman and be a Virgo is not lucky. She never was and will always love a virgin. No one touches her. She is beautiful, her body is Virgin with the promise of Virgin earth and given the fortune she will run to the top of a mountain. It is in her lips she is discovered. Clearly no Virgo can give a lesson or advise. He rescues his sentiments before he knows them. In the time of Virgo the earth looks through the sun into an empty region of our galaxy. The heat of the center, lost at right angles— drafts of cosmic darkness fill his birth. Distance and coldness are his quickness and his brightness of appearance. But I will advise you. Gathered in one place your collective intensity does not grow by addition. And the Hermit on the tarot mountain top holds his lantern, his old back to black sky, feet deep in ice-high peaks, eyes looking downward. Curious formulae of wisdom pass into the speech and gestures of the youngest among you, down in thin crystal rays from the Hermit’s lantern. And any of you weary of the failure of categories will experience a longing for blind old age —invisible silent wisdoms. Or ancient golden ages (for which you are sentimental) and think the world is ordered by the hushed pages of a sage’s tract. The books are not inaccurate when they tell of “cleanness”. There are many of you (you will not grow self-conscious as I point you out to yourselves, but smile at the success and exquisiteness of any category) many of you wear tight vests and trim suits, as I do, the negative ordering energy of your birth composing your wardrobe. But such scrupuloscity is another species of sleep. The Master would often say to me— once a small voice opened like a smile in my chest— “These intelligent Virgoan men of science sleep with flashlights on the ceiling searching the ceilings for stars “and their sleep passes into their waking. “They are beset with understanding, and their eyes will hold your own as you explain but your words will be transformed to crystal ciphers and returned to you at some time thereafter neither refurbished by elaboration nor used. “The clouds of pot and ale at times extract them when clarity becomes a numbness even to their own intelligence. They are of many beginnings and few conclusions.” But the Master was no Virgo and for him the system which he erected late in his years of teaching was neither a system in our sense nor had the calculation of a myth. It was the event sprung from his touch to things. You of all the signs will therefore understand why I was called upon to abandon him. It is a system I present you with and the truest among you will soon abandon me.