While corresponding with a student recently about this very subject, I used this example…
That guy says to me, “You’re an ASTROLOGER?! That’s so weird. So not normal.”
I have a choice…I can respond from that overly simplified idea of his…or I can respond from my soul…the culture of my soul…where the word “astrologer” is a moving animal…an ancient color wheel…a peasant village, a stone temple, or public plaza…
So I say, “Which Astrologer?”
The milky way mustache child with glow in the dark stars on her ceiling?
Galileo fearing the catholic church?
The three wise men from the east, on their way to find a Jewish mystic?
The cheap fortune teller with cracked teeth and lies, who also manages to surprise?
The starry eyed 18 year old white rich girl reading her horoscope in Vogue magazine?
The 9 year old gay boy with his frightened telescope pointed at mars?
The indigenous man telling stories of the stars on some primitive night?
You say astrology isn’t a normal job, but I say normal isn’t even normal
Normal is so many different normals, until
by so many points of normal light
a constellation of normal is formed in the normal night
and normally it shines out but right now something isn’t right
because normal’s normal lights burned out long before they reached this highly normal fight
Exercise of the day: practice looking at yourself, and others, from a dozen more angles than you’re used to…the point isn’t to make something prettier…it’s to make it deeper by the careful process of diversification. The particulars are many and their images bright…if we only take the time to interrupt our grasping certainties.
Prayer: normal is so many different normals, until by so many points of normal light…
Image by courtesy of Tobin, at creative commons image licensing.