WELCOME TO “Night of the Living Dead” — a.k.a. “your life.” Like the 1968 movie of the same title, it’s a corny, dated zombie flick with a sly political undercurrent that you and I paid good “money” (birth) to get into. Why, oh Why? Are we cultish nerds, or have we intelligently tapped into the director’s metaphoric genius?
At a crucial point in the film–perhaps when the horror and/or campiness is more than we can possibly bear–we look down, see our storyless presence wedged like a cup of yummy popcorn in our lap, and wonder: Is there a way of savoring these timeless morsels while my eyes flicker with these ridiculous, resurrected goons?
Yes indeed. It turns out life has downloaded all the perceptual tools we need to spontaneously crack the code of personality and recognize — even in the most spooky, low-budget parts of our self and others — a divinely-ordained “style of awakening” that is lumbering us all forward into an unfathomable synthesis of engagement and detachment, personality and oneness, riveting, high-stakes tension and laughing-about-it-later-in-the-lobby-ness. The fashionable word for this: “nonduality.”
A better term might be “clean burn.” Which is to say, my me-stories and their emotional fallout are quickly noticed, felt, and released, leaving little residue. Humbly seen and forgiven, our humanity naturally and swiftly deposits us back into the present moment.
So what does all this have to do with Astrodharma? Simple. The more shrewd we get at spotting these now-numbing me-stories — the more we smile compassionately at their once-convincing cinematic ploys — the more quickly we wake up as their tender witness and get back to the magic directly in front of us.
As you read through these twelve lower-octave archetypal scripts, see if you can “own” at least one way in which you fall victim to its trance. Remember, we’re all astrological mutts down here and if we disown an archetype at play in our psyche, we’ll likely call it into our field via an outside personality or event. That’s how hungry we are to illuminate this robosapien mind.
Aries
Fear of dependency
Because my sense of self depends on my capacity to take dynamic, sovereign actions freed of the need to reference other’s points of view, I must continually assert my will in ways that provoke conflict, prove my resilient autonomy and turn relatively healthy, day-to-day companionships into a heroic war against repression.
In the danger of leaning, the fragrance of Self.
To stare, unflinchingly, into a mortal mirror—is this not the pinnacle of bravery?
Taurus
Fear of transformation
Because my identity is rooted in the building and sustaining of material, financial and interpersonal empire, I blindly resist the death of structures that have grown miserably secure, dishonor relationships by relating to loved ones as real estate, and substitute sensual beauty and stimulation for satisfying soul intimacy.
Return, return, say lust and beauty, to the woozy world of the Tao.
The choice is clear: fullness of being or slow-motion collapse.
Gemini
Fear of homogeny
Because I derive selfhood from having an intelligence flexible and spontaneous enough to meet a wide variety of people, places and conditions, I must continually distract myself from “the condition of all conditions” by engaging in a restless mental and physical skimming that preserves the appearance of endless vistas and options.
Great river of self-same moments, I’m tired. Please — float me home.
Existing as a separate self: the height of all boredoms.
Cancer
Fear of being orphaned
Because I know who I am only in the midst of guarding over my own and other’s vulnerabilities and needs, I must continually focus on the harsh and heartbreaking aspects of life that validate my clannish toughness — thereby barricading myself in an ever-narrowing world surrounded by an impersonal blur of strangers.
Silence knows no strangers.
Presence shines by itself, unsupported.
Leo
Fear of being average
Because I feel solid and real only in the throes of being charismatic and creatively self-expressive, I continually strive to distinguish myself from the average, unremarkable aspects of my psyche and surroundings and, in so doing, push away the universal, equalizing presence that could free me from hierarchical evaluations and the pressure to pull off a seamless performance.
My presence is legendary, magnificently average.
Good God, I’m surrounded by uncharismatic Buddhas!
Virgo
Fear of chaos
Because I derive an unambiguous sense of identity only when immersed in the enhancement of personal or systemic health and efficiency, I unconsciously overlook the transcendent, unimprovable aspects of myself and others and thereby denigrate the timeless dimension that could infuse my service with presence and flow.
Stricken by the Immaculate, the details take care of themselves.
Before it was my duty; now it is my meditation.
Libra
Fear of friction
Because my self-concept falls apart whenever I fail to preserve an aura of politeness and harmony, I refuse to let truth decide the form of my relationships and assert my ego surreptitiously, thus depriving myself of intimacies that can only be experienced through creative friction, and inadvertently doing violence to my own and others soul evolution.
The fire of my will: kindness incarnate.
There’s nothing more heartless than a peaceful self-concept.
Scorpio
Fear of superficiality
Because I feel vulnerably disoriented when not playing the role of seer and confronter of darkness, I have a subconscious need to continually identify and provoke this dark underbelly by being suspicious, projecting uninvited psychic penetration and flexing my psychological shrewdness in ways that rob me of a simple, placid, moment-savoring way of life.
The one who craves authenticity is, itself, a lie!
Influence without emptiness is a sophisticated tantrum.
Sagittarius
Fear of provinciality
Because my sense of me-ness depends on my ability to panoramically survey and synthesize uncommon wisdom from an otherwise excruciatingly mundane and provincial world, I must continually tune out the claustrophobic dictates of the present moment and publicly remind myself of my farseeing superiority.
The greatest oxymoron: “My truth.”
A porn star’s commodified moan. My opinion. Same/same.
Capricorn
Fear of inertia
Because my separate sense of self unravels when I’m not strategizing or actualizing some otherwise admirable goal or agenda, my sincerest expressions of caring are infected with a coolness and calculation that steers all personal intimacies into business speak, thereby justifying my progressively Darwinian world view.
Feelings and needs: the opportunity of a lifetime.
Hurtable humanness: it’s a full time job!
Aquarius
Fear of conformity
Because I feel transparent and unreal when unaligned with community and the feeling of being a visionary change agent, I must continually push away the self-referential, ego-confirming aspects of my humanitarian efforts, thus assuring my ineffectiveness as a leader, backing me into disenfranchised rebel roles and making personal love feel claustrophobic and inconsequential.
The community of my dreams: True Nature.
Utopian desires are no different than greedy ones.
Pisces
Fear of separation
Because my sense of somebody-ness depends, on sympathetic merging and self-sacrifice, I pump up my alpha-forgiving ego by dedicating myself to tragic personalities and beautifully hopeless causes, play victim, then refuse to draw boundaries for fear of the identity crisis that would ensue were I to be stripped of this faux sainthood.
Love is what happens when nobody needs help.
Caring with edges: the height of compassion.
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