Not everyone realizes that our astrology remains active after our deaths—so much so that departed public figures often surge back into the limelight during important transits in their charts. I mention this because I woke Saturday morning flashing on the great director, writer, comedian, and activist Carl Reiner, who died last summer at age 98—only a day after after his last big-hearted, big-brained Tweet and only a few months before Biden beat Trump, whom he loathed as much as he loved Mel Brooks. Before beginning the day’s vernal equinox intuition readings, I turned on Reiner’s HBO documentary—the brilliantly titled If You’re Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast—and was immediately drawn into its overall message: “To stay alive, you must stay in love.” The whole film—really, his whole life—was about how finding and committing to passions was the way to survive and thrive. As I read for clients that day, I could sense Reiner’s delighted laugh and sharp gaze, and it added old-school razzmatazz to our sessions. Of course when I looked up his solar return, it was March 20—that very day. With that old soul and beginner’s mind, he was a true king of the Pisces-Aries cusp. Happy belated birthday, Mr. Reiner. We’re still learning from your love.
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The Softening of Spring (Ostara 2021)
Today is Ostara, the vernal equinox, the first day of spring. It is the year’s most powerful burst of energy, a magnificent roaring fire. In the pagan and astrological calendars, it is also the first day of the new year—when Mother Earth officially springs back to life. This is more relevant than it has ever been, for this last year has been the most draining—the cruelest, the most frightening, the most enraging— many of us can remember. Ordinarily this is the time for revelry and pageantry but let us embrace this spring as a softening—of the soil, the air, our hearts.
Take a moment to go outside, turn to the heavens, and imagine the world to which you’d like to return. How will you reclaim freedom and joy? Better yet, how will you serve it? 
Breathe into this new space, and gently request your highest spirit to build it out. Then tomorrow, if you have the means, plant a garden. Even one plant on your fire escape will help. Even one seed. We all need the wonder of something new and sustaining. We all need practical magic. Happy spring, sweet and salty friends. I bid you beautiful change.
This is an extraordinary time to divine new paths and release roadblocks. Schedule an intuitive reading this week.
Still Growing in Brooklyn
Today, for the first time in 12 months, I went to my local library, which only reopened last week. It’s the branch featured in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and I love it so much that I’ve run a free cinema club in its basement for local retirees. (Lots of Fred and Ginger.) The setup is still bare bones–you can only return books and pick up ones that you’ve reserved in advance–but just stepping into its atrium was so joyful that I burst into tears as soon as I sniffed its familiar scent of paste and paper. “Our favorite patron returns!” sang one librarian as I took a masked bow. But besides bragging about my library celeb status (arguably the highest status of them all), the reason I am sharing this story is because I wanted to confess I pulled a total Grace Paley. Which is to say: dropped off Reckless Daughter, David Yaffe’s biography of Joni Michell–and then immediately checked it back out. Apparently a year is not long enough to absorb the beautiful mystery that is Joni. Hello, my life.