The Bread Crumbs of Beautiful Change

Today, with a big old sigh, I pulled my gym card, MTA card, and library card out of my wallet. It was an acknowledgment that there’s no way I’ll be comfortable working out in an indoor public space or riding a subway or checking out physical books anytime soon. That these cards I used daily only months before have become obsolete artifacts in the tesseract that is virus time.

Without unifying municipal or national leadership, there’s no obvious end in sight to the COVID madness, the chaos and cruelty that has become American life. Thus in my clients and community I observe a rising existential despair—an overwhelming sense that life in its current incarnation is unlivable, pleasure is mostly toxic, and meaning elusive at best.

One thing I never do in my practice as an intuitive is bullshit. So I won’t sugarcoat this grief. I won’t meme or om-shanthi or psychobabble it away. Our old way of life was very very flawed–untenable for many–but knowing it is gone is fucking hard, especially since our present existence feels confined and loveless.

Change is invariably and powerfully painful. It strips us of hope, because it suggests we don’t know enough about our future to attach dreams to it.

But hope is a fool’s errand—the imposition of ego–because it stems from the belief that we can and should will our projections into being. Limited to what humans can imagine, it is the clumsiest sort of spellcraft, the fumbling of the faithless.

Most of us live without faith since it was the baby that got thrown out with the bathwater of religion, or because it was disrupted by trauma and injustice. But faith is what we need. Because faith is the knowledge that that so long as we are honest, engaged, and loving—so long as we actively honor the spirit living in everyone and everything— we can find our way to a divine flow that guides us, sees us, supports us. The flow that does not coddle us but always holds us.

Faith is a marriage of fate and free will, reception and inception, personal intent and the good wind of the universe. it is working with rather than against the rhythms of the seasons, the laws of the land (not the government), the call of our true heart. When we lose this faith, we experience increasingly jarring course corrections until we recalibrate or life is recalibrated for us. When we find this faith, we can dare and dive freely because it is as simple as stepping into water–sometimes delightful, sometimes bracing, always liberating.

With faith, we can rise from this collective horror rather than trudge blindly forward.

But to find faith now, we must first mourn. For only when we experience our rawest feelings can we experience anything else, just like infections can’t heal until we lance them. Emotions are not our true selves, but they are the breadcrumbs that lead us to them. So light a candle, put on the saddest music you can find, and surrender to your sorrow.

Somewhere in this shit lives the fertilizer for beautiful growth.

American Growing Pains, Lunar Eclipsed

Barbra Kruger’s proposed flag


For many of us, this Fourth of July doesn’t feel like a cause for celebration. The rot at our country’s core is exploding in our faces. The “independence” we’re meant to commemorate was only intended for those the Founding Fathers deemed fully human (an appallingly small percentage of us). And we’ve already had our fill of fireworks and then some.

Really, it’s no surprise that this year, America’s “birthday” is taking place on the same day we’re experiencing a lunar eclipse in tough-love, karmic taskmaster Capricorn.

Jonathan Horotwitz’s proposed flag

Lunar eclipses reveal shadows and release unhealthy patterns, and this one will be amplified by the USA’s solar return. My suggestion? Take at least part of the day to rally, organize, atone, and learn. America may not be beautiful but change surely is.

This Capricorn psychic will be working all weekend, so book a Zoom session if you’ve been in need of intuitive guidance. The focus? How to better serve yourself and others.

Carl Reiner Told the Truth (1922-2020)

I’m so so so sad Carl Reiner has passed over. His impact on TV, film, and comedy was legion and it was legendary. He worked with everyone from Neil SImon to Lily Tomlin to Steve Martin to Ruth Gordon and made them all funnier–better, really. His CV included Your Show of Shows, All of Me, and Where’s Poppa?–tons and tons of waggish staples. Even in his 90s he was still showing up on screen in the Ocean’s 11 franchise and on page as an author. Even yesterday he still shone such a bright light that he was tweeting what we all thought about 45. Not to mention that Mel Brooks will feel SO ALONE.

Their model of male love–their decades-long commitment to each other and to laughter–hurt my heart in the greatest way. They represented the very best of my tribe (the Jews!) by understanding that being tough and smart didn’t preclude being silly, soft-hearted, and socially just. Really, I wanted Mel and Carl to become the 2,000 Year Old Men. Or at least to live to see Trump leave the White House in handcuffs. (If you’ve never listened to The 2,000 Year Old Man, do yourself a favor and download it. Growing up I listened to it every day after school and it never failed to crack my shit up.)

In work he joyously played second fiddle–even in his masterwork, the Dick Van Dyke Show, modeled after his own family life in New Rochelle, he ceded the central role to Van Dyke whom he generously deemed a “better actor.” Top billing never mattered as much to him as top form because he knew to love long and love well. Thus he remained happily married to the brilliant Estelle from 1948 until her 2008 death. Thus he spawned the brilliant Rob Reiner and a long line of other comical, kind humans. Thus he died at 98 in top form, true to form.

Carl Reiner was a mensch. He was a mitzvah. He will be missed.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy