A friend told me about an astrologer who is also a reiki master and Jungian therapist who was supposed to be mind blowing. I was intrigued and decided to book a reading. I was hoping for some insight into my ongoing midlife crisis. Perhaps it was time for the planets to guide me.
Before my reading I needed to provide my time of birth. This always brings up the question of whether I am adopted. My parents are very vague about my birth time, which I find highly suspicious.
“How can you not remember?” I whine whenever the topic comes up.
“Well, it was a long time ago,” my mother replies.
“Yeah, a really, really long time ago,” my dad quips.
“But what could have been more significant? All parents remember their child’s birth.”
They remember my sister’s time of birth. It is clearly marked in her baby book, along with the requisite lock of fine baby hair. I don’t even have a baby book. There are countless photo albums documenting my sister’s every waking and sleeping moment as a baby. There are few snapshots of me, although in my parents’ defense, I was an ugly baby. I was bald until I was two with a very sour face, and spent most of my infancy looking like an angry old man in a pink bonnet.
“Well do you remember whether it was day, night, afternoon?” I pout.
“Hmmm, sometime in the evening I think,” my mom muses.
“No it was morning because remember you had a doctor’s appointment in the morning and then you went straight to the hospital,” my dad replies.
“So are we talking lunch?”
“No not lunch. Lets say two!” my mom suggests brightly.
When I arrived for my reading my friend the organizer raised her eyebrows.
“Whoa. I don’t know what is in your chart, but yours is the only one that Martin commented about. He said your chart is craaaazy.”
According to Martin I am in for a planetary ass whooping, and I know Martin wouldn’t lie. I was hanging on his every word. He was a soothsayer prophet who had me figured out with a few lines on a chart. Apparently, if I don’t start moving forward with my life, I will miss the boat and be generally screwed.
I immediately felt my anxiety level rise.
“I’m not usually this much of a hard ass,” Martin explained, “but you have to do something. This will either be a huge transformative time or you will completely fizzle and won’t get this chance again. If you don’t get it together there will be a whole lot of conflict.”
“Like the shit’s going to hit the fan?” I asked, gulping.
“Honey, the shit is already flying,” he replied, “you’d better start shoveling.”
Yikes. Now I was afraid.
“How was it?” The Sweetie asked when I returned home. He is a huge skeptic of all things new agey and has a hard time suppressing his eye rolls.
“Martin was amazing,” I gushed, “He was so on, he actually made me cry.”
“He made you cry? That isn’t exactly a huge accomplishment,” The Sweetie smirked.
Obviously the planetary conflict has already begun.