I need a month–nay, a week!–in which no one who obviously needs therapy tells me that they don’t need therapy because they do iowaska. I am an intuitive, and absolutely believe in the revelations offered by such experiences. But I also believe in the rigor and incremental changes of regular old therapy. God knows the work I do only increases my need for it.
This has been especially true since our country got the DTs. My visions have not been this disturbing since I worked at Us Weekly and kept channeling Britney Spears while she was spiraling out of control and I could feel her feverish terror and also that we at the magazine were contributing to her breakdown. Lately I walk down the street and see bombs in the sky and our dictator behind bars, his hair most definitely out of place, the damage already done. Yet I also believe we change our future and past in every moment of our present, and that praxis can pave a new path.
As a Capricorn, I know all too well that great, lasting progress only can happen through small, unwavering steps and relentless self-accounting. Sit-downs at lunch counters, regular letters to state reps, facing your fears every freaking day. Last night possibly our last decent president spoke to us about the domestic threats our country was facing and the courage we needed to evince. Actually, what he said was that we needed to be “anxous, fierce guardians of our democracy.” Visualization married with vigilance is the best American story-the only real one–and it always has been. We are a young country and thus don’t always recognize that hard work is necessary for a good life. But we are entering our adolescence and the only way to survive this stage is to take daily responsibility for what we want to become.
I celebrate my solar return on the last day of Capricorn, then our new oligarch assumes office on the first day of Aquarius. This year my wish is that we channel the old-soul goat in the face of his foot-stamping madness. Like Hitler, Trump didn’t emerge from a vacuum. If he were not tapping into a core ugliness long brewing in our culture, he’d be a loser landlord just like Adolf would’ve been a failed artist railing in a bar. What we must confront is not only Donald’s looming destruction. We also must acknowledge the empty calories that fed this hatred–the decades of snotty disengagement, unfounded entitlement, and dehumanizing greed. There are no shortcuts. We must find ways to truly feed our souls.