WThe first time I discovered my birth chart, I was blown away. As if everything I knew about myself, but was too afraid to touch, was being returned to me. It was the kind of recognition I’d longed for all my life—recognition of my individuality and rebellion through my large number of personal planets in Aquarius, recognition of my artistic talents and romantic imagination through my Venus in Venus, and my Intelligence and self-identity. – Criticism through my Virgo Rising. It was a revelation, and I was in love.

I loved it so much, in fact, that I learned the hard way how to read other people’s charts and interpret transits, all with the ease of my computer. And eventually, I was lucky enough to turn this passion for astrology into a full-time job. But one day, in the middle of the 2020 lockdown, when I sat at my desk and tried to write my monthly horoscope, I found myself unable to type. I was surprised, but I thought, yes, let’s give it a few days. Days turned into weeks that turned into months and I couldn’t even bring myself to follow the transit for my personal use, let alone for public use.

It was devastating and terrifying, as it wasn’t just my career that was on the line, it felt like the act that I had fallen so deeply in love with was suddenly stuck with me, without a clue. of closure. After months of tears and anger, I had no choice but to move on. I stopped trying to write horoscopes, closed my booking site for readings, and mourned my relationship with astrology and the planets I thought I knew so well.

But something unexpected happened. I felt the changing phases of the moon as I walked my dog, whatever emotion arose, without realizing what the sign was. It was too cheeky to feel the sun on his face, open to any pleasure. It was saved for me, rather than analyzing what the transits had to say about making the most of the day. I would experience a very emotional breakthrough in my personal healing work, only to be told later by a friend in passing that there was an eclipse that very day.

I slowly realized that the planet didn’t care about me, they just wanted me. experience Instead, just study it. They were talking to me all the time, ready to share their wisdom with me, if I could only slow down enough to listen to them. They were with me all the way, even though I stopped tracking them on an app. And I discovered what it’s like to just be with the planets in the present moment, right here, right now, on my mystical journey, watching their magic in wonder and wonder, rather than looking to them to predict the future. instead of

I don’t know what all this means for my astrology practice going forward, all I know is that it will never be the same. I can’t wrap this experience up in a neat and tidy bow like I once hoped I could, and I hope I never will. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s this – instead of looking down at my phone for immediate answers, I’ll choose to look up at the sky and ask endless questions instead.

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