There were periods when I allowed myself to be governed by astrology or divination, in one form or another. My chronic anxiety, although not named and recognised then, made it tempting for at least one aspect of the day to be assured. It didn’t matter whether the prediction was bad or never came true, only that someone had spoken this benediction *~from above~* about my fate.
I wanted desperately for someone to know what was going to happen to me because I felt so uncertain of the future. When my father died in 1992, I stopped being a planner and neat freak. I had no words for it then, but the general sentiment of “fuck this shit” came up every time I remembered I had to apply myself in any way. Life circumstances cooperated with my newfound freedom from goals, too, because my family faced one financial curveball after another, and my imagination shrank through the years. I decided that I wasn’t going to be able to choose where I was going, ultimately. People with two loving parents could, maybe–but who even knew that for sure? I’m just realising this now, but astrology actually may have played a small part in teaching me to dream again.
I probably first became aware of my star sign overhearing adult conversations, small talk amongst grownups introducing their children. “She’s an Aries–hard-headed,” and it became one of the seeds for my internal narrative. The eternal enthusiast who never finished what she started.
The horoscope would always be on the most important page of the newspaper, of course, next to the komiks. Some days, I could “enter a lucrative venture” if I recognised the right opportunity, and on others I would have to “watch out for falling debris”, all very sensible things to do whichever star sign you may be but with a hint of risk or danger that was seductive. Never mind that I was just a kid, I could look up “lucrative” in the dictionary. What I found fascinating was feeling seen by the author, a simulacrum of care.
I also enjoyed the daily appearance of Filipino TV psychic Zenaida Seva on the morning show, especially because she ended every rundown of the horoscope with:
Hindi hawak ng mga bituin ang ating kapalaran.
Gabay lamang sila. Meron tayong free will, gamitin natin ito.
Our stars don’t determine our fate. They only serve as guides.
We have free will. Let’s use it.
And guide my fate they did, but that’s for later in the story. At the time, Zenaida’s benedictions were enough for my high school concerns, even if we made fun of her Madame Zola look. We were interested in romance and our crushes’ star signs gave us glimpses into their inscrutable thoughts (in reality, these were about sex and/or Dragonball Z every Sunday at 4 PM). Would I be compatible with a shy Virgo such as P, or would C’s fiery Sag be a much more exciting prospect? Horoscopes were a spice in the delusion soup that is puberty.
In uni, I had what I considered my first grown-up relationship (with a guy just a year older than me, but someone who had lived a little, was more mature, listened to my opinions). He had dated older women before me, women who seemed like esoteric priestesses of desire and strong (free!) will to me, had actual jobs, even previous marriages. They introduced the Tarot to him, which he introduced to me because he thought I was a little fey and would use it better. I’m not sure I was good at it, though I sensed I could be but couldn’t fully embrace it and unleash the power. I was proficient enough to glean wisdom when I needed it. And then I started feeling dependent on it, turning to readings for every little thing, refusing to heed what they told me often, and by the time the relationship itself had derailed (by my hand, I admit), I cast the cards aside and decided to go rogue for good.
After graduation, real life hit like a brick to the face, but I found a starter job at a centre in my uni, proofreading book manuscripts on public policy and fending off advances from ancient academics. Eventually, I got a job in the city editing for an engineering magazine, so I would have to take the train, which provided a free daily called Libre (literal yet uplifting, so it was a cool name for a crap paper). The horoscopes were one liners that were oddly specific without being ironic, like “Don’t accept money from a monkey” or “Your friend will give you a lovely gift”, which came with random ratings for love and luck, plus a lucky number. I turned to these, if only to add colour to another day in corporate limbo.
Every one wonders who the hell writes these things and whether they actually come from somewhere real or are as hokey as they sound. After years of publishing torture, I finally left my promising career in science writing to try freelancing for my bandmate’s content company and one of my first assignments was to write horoscopes for an SMS astrology service. L-to-tha-fuckin-O-to-tha-fuckin-L. My “boss” handed me a source text: a book with the year’s predictions outlined for each sign, for each day of the year. It looked like something you would buy at an airport gift shop, with a fuchsia cover and the title in black Times New Roman, of course. I would make monthly spreadsheets, doling out people’s fates that I looked up in the book, omitting vowels to fit the character limits of the mid-00s.
I moved on to other freelance work. I forgot to mention that one of the reasons I had quit my corporate job was because I broke up with a man I thought I was going to marry. Despite enjoying my new career freedom and the exciting beginnings of more music gigs, I felt lost. Those were the heydays of Livejournal, but I was a late joiner who only created one so I could read my bandmates’ private posts. One of them introduced me to Deja Deck. Goodness, how this deck helped me through those years. Its dark artwork, wry humour and wonderful reinterpretation of the original Tarot spoke to my soul, and I always seemed to draw exactly the right card for whatever question I had. Preparing for this post a few days ago, I visited the site and asked a question, drawing The Hierophant (it made sense). And just now, I asked the same question, and I still drew the card. It made me wonder if it had become glitchy after more than a decade, so I asked a different question and got the II of Notes (II of Wands in the Rider Waite, also made sense). I was humbled. I remain a believer.
Approaching 30, I stumbled on Susan Miller of Astrologyzone. I don’t remember who introduced her work to me, either it was a co-worker, another bandmate, or both simultaneously and that must have been what made me think she was legit. She gave monthly predictions that were richly detailed and advice for what to do with the situations she outlined. After just one month of seeing her statements coincide with events in my own life on those exact days of the month, I followed her religiously, and my friends and I tweeted each other when the new release would be out. This was when my life most aligned with the stars, when I was guided through Mercury Retrograde with care and rewarded with truly joyful “Gold Star Days”. I guess the latter were relative, but they happened to me when I watched Broken Social Scene in concert, or had an excellent gig where I was given compliments by a crush, or given high praise at work.
But then… after a few years of following her, Susan encountered some unfortunate personal issues that seemed to affect her work. I felt bad for her, but couldn’t quell the disappointment I felt when even her powers couldn’t guarantee her working them out. It was around this time I met my partner as well, and scoping out my reading and then his every month to make damn sure the relationship would flourish suddenly seemed to much like a lot of homework.
Checking the site now after almost a decade, I see that Susan has somehow overcome whatever was ailing her then, and I’m glad. I’m grateful to her, and I’m sure she has helped and will help more people looking for a guide.
It’s also been almost a decade since my husband and I met. Free will, baby–his plus mine. Every damn day we respectively made choices, and one of them was to keep trying.
Still, especially in a world like this one in 2020, one can’t help but search for answers where your five senses can’t seem to provide you with one sane one. I’ve been seeing Jessica Dore, on my feed, consulted by the same types of friends who once led me to Deja Deck and then to Susan Miller. Her work combines behavioural therapy with the Tarot (she’s a licenced social worker). On her social media posts she usually features a card from the Rider Waite deck, connecting its traditional meanings to behavioural therapy concepts.
I follow her, too, but loosely, just another interesting thing to read and scroll over at the end of the day. I recognise the value in her practise, realising that all this time, perhaps I used astrology as the therapy I didn’t know I needed, and definitely couldn’t afford. I tried to use it to see the connections between what I experienced and who I am, and who I want to be.
I hope I can one day muster enough free will to not just reach out to the collective unconscious for help, but to more people who live and walk the earth.
doloresappreciationsociety 