Astrological Coincidences Bring Me Back
I’m driving home from my endocrinology appointment, a 90-minute trip. I’m ragged from poor sleep the night before, worrying about my thyroid appointment, and I’m beginning to melt into actual fatigue as the relief of not having cancer seeps into my tired bones. I’ve planned to do some shopping on the way home, but one exit after another whizzes by as the car’s cruise control drags me doggedly north.
I’m listening to a Sagittarius birthday reading I purchased from one of my favorite astrologers, Eric Francis.
Francis does something really witchy with his readings. When you get an astrology reading, the astrologer needs to know the date and exact time and place of your birth. Pinpointing the exact time and place of birth is essential, because astrology is based on where the heavenly bodies appear to be from our vantage point on Earth at that moment.
But Francis does one reading for everyone with Sagittarius sun, moon or rising, based on the time of the New Moon in Sagittarius, in one location, his location. To listen to a reading like this you become witness to a deep and intricate order that, in the hands of an adept, yields information of a healing and helpful nature, divined by plumbing its depths. It becomes apparent that no matter what your personal, particular vibrational signature, there is also a larger, more fundamental vibrational truth that is directly applicable to all of us.
This blows my mind. It’s an outrageous act, even more outrageous than astrology itself. It’s the kind of thing I adore and aspire to. It’s where implausible (which I added for the sceptics reading this) meets improbable, and, even if you’re a believer, impossible.
Yet his readings are deep, dense, insightful, loving and accurate. He’s the uncle or big brother you want when the shit hits the fan and you’re not sure whether to go to art school, get married, or sell everything and move across the country. Of course, like all wise and skilled advisers, he won’t tell you what to do….
I am mulling all of this when I realize, about 5 minutes into the recording, that this is the same recording I listened to on the way down. With cruise control dragging me along the highway and fatigue gnawing at my ankles, I decide not to pull over and switch to the one I haven’t listened to yet, but to listen to this one again.
It’s great stuff. It reminds me of listening to a bedtime story in which I’m the hero. He’s talking about the myth of the centaur (Sagittarius’ symbol), and then Chiron, another famous centaur in mythology, the quintessential wounded healer. Apparently, Chiron is in my fourth house this year, the house of home and family.
“Chiron in the 4th is famous if for nothing else than for hypersensitivity to one’s immediate environment, the physical, actual surroundings. And this has many implications, creative implications and psychic and health implications. And there is a reminder here to keep your environment as free from toxins as you can. Keep your environment clean.… Minimize the number of chemicals in your house…. The first place to look for the sources of…allergy is your environment.” – Eric Francis from Sagittarius Annual Reading, 2015
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’ve just left the doctor’s office having vowed to learn all about the toxins that may be disrupting my thyroid function. Ever since I read about that possibility, I’ve been eying things at home suspiciously. Is it the electric kettle? The tap water? Something less obvious and more insidious? My multivitamin? The very air?
And while I’ve been reading up on thyroid disorder from the naturopathic point of view, I’ve of course been finding the mind-body information that the thyroid, seated as it is in the throat, represents a dysfunction in communication, specifically expressing oneself.
Louise Hay, pioneer of mind-body healing with her 1990 book, You Can Heal Your Life, has this to say about thyroid disorder:
“THYROID PROBLEMS: Humiliation. Feeling repressed or put down. Feeling as if you never get to do what you want. Affirmation: I move beyond old limitations and allow myself to express freely and creatively.”
For the longest time, while I love the affirmation, I could not relate to her formulation for thyroid issues. But today what strikes me is that first word, humiliation.
“Additionally, the movement of Nesses through your 4th house is encouraging you to go more deeply into the environment that you lived in as a child and to look for early causes and correspondences to what you are going through now. In a sense, Nessus is asking you to engage the darker experiences of your childhood with your eyes open…. And there’s really the need to get an understanding of, we’ll say, what was done to you as a child and then how you responded to it as a child and now as an adult.”
Adam’s Apple, Eve’s Throat
As much as I hate to admit it, I do have this one episode from kindergarten that I haven’t ever been able to let go of. And why I still think of it is has been as much of a puzzle as what actually happened and why. This is a cosmic joke on me, because I always tell myself that I am not one of those people who reference events that are 40 and 50 years old in my daily life. I don’t live in the past, uh-uh. No, but apparently the past is alive in me.
I’ve never thought of this event as humiliating. That seemed too strong a word to use for something that was embarrassing and perplexing and was over in an instant. It was an ungentle introduction to the politics of communication, and perhaps something linguists call pragmatics. Come to think of it, is was humiliating. (I looked it up.) It brought me lower, made me obedient and engendered the opposite of pride.
As an adult, I could explain it away. My kindergarten teacher might well have been trying to save my ass from the dreaded legacy of being a tattletale. For that’s what I, in my ignorance of the way kid society works, was about to become the morning the safety patrol student came into our room and asked if anyone had thrown the apple she was holding up.
I’d seen it happen. As we were lining up to come in, little Adam saw that the apple had fallen out of someone’s hand, and rather than retrieving it for them, he picked it up and tossed it across the playground. Everyone saw it. Since no one did anything about it right then, and being ignorant of playground law, I concluded it was a non-event. For all I knew it was okay to throw other people’s stuff. It wouldn’t have surprised me. So much else about large groups of children seemed to be conducive to meanness.
So when the safety patrol came in holding up the apple, I suppose I felt a sense of relief that now a wrong would be righted, and civilization would be restored.
Happily, I knew the answer to her query, so I raised my hand. Immediately, Mrs. Howe scolded me. “I don’t need a tattletale to tell me! I can tell by looking into your eyes if anyone in this classroom threw that apple.” And she peered into each of our eyes, during a heavy silence in which fifty (maybe it was 25) 5- and 6-year-olds sat stock still, then declared that the criminal was not in our midst, thanked the safety patrol student, and sent her away.
We all relaxed, and I don’t know if Adam shot me a menacing look and gloated over getting away with a felony, or if his cheeks turned red and he bent his head to an important kindergarten task, embarrassed about his misdemeanor. All I remember is bewilderment and the sharp edge of fear that I was truly among idiots.
“You are actually very well adapted for the challenges of life on our planet, at this particular time, but it’s as if you’re always a visitor from someplace far away.”
And what other rules were there that forbade speaking up, the quick and direct solving of a problem, that prevented us from being real with each other, that gave one person the power to silence another? And how could I ever feel anything but unsure of my instincts and the appropriateness of my voice?
Never had it been so complicated to be simple. With that, I quietly divorced myself from the proceedings. You people go on with your games. I’ll be over here sorting crayons.