It was bad enough with U taking astrology seriously. Not C as well…
U told me that she had observed similarities of personality according to sun sign. Just, no. I cannot accept that beyond her noticing things which confirmed her theory, and ignoring the things which don’t: and that disappoints me, because I respect her intellect and level-headedness, and also her spirituality: and if she accepts astrology, she is a less persuasive witness for her complementary therapy practices.
C, however. This astrologer had been recommended to her by several people, and he was brilliant. She told him her date and time of birth, as far as she knew, and he made his calculations and cast his chart. Then, as he explained to her the influences of the planets, and the relationships between them, she was amazed by his accuracy. Her history became clearer: he explained to her parts of herself, which had seemed to be in conflict, or wrong. He told her that this was simply who she was. He explained it like archetypes or myths which fitted her experience.
Did he have a computer, to cast the chart? She does not know. He was in America, they talked by Skype. He could, perhaps, have the signs and planets in his head, but it would make sense to use a reference.
How may I value her experience? Possibly, he was cold-reading her. As he talks, and selects which characteristic of which trine to name, he observes her reactions. Often, Rationalists behave as if cold-readers are all con artists, telling lies to make money, peddling psychic woowoo bullshit to exploit the gullible, but this is not necessarily so. He could be an intuitive, who perceives her unconsciously, so that his insights feel like inspirations, like the voice of spirit or muse. C believes he has performed a valuable service. She feels he has explained her to herself. Perhaps he has.
I found myself weeping, and I thought it was that. Indeed, that was the immediate precipitator of it. I told C I was completely miserable, and she asked which part of me was miserable. Oh, that is interesting. A small, child-part of me. Can I look after her? Can I reassure her that I can?
And indeed I was highly irritated with myself for weeping over that, thinking I should be over it by now: it was months ago, I have reframed ways of thinking of it, and while there are reminders of it about, I would prefer not to be so susceptible. Now, though, I think it a symbol, I weep over life. Possibly, weeping over life is cleansing.