March 2024: Horoscopes for Moderns
So much of what astrology is and offers has nothing to do with how it is promoted and presented.
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“The only way to stop smoking is to stop smoking.” —Werner Herzog
AS REGULAR READERS KNOW, I dislike how astrology is marketed online. The sort of hype that promises the client specific insights into her soul’s karmic destiny, allowing the client to—finally—achieve radical authenticity (what is that exactly, and why ‘radical’?) and a future filled with triumph and romantic bliss. Wow.
Of course, this sort of grift has haunted astrology ever since horoscopes became a thing for the masses in ancient Greece. However, the internet amplifies the phenomenon into epic proportions within the collective imagination.
It’s not so much the kookiness of the marketing but the vague, overworked use of terms like ‘destiny’ and ‘fate.’ I’m not certain that those futures exist the way humans consider them to. But I’m pretty sure someone promising to provide specific details on these themes is probably the last person to consult.
Why? The answer is in this bit from the Tao Te Ching:
He who knows does not speak;
He who speaks does not know.
Because he doesn’t display himself,
people can see his light.
Because he has nothing to prove,
people can trust his words.
Because he doesn’t know who he is,
people recognize themselves in him.
OK, so if someone is lost in the fog of trying to cull details about his life’s meaning rather than simply living his life, there’s bound to be a cycle of diminishing returns. One uncertainty leads to another possibility that triggers another uncertainty that leads to more uncertainty. Why?
As Schopenhauer suggests, it is only towards the close of one’s life that a revelation might appear where all of the dots connect, and each chapter of one’s narrative feels clarified and fitting.
There’s no way to jump forward and have that epiphany—that certainty—before its time, and thank goddess. Imagine how tedious life would be if the mystery of existence was removed and one felt like they were going through the already-ordained motions, like a hamster in a wheel.
For this reason, whenever I work with clients—fellow human beings who trust me to discuss topics with them while in a vulnerable position—I’m emphatic that anything I might present is not etched in stone, is not a directive, and is especially not a prediction. (The proximity of the words ‘predicament’ and ‘prediction’ makes me squirm.)
It’s rare to find someone within the metaphysical arts who can offer a consultation with the same openness and humility as the client. Too often, the astrologer’s narcissism hogs the moment, knowing that a sincere seeker is tracking the horoscope’s light show with laser-like attention.
I am not knocking astrologers who claim to offer guidance or insights of that nature; they seem to believe that delineating a life is as simple as a set of astrological rules that—if applied correctly—will satisfy the client’s needs.
But it is the exchange, the dialectic that occurs with my client, that facilitates insights beyond fretting about the future. That exchange is primary. The specifics of a birth chart are what I call ‘conversation starters.’ They are fluid reflections—not etched in stone.
And finally, I have never prospered in life by believing in anything or anyone. There were moments when I convinced myself I was doing that—believing. Still, eventually, those subjects—those individuals or institutions—fell away because the only advice or guidance that ‘sticks’ is the understanding that arises within one’s nature. And that is something to pay credence to, commit to, and move forward with. Astrology can prime the pump.
Kulture Klatch
• WHAT I’M READING THIS WEEK: One of the most diversified, fervor-driven filmmakers on Earth—Werner Herzog’s autobiography, Every Man for Himself and God Against All: A Memoir. Exactly what you’d expect from a birth chart that redefines the notion of a Virgo stellium, where the Sun, Mars, and Neptune are conjunct.
• OLD ALBUM THAT GOT STUCK IN REPEAT THIS WEEK: Roxy Music’s Avalon. When I lived in New York and pounded the pavement, going from cattle-call to cattle-call, this played non-stop in my Walkman. Now, every time I hear a track, Manhattan looms back—all around me. (Two tracks are featured in my new Spotify playlist, Titanica: 2024. Follow along here).
• FILM THAT I WATCHED AND THEN IMMEDIATELY REWATCHED THE NEXT NIGHT: Sorry, Oppenheimer, but Jonathan Glazer’s Zone of Interest is the ‘film of the year.’ This is cinema remade into something beyond description. Talk about ‘spellbound.’
• THIS MORNING’S SUNRISE:
