It happens every single time. We’ll be in a group discussing something like love or sex or what our favorite fruits are and because of a striking pattern someone (usually me) will bring up the zodiac, asking for the group’s sun/moon/ascendant signs. Those who understand will quickly state their alignments and those who don’t will awkwardly shift in their seats until someone asks something like What is an ascendant? I thought I was just a Taurus after which I’ll benevolently refer them to the most powerful online astrology tool ever created, cafeastrology.com, where they will inevitably spend the rest of their night and life being absolutely read for filth by planets and stars. It’s guaranteed. Everyone thinks it’s bullshit until they read their own chart.
And a lot of people have a point. It really does seem stupid at first: tell me the day/time of your birth, and I will give you unprecedented insight on not only your innermost self, but also how you should be living your life. I asked my friend once if she believed in the zodiac. What, you mean when they say that everyone who was born in June has to have the exact same personality traits no matter what they’ve been through? Obviously. I’m a Cancer.
Astrology isn’t necessarily the most respected science, and if the lazy, popsugar caricature of a horoscope Cosmo publishes every week is any indication, there aren’t many mainstream authorities on the subject that don’t use it for cash. These days astrology is a marketable gimmick, a giant, glittery fortune cookie that tells you what color socks to wear and whether you should save your inevitable breakup with Brad for another day (Mercury is in retrograde, smh girl!). In mainstream media, it is also decidedly feminine, with weekly horoscopes or at least mentions of the signs in many generic female-oriented magazines but an intentional lack of a “Brostrology: Astrology for BROS” spread in GQ. Those who wholly believe in their published predictions are seen as incompetent and irrational, with many in the Christian right going so far as to call them blasphemous. Astrology has been deemed both fake and unforgivably associated with teenage girls.
Yet, I think there is a hidden comfort in these stars. My own personal journey through astrology started off in a common way. I had always known I was an Aries, but the concept of there being deeper intricacies than the sun sign was completely foreign to me. I was shown my full chart by a friend and dived in, analyzing every aspect of myself in comparison to the descriptions of each of my planetary alignments. Within minutes I found new ways to perceive my deepest internal conflicts and finally understood why I never fit mainstream descriptives of sun sign Aries: I’m a Cancer ascending. It felt good to find patterns in my life and match them to the chart, to place the weight of my identity and its destiny on something other than my own shoulders, if only just for a moment.
Was it all accurate? Of course not, but that’s not the point. Astrology is meant to be a subjective venture; every word you read should be taken with a grain of salt. Any astrologer that maintains respect for their craft will tell you that they are not fortune tellers; you should not make life-changing decisions based on their readings. But what if you need an extra confidence boost before a big event, like an exam? It would be comforting for you to know that Venus is in the perfect position for intelligence and wisdom in your sign. What if you’ve felt off all day, and you have no idea why things aren’t working out? Here’s your explanation: planet X was in Y position; you were not meant to have a productive day today. Don’t worry, it isn’t your fault. In the same way Christians are encouraged to “give their problems to God,” astrology can provide a comforting explanation for when things go wrong and nothing makes sense. I have never been able to relate to most tabloid descriptions of my sign, but this semester I had a mental breakdown in early October. That’s Libra season. My mother is a Libra. So is Vladimir Putin. Maybe it was all God’s plan–or maybe the stars weren’t aligned.
Of course, I have to be clear: astrology is not a religion, and I don’t think it can serve as a replacement for one. There is no doctrine, no deity, no commandments or traditions. There aren’t any TV preachers telling you the retrograde on Sunday mornings (except maybe Walter Mercado). There is no man in the street corner with an “All Gays are Geminis” sign and no specific holidays or celebrations related to the stars or greek gods (although Aries season is objectively the best, obviously). In fact, astrology as a practice has been condemned by the Christian right, often viewed by bible-thumpers as pagan, ritualistic, and even satanic. One phone call to my mother makes this instantly clear: esas cosas son del Diablo. Any too-intense uplifting of the self is seen as a ticket straight to the bloody sauna downstairs.
Maybe that’s what drew me to it. As a queer Latinx woman(?), my experience with organized religion, especially in relation to my own family, has been exclusionary at best and violent at worst. People who love in the ways that I can love have been deemed deviant and destructive by the Christian right as explicitly as it being written in their foundational text, and we are therefore denied the organized spirituality that for many can serve as a coping mechanism.
But astrology is not organized, and it does not have a foundational text. The reading of the positions of stars and planets is meant to explain nothing more than your own personal relationships and patterns in your life, and it is you who decides what to believe, if anything at all. It is an exercise of self-reflection, simultaneously deterministic and fundamentally individual, that can be very empowering for those of us on the spiritual sidelines. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that almost all my gay (and brown) friends have their signs in their twitter bios–astrology has given many people in the queer community something to hold on to, something bright in the sky to look up at. Waiting for @AstroPoets* to post my weekly horoscope every Sunday night is my personal rejection of the Sunday morning bleakness I had to sit through for years. Under the Bucksfanian** Zodiac, those with their birthday between May 11 and June 5 fall under the sign of Orion, which is known for its resilience. When I was forced out of the closet and had to attend youth group services to facilitate my “salvation,” I would look up to the winter sky in the church parking lot and ask Orion to keep an eye out for my return. I would always come back, and it would always be there.
Of course, I still get asked, as I’m sure any person who mentions signs and compatibility as often as I do is asked, whether I think it is real or not. My answer to that depends on what you define to be “real.” Do I believe in it in the way religious people believe in their gods? No, that wouldn’t make sense, but it is a way to minimize self-blame in my day-to-day life. Do I think it has real life consequences? Outside of a few relationship decisions, no, but it has brought me comfort and vital self-reflection. Do I believe every word in a horoscope to be true? Of course not, but isn’t that what makes it beautiful? Doesn’t the fact that I can choose what to take to heart make it mine?
*Literally follow them on twitter right now if you care at all about yourself or anyone you love or, like, art. Feed your soul.
**A 14-sign astrology system. Recently invented and honestly a bit niche, but who am I to say it ain’t legit?
A. Canales (BK’20)
