There were only two patients in the art room. One was warily tucked in a corner, the other was a pretty twenty something African-American woman quietly cutting colored paper with a child’s scissors. I gently mused out loud. “You look healthy and normal. Why are you here?”
“My psychiatrist tells me it’s because I feel no remorse for what I did.”
“What did you do?”
“I killed my roommate”. I chopped her up in the bathtub and flushed as much of her as I could down the toilet. The rest of her I put in black plastic garbage bags that I tossed in a dumpster.”
“Did you think you would get away with that?”
“I didn’t think at all. I got the idea from TV.”
“And you don’t feel badly about what you did?”
“The girl is dead. There’s nothing I can do about that!” “I guess I’m sorry for her family”.
Mary grew up in a verbally abusive emotionally constipated family with no privacy. When Mary left home, she applied for a single room at college and was forced to have a roommate. Enduring a year, Mary reapplied, and lost the room to her roommate. Completely losing control of her mind and heart while stuck in a state of rage, Mary eliminated her problem.
Many strange stories unfolded over the next several months in the art room. Every day promised new adventure. I was glad I’d survived the bog of bureaucratic bullshit. I was yearning to examine everyone’s hands, but decided to wait. I anticipated astonishing tales of intrigue and amazing artworks. Many patients had artistic talent. There were two professional artists in the group. I supported everyone’s creativity and acquired special materials and supplies above and beyond my call of duty.
The first patient I bonded with was a refined and cultivated woman in her mid to late fifties. Bizarre circumstances led to Betsy’s hapless and senseless captivity. She lived on Treasure Island, a wealthy seaside community. Betsy managed an art gallery and was gossip columnist for a local newspaper. She loved to garden and was a member of a local gardening club.
A lawyer of considerable power purchased the land adjoining Betsy’s and neglected it. Weeds and branches drooped and draped sloppily onto Betsy’s property. Her neighbor‘s obvious dislike of landscaping and disdain for his neighbors annoyed the hell out of Betsy. One very vexing afternoon, she verbally threatened to chop off everything extending onto her domain. Grabbing her ax, she angrily severed every limb over her property line. While quietly recuperating on her porch, Betsy became alarmed and frightened when police in plain clothes marched aggressively through the gate of her yard.
Betsy grabbed her ax, attempting to chase them away. The next thing she knew, Betsy was sedated in a psychiatric hospital for further evaluation. Her neighbor had pulled strings and managed to have her temporarily committed. Then her serious problems began. Because Betsy was so agitated, Thorazine was prescribed, mandated, and administered. Betsy had a bad reaction to Thorazine. She was rushed to a local hospital. Her spleen had to be removed.
Betsy was no criminal. Nor was she crazy. She had great character references. Her son, a successful architect, pleaded fervently for her release, but no one appeared able to help her. A series of unfortunate events had led to her getting caught up in ‘The System’. Betsy’s attitude remained positive and optimistic while her mental and physical health deteriorated. She lost three productive years of her life. The lawyer tried to acquire Betsy’s property while she was locked up, but her son successfully blocked him.
Everyone admired Betsy. I was self-appointed president of her fan club. She could draw, paint, sculpt, and write better than anyone. She won several patient art awards. She was a positive role model. As editor and illustrator for the patient newspaper, The Scene. Betsy also created signage for hospital activities and events. I got special permissions for her creative seamstress work and purchased (my $) supplies like needles, threads, and unique fabrics.
Betsy designed stuffed insects. She called them ‘love bugs’. Sewing and sowing the seeds of success in my mind, Betsy inspired me to imagine a patient run cottage industry within the confines of hospital life that would serve other sheltered workshops in social and medical worlds. We could be a source for products, design, and marketing.
I got braver each day as I investigated patients’ lives. I couldn’t divulge my appetite for wanting to know more, but I did look as closely as I could at their records, hands, and gestures. I printed crude hands using newsprint paper with poster paint. I assumed madness would be revealed in aberrations of hand morphology and topography. There were many unusual hands. I saw a lot of frustration, anger, and fear, along with an uncanny clarity or lack of clarity in thinking. Many souls saw only one solution to their problem, never considering the consequences. Invoking hindsight enables most folk to harness our strengths, mindsets, attitudes, and actions, and embrace whatever challenges we encounter on the path to becoming healthier and happier.
Repressed rage, confused minds, and constipated emotions rule mental illness. I’d never have predicted from the hands that I read, that most of these people would be committed to mental institutions. Many patients lacked peripheral lines. They were less neurotic than the wounded healers with highly developed superegos and many more peripheral lines who were paid to care for them.
I only saw one club (murderer’s) thumb in the patient population. I expected to see many more Mr. Hydes, motivated by passion, lacking impulse control, and having a propensity for violence. I didn’t. Other hands were soft and supple. Sometimes their bones felt detached. There was zero energy, enthusiasm, or desire to think clearly or do anything meaningful. I observed one psychotic person’s skin as appearing splotchy purplish red. I imagined the color combo was repressed rage. Many hands were stiff in the joints, preventing the lost souls trapped in limbo between their inside and outside from escaping. I examined schizophrenic hands with two sets of head or heart lines in dominant hands that were ambiguous, ambivalent, suffering, struggling, and striving to know themselves and others.
Betsy and I loved the symbolism of the Tarot. We consulted the cards many times with many questions. We rarely heard what we wanted to hear, but always heard what we already knew. I collected birth names, dates, times, and places from patients, but didn’t explain why.
Most artwork and poetry in The Scene came from the art room. The patient newspaper was a venue for creative expression for patients and staff. It offered hospital news and provided space for patients to express their concerns and share their creativity. It was an important venue because it provided an outlet for frustration, anger, and depression. Everyone spent too much time complaining and blaming their problems on ‘The System’ and each other.
I decided to become a spiritual ambassador and good sense maker. The real enemies were our bad habits, bureaucracy, and time. We were a team whether we chose ‘to be or not to be’.
One notorious patient infected my psyche with doubt. He was a young black man in his early thirties. Fred had been mentally, emotionally, and physically malnourished via many abusive foster parents. A gentle kindness lie beneath the surface of Fred’s deeply scarred face. Fred was violent, but it wasn’t knife fights and gang warfare that got him locked up. It was Fred’s unrequited love. Fred was obsessed with a teenage girl. Allegedly, she was ‘taken away from him’ by an `abusive maniac’. Fred created realistic ‘WANTED DEAD or ALIVE’ posters of his maniac. He posted them all over town, offering a phony ten thousand dollar reward for him. Fred had no clue he was creating evidence that would lead him directly to the loony bin.
Fred’s large feminine hands, rectangular palms, long slender knotty fingers, and conical fingertips embody the quintessential ‘feeling’ type: great for empathy, appreciating art, research, organizing, paying attention to detail, and mostly for caring. Fred’s long head line sloped into the heel of his hand, revealing a vivid imagination and rich fantasy life. Fred could copy anything perfectly. He could have been a master forger, but that particular crime would never have occurred to him. I cheered Fred’s abilities and encouraged him to draw from real life. I also convinced his treatment team and security on his ward to let him have pencils and paper and allow him to draw under supervision.
Fred had a private sketch book. He produced forty or fifty sketches and drawings in the first month and showed no one. I asked to see them. Reluctantly, he showed them to me. I was blown away. The political parody above was his first. That’s Ronald Reagan and its meaning is self-explanatory. What stunned me most were caricatures of staff sexually abusing patients. Patients were pleasuring staff in the sickest possible ways. Were security, therapists, and patients actually having bizarre sex acts using objects of pleasure and pain or was Fred’s vision an artistic fabrication of his unique psyche?
How could Fred have witnessed what he was portraying? He had a graphic imagination. Maybe his friends were telling him their stories and he was interpreting them. Fred let me photocopy a few drawings. I wondered about the veracity of Fred’s artwork and shared it with Dolores. She showed it to the cabinet. Betraying Fred’s trust was my greatest blunder and regret. Fred fought fiercely as his drawings and supplies were confiscated. It wrenched my heart to watch him being reduced to a drug induced stupor, artistic genius, never to create (during my tenure) again. I was responsible and couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Mary 2 was a highly functioning, extremely troubled patient. Mary believed she was Satan’s child, a bad seed. Mary was three when she first unsuccessfully attempted to poison her little sister. Then she failed to drown her in the bathtub. She tied her to a tree in a lightning storm, hoping she’d be electrocuted. Finally, Mary’s dysfunctional fundamentalist Catholic parents enrolled her in a devout Catholic school. They hoped that would save her. Mary predictably became more twisted. At sixteen, Mary set a nun on fire and carved her charring body to a bloody pulp with a broken glass bottle. She told everyone, “The Devil made me do it”.
Mary produced dark artwork. I coveted and appropriated her drawings every chance I got. While under suicide watch in a maximum-security psychiatric hospital, Mary etched `666′ in the skin of her arms and legs with whatever sharp objects she could find. She also scratched ‘666’ on furniture.
I don’t frequently see hands that frighten me. Mary’s hands were scary. The creepy hand above with very stiff fingers that curl inwardly belong to Susan Atkins’ (Charles Manson’s protege’). They’re similar to Mary’s. Mary’s skin was hard, dry, coarse, and reddish. She chewed on her nails relentlessly, leaving her nail beds red, raw, and sore. Mary transformed self-critical into self-hatred. I wished I could help her let go of irrational terror. Mary’s soul was hard-boiled from the hellish reality of growing up with hypocritical parents, along with fundamentalist codes, irrational doctrines, punitive rules, and restrictive regulations.
Mary had a huge crush on me. She was the first to arrive at the art room and last to leave. I felt nauseous when I was alone with her. I was repulsed, but always smiled and acted nice. Mary generously offered to give me a quickie blow-job under my desk. I remembered Fred’s drawings and how easy it would be to become one of his vignettes. I thought about all of the Ministers and Priests, religious shepherds, who physically and spiritually rape the innocent lambs they are entrusted to protect. Does terror, shame, guilt, and disgrace trigger erotic fantasy? Is fear of being caught a turn on? Can the Devil sow the seeds of evil in a psyche?
Mary was hovering over me and monopolizing my attention. I was abrupt and impatient with her. Dark rings appeared around her darkening eyes. Mary felt rejected. Satan was hard at work, preparing her for evil acts that night on her ward. It was a full moon. Stealing the ‘six’ and ‘nine’ balls from the pool table, Mary loaded them in a black wool sock, then beat a new patient to death while she slept. The poor woman was there for shoplifting, a few days of observation, and psychiatric evaluation. Mary said she didn’t like the way the woman looked at her. She’d certainly think twice before shoplifting again had she survived. I felt guilty and responsible. I should have said something. Staff should have been more vigilant. Mental institutions aren’t called lunatic asylums for nothing.
It’s not what you do, but what you get away with that matters. Gene was undeniably the most incredible artist in the hospital. He’d been a successful commercial artist and advertising executive. Scuttlebutt was that he created the TV ads that everyone loves to remember.
Gene was unique. A celebrity on his ward, he had the only private room, outfitted with his own furniture, library, audio tape collection, state of art stereo system, Bose headphones, and grizzly bear rug.
No one messed with Gene. Dark satanic auras shrouded Gene. Angry facial expressions and aggressive body language told a tale of uncontrollable rage from a horrible childhood. Gene was hostile. Everything about him screamed, “Stay away from me!” In a jealous fury and fit of rage, Gene slit his girlfriend’s throat from ear to ear. She survived, didn’t press charges, and forgave him. Gene couldn’t forgive himself. He told me had to stay because he’d do it again.
Gene could have been free had he wanted to be and behaved accordingly. I tried to make good sense to Gene and convince him to become an active member of the real world again. Gene wanted to stay. With little interest in worldly freedom, he was free to love his literature, music, art, and still be king of the roost. I actually felt a little jealous of his inner freedom.
Gene was charismatic in a dark and dangerous way. He was the patient Dolores caught in the art supply closet with Janice. That untimely final exit for Janice turned out to be wonderful therapy for Gene. We frequently had philosophical discussions and co-created artworks that I still cherish. This life size pastel Gene drew of me in the art-room subtly captures a very private part of me.
Benny was Gene’s buddy. Benny was uncooperative. A strong fit black man in his early thirties, Benny’s phobia of homosexuality impelled the former transit policeman to assault a bar full of gay men one night with a semi-automatic weapon. While freebasing crack, Benny brutally slaughtered eight gay men.
Benny came up bi-yearly for forensic review. He believed he’d be set free one day, but was always rejected. One psychologist told me that a ‘secret agenda’ was to never ever let him go or know. It was in everyone’s best interest to humor Benny. Otherwise, he’d lose hope, become violent, and need to be permanently medicated.
There was never a dull day in the art room. One handsome young patient, recently admitted, had cut his mother’s heart out, artfully prepared, and hungrily ate it with her favorite knife and fork on her favorite plate while drinking her favorite wine and reclining in her favorite chair.
Another man was found combing his mother’s hair on her mantel, weeks after he had cut her head off. The entire hospital was full of lunatics and addicts who committed violent acts under the influences of bad circumstances, rage, or drugs. Schizophrenics, sociopaths, psychotics, and pathological liars flourished and blossomed. One sociopath from England had a Rolls Royce delivered to the hospital entrance based on conversations he had with a dealer from a pay phone in the hall of his ward. If only I could put everyone’s amazing talents to good use…
Jesus Jefferson was the angriest patient in the hospital. Rejected countless times by forensic committees, Jesus had nothing left to lose. Everyone steered clear of him. Jesus had thrown his girlfriend, her 3 year old child, and dog from a 17th story window. They died instantly as they hit the ground. Jesus had zero remorse and never spoke of the incident. He clearly needed to be locked up, but what of his other innate talents and abilities. I envisioned Jesus as a capable production manager in a patient run manufacturing business. I shared my idea with two staff psychologists and they agreed with me. Unfortunately, Jesus was too unpredictable and angry to be given any real opportunity to take real responsibility.
Names have meaning. Many people who end up in loony bins are named after biblical figures. Jesus, Mary, Faith, Angel, Grace, and Hope haunt wards at mental institutions everywhere. Whatever their parents had hoped, wanted, or expected… something else weird and perverted happened. My parody below represents my interpretation of present-day archetypal names.
MAGA = TRUMP vs chump
You don’t need a Sagittarius Sun, Moon, houses, aspects, planets, or planetary placements in your natal astrology to be Sagittarian. Sagittarian hands are healthy looking with mildly flexible wrist joints, pink firm elastic skin, and a confident hand shake. Elastic hands with rectangular palms and short flexible fingers reflect 
I’m generalizing from my personal experience when I tell you that I see a lot of smooth finger joints, round and conical fingertips, and loop and whorl fingerprints on Sagittarians. I’ve read many tens of thousands of hands over forty years, but I haven’t documented enough statistically to call my experience scientific. One thing I can say for sure is that healthy Sagittarians are idealists, enthusiastic, and self-assured. They’re eternal optimists, honest, and sincere, with friendly charismatic voices designed to persuade. Good luck and positive thinking support them in achieving their goals.
When a dominant hand’s index finger is long, (past midway to tip of top phalanx of middle finger), projects forward, has a pinkish color beneath (all races), that person loves being boss and hates being criticized. As planners, setters of goals, and natural leaders, they’re attracted to other ambitious career minded professionals, and go-getters (like themselves). They must steer far from strays and fixer-uppers who are attracted to them. Anyone needing a free ride or unable to carry their own weight quickly loses credibility and respect.
Healthy Sagittarians enjoy being married. They need a partner as much as a lover. Setting goals, planning, and dreaming about the future together is essential to having a loving relationship. Their personal problems often result from practicing obsessive and controlling behavioral patterns, and expressing judgmental and critical attitudes. False pride, gluttony, vanity, and bossiness are weaknesses these individuals must overcome by practicing moderation and steadily earning self-esteem and success. Sagittarians must choose a philosophy that helps them be an integral part of a working society instead of tilting at windmills like Don Quixote or being someone who always has everyone else’s answers.
A short index finger is less than half way to the middle of the top phalange of the middle finger. A person with a short index finger must work harder to achieve the same results as a long index fingered person. Many short index fingered people don’t value themselves enough because they were not valued during their formative years. Where was support and encouragement when they needed it? Their challenge is to learn to ask enough for themselves. Plenty of very successful individuals have had to contend with very short index fingers. They earned every drop of whatever they were able to achieve. Nothing came easily, but it was well worth the risk and work.
Every finger and fingerprint needs to be considered when examining a person’s character. 
Skin ridge patterns are beyond the scope of this post. Richard Unger has devoted his career to the subject. Richard is a practicing hand reader, palmistry teacher, and finger print expert on the west coast. We’ve stayed in touch and shared our work and palmistry experiences for many years. If you want to learn more about fingerprints, I recommend Richard’s book LIFEPRINTS as valuable reading for any student of palmistry, metaphysics, and human destiny. 
Scorpio’s eighth house rules sexual behavior and other people’s money. Sex scandals ousted Senator Gary Hart, while greed and hubris caught up with televangelist Jim Bakker. Bakker was convicted of defrauding his followers out of 158 million dollars.
Homosexuals exited closets in masses in the late 70’s and early 80’s to become a topic of everyday conversation. HIV prevention and condoms were promoted on national TV to stop the spread of AIDS.
Since Jupiter entered Scorpio on October 10, 2017, many greedy misogynists have grabbed many pussies, repressed many women from exercising their reproductive rights, prevented others from voting, condoned lying, and then rewarded the worst of sexual behaviors. The human race has become a race against bad shit happening. VOTE!
Faith healing was certainly no help to the AIDS epidemic. Fundamentalist religious fanatics, poisonous partisan politicians, and insane ideologues had plenty to hate and lots to preach about. Imagine the hubris of a ‘CHRISTIAN’ leader who thinks he can steer hurricanes to punish non-believers, who calls non-Christians ‘Termites’, derides immigrants, Islam, Muslims, and discriminates against colors… a complete idiot promising nonsense!
1980 put the first professional actor in Whitehouse after the lowest voter turnout ever. ‘Reaganomics’ didn’t ‘Trickle Down’. The Reagan years were like ’20 Mule Team Borax’ and ‘Death Valley Days’ revisited. When Oliver North exposed the Iran Contra scandal, he and Reagan played their roles as well as possible, managing to walk away quietly and relatively unscathed from political scandal.
Other significant violent happenings were manifesting. Police bombed the headquarters of a black radical group called MOVE. Terrorists from the Palestine Liberation Front seized the Italian cruise ship Achille Laura. Terrorists bombed Pan Am flight 103, killing 259 passengers and 11 villagers in Scotland.
Neptune rules dreams, illusion, and delusion. It was an era of escapism. Political unrest catalyzed the assassinations of John Kennedy, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr. Many thousands of men went into exile rather than serve in the Vietnam War. Lots of confused and fearful people consumed all sorts of drugs while others devoured pornography and violence. Oral sex and contraceptives became popular while indiscriminate sex became normal.
Irreverent political humor nourished hungry audiences. Saturday Night Live flourished and blossomed as poisonous partisan politics sparked a revival of satire and parody. As Uranus transits 
HAVES must learn they can no longer afford not to value ‘have-nots’ or to take them for granted. Have-nots must be loved and appreciated for any and all good things that aren’t about money. Our Founding Fathers saw us all as their children and truly wanted what’s best for all of us (despite their personal prejudices and programming). Thanks to them, we can say what’s on our minds and share what’s in our hearts via our first amendment rights!
In 1975, the ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’ became an instant cult classic. Its message was ‘anything goes’ (as long as you’re not hurting anyone). Punk Rock was a rebellious, unconventional, and nihilistic expression of Uranus in Scorpio. Ultrasound became an alternative to x-ray radiation. Palimony suits became popular. IBM introduced the personal PC and transformed communications for all time. Performance art became a popular and exciting venue for all creative artists. Personal gender identity needs to be accepted by all or we will face the deep and dark consequences of our fear and hate.
Life insurance protects the living. What’s the premium for a graceful and painless final exit? How much $$$ are the last months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds of your life worth? Everyone dies. If you want to learn more about Dying with Dignity, read Final Exit by Derek Humphrey. When your time comes, having a logical, practical, painless, and peaceful alternative to facing a future of dependency, lack of awareness, lack of love, pain, or poverty in old age is a good idea. Or not…
“Dr. Death” (Jack Kevorkian) inspired me to create my very own ‘Dr. Death Do It Yourself Kit’. In case I ever decide to end this insanity of trying to be sane in an insane world, or lose my health, I plan to leave this planet as peacefully and painlessly as possible and to leave others with as small as possible a mess to clean up. An oxygen mask attached to a tank of helium is my means to an independent, painless, peaceful and non-messy final exit.
Mixing politics, religion, and profit with our 2nd amendment rights will surely backfire on the NRA. Laws that enable us to own and use weapons will be regretted when have-nots with guns become fearful and desperate enough to use them. Boundaries between sanity and insanity will blur, and haves will be looking over their shoulders while attempting to protect their families and possessions from the ravenous masses that are scraping for pennies at the bottom of the barrel while watching haves living like royalty.
We’ve become dinosaurs. Our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual futures and the future of our planet are being threatened with chaos and extinction. Our Constitution has armed us (whoever is ready, able, and willing to protect ourselves, our families, ideologies, and beliefs) and given us permission to exercise our rights to declare open season on tyranny, eradicate greed, and remove the predatory Tyrantosaurus Hex.
It was a challenging time to keep secrets. Sex combined with death to expose the dark underbelly of Scorpio. HIV came into being while condoms were promoted on national TV to stop the spread of AIDS. Homosexuality came out of the closet to be the topic of everyday conversation. Religious fundamentalists and politicians had plenty to preach about. Sex scandals ousted Senator Gary Hart and televangelist Jim Bakker. Scorpio rules other people’s money and Bakker was later convicted of defrauding his followers of 158 million dollars.
Police bombed the headquarters of a black radical group called MOVE. Terrorists from the Palestine Liberation Front seized the Italian cruise ship Achille Laura. Oliver North exposed the Iran Contra scandal. He and Ronald Reagan walked away intact. Terrorists bombed Pan Am flight 103, killing 259 passengers and 11 villagers in Scotland.
Dominant index fingers (Jupiter) are long and stand independently from other fingers. A strong index fingered person prefers to partner. As ambitious types, they visualize their goals and then plan to accomplish them. As career minded individuals, they’re motivated by professionalism. They have natural leadership abilities that attract opportunities for them to manage. They’re drawn to others like themselves who are ambitious and proactive. Controlling behavior patterns, obsessive habits, being critical, judgmental, and indulging in too much good food and drink are weaknesses. Other flaws include false pride, gluttony, vanity, and bossiness. Dominant index fingered individuals must overcome their excesses by practicing moderation. Success comes more easily than most other types, but it still must be earned. Many successful judges, journalists, lawyers, politicians, producers, promoters, priests, speakers, salespeople, and the finest and worst chefs have dominant index fingers.
The middle finger (Saturn) is the balance wheel of the hand. It should always be the longest finger, although it may appear shorter relative to index and / or ring fingers, which may be above average. Structure, discipline, and focus are needed. Harnessing these qualities is another story. Saturn is his own worst critic and easily frustrated. Finding healthy uses of will power is essential to having a healthy life. Dominant middle finger types are loners and need alone time. Less inclined to marry than other types, they’re dependable, organized, efficient, patient, and faithful. Their troubles begin with spending too much time feeling guilty, fearful, self-critical, frustrated, and depressed. Being overly responsible and perfectionistic is a recipe for depression, frustration, and fear. Notice how the strong middle finger in this photo magnetically draws the other fingers toward it. This man is an incredible artisan and a confirmed bachelor. He worked as a night watchman for many years.
Dominant middle-fingered folk are frequently tall, slender, and angular in appearance. Pure types have dark hair, large bones, stern features, and bland complexions. The prevailing physical sense is smell. Many Saturn types love string instruments and prefer classical music with a tinge of sadness. They eventually have problems with teeth, knees, ligaments, and hardening of arteries, rheumatism, hemorrhoids, varicose veins, or deafness in the left ear. When the middle finger leans toward the ring finger, you’ve got an individual with a very strong need for privacy. When he’s feeling confined, controlled, or restricted, he gets cranky. Notice the curved middle finger on Donald Rumsfeld’s left hand. There’s no doubt he’s a curmudgeon. Abraham Lincoln (
Ring finger types are happiest. Dominant index fingered folk are the most ambitious. Middle finger types are the most serious. The sun (Leo) finger is symbolized by Apollo, who hauls the sun across the sky each day in his chariot. Apollo types are attractive, brilliant, charming, graceful, artistic, and successful on the inside. Healthy dominant ring finger types are versatile, adaptable, creative, and expressive.
This powerful pinky finger fits a communicative, curious, and quick-witted individual. Dominant pinky fingered people are bottom liners. As quick thinkers and excellent communicators, they’re well aware that if their presentation doesn’t add up, they won’t make the sale. They’re eternally childlike and cherish their freedom. In relationships, they love variety until they end up marrying someone like their mother or father. They love children and will bear any burden for family.
Gold and diamond rings are often found on the pinky finger of acquisitive people. Pinky rings can symbolize the sublimation of sexual energies in order to achieve something requiring a lot of energy. I once examined a group of fifty young men and women, all born into wealthy families in the 80′s. Considering the prosperity of the period, it seemed a paradox to me that every single one of them had an obviously short phalange on the bottom segment of the little finger of his or her dominant hand. The bottom phalange represents the material world. Money will never be a motivation for this group’s career choices. Family issues and personal values will drive these individuals.