My friend asked me what star sign I am. Oh, not that rubbish. She asked again, and I told her. “What ascendant?” I have no idea, but am a biddable soul, so went off to look it up. I had done this a few years ago, and received a chart with random lines and symbols on it, and an offer to print this on parchment for a too high fee, and I thought I would get something similar. Then I could tell her my moon-sign and my Saturn-sign, if she wished.
There is value in Astrology. It can prod your thought in unexpected directions. But then so can thumbing through the Bible and picking a verse at random. In fact, that technique works for almost every publication, apart from a porn magazine. To me, astrology might be more useful if I freed these powerful Divine Archetypes from the balls of rock millions of miles away: Pluto changes constellation far too slowly. So, just pluck a major Arcanum from the deck, rather than bother with all this computation.
Astrology is also a good wind-up, best played by two in the joke. Keep asking, and then make comments starting “Leos are…” and nod sagely. Stare blankly at any Rationalist refutation, until it stutters to silence, and then say, “Typical Gemini”.
I put my date of birth into the first website I came across. I should have realised there was more to it when it asked me my employment status, and whether I was single, not in a relationship but in love, in a happy relationship or an unhappy relationship. Still I clicked, and sent off.
The answer said something of numerology. I decided that was rubbish when I first came across it aged 14, and saw that through different combinations of first, middle and last name, or initial letters, I could make most of the number archetypes. Today, I will be a 4, or a 9, or a 2. (It’s Clare Quintessence Flourish, since you ask.)
But the “personal astrological forecast” I received said nothing about my moon sign, and I am none the wiser as to what was or is in the ascendant.