I do not believe in astrology. I think it’s an interface for collapsing unfathomable individuals into crayon-labeled hardware drawers. I also think it’s a form of fascist-adjacent thinking which essentializes people into hierarchical categories! And I think it’s bizarre that real living people who would object vociferously to judging others based on their race, sex, gender, orientation, or otherwise identifying characteristic, will positively leap at the chance to not only make assumptions about another person based on their birth date, but will loudly and smugly announce these assumptions to that person’s face.
“Oh, yeah. You would say that,” the horoscope-liker will say. “Because you’re a [INSERT RACE].” Doesn’t feel so good, huh???
Well anyway, it seems like we all have to believe in some bullshit, so oh well. And as one of many things I expose myself to simply so I might understand other people better through direct experience — and because unexpected inputs can produce interesting thoughts, which is what makes tarot etc useful tools for self-reflection — I let the Co-Star telephone application send me messages. I let each fall into my consciousness like a coin into a well, and I listen for how long it takes to hit the water.
Today:
This is an interesting observation, which has nothing to do with my place in the cosmic pattern. As someone who has struggled to forget my dreams, both waking and sleeping, and has been plagued by trying to maintain a personage who no longer exists, I appreciate the reminder.