AS AN ASTROLOGER, I practice a form of extroverted mysticism. The object of worship: the divine personality embryonically displayed in the face of everyone. “Sin?” Absenting myself from soul-seeing relationship.
This means I am vocationally obligated to recognize Hillary and Donald as the stinging zen sticks that they are; to take the hit, cringe, straighten my spine and face squarely the Buddhist teaching on the nature of samsara:
The surface of the world was designed to be brutishly melodramatic and insultingly banal. Indeed, it is only when we face and feel how painfully demeaning this planet full of archetypal sock puppets is that we learn to see personalities and events for what they truly are: cheer leaders for the most un-boring question of all: “As what are you speaking?”
Suddenly, the cocky, unrepentant demeanor of the candidates becomes mysterious enough to inaugurate some sacred curiosity.
How do we know if we’re waking up? Simple: we’re at peace with flawed authority. Just like Hillary and Donald, we all flicker in and out of empty posturing as ego’s identity-grasping role play delivers its soul-sickening snake bite. Will we smear it with the salve of regret, and surrender to its spreading venom as ego-deconstructing grace? Or will we demonize Hillary & Donald for reminding us of our miserable failures to achieve “non-performance?”
Zooming out now — high above Hillary’s manipulatively folksy attempt to cover up her “power as a right” demeanor (Pluto/Mars/Saturn conjunct in Leo square the Ascendant, Mercury and Venus in Scorpio) and her seething Scorpio smile. Far above Donald’s bombastic bluff and bluster (Mars conjunct the Ascendant in Leo) and his trigger-happy mind-spray (Sun in Gemini conjunct Uranus/Moon in Sag opposed Uranus), the larger stage set comes into view:
Seen through astro-literate eyes, every body-type and personality is encoded with “archetype,” which is just a fancy way of saying “style of shining and hiding one’s true nature as awareness, itself.” Seeing this, people’s telepromted me-stories become heartbreaking cries for compassion. The entire mindscape is transformed into a delirious day spa littered with angels eager to scrub off our “separate somebody” cells so the One Being can glow.
With this in mind, I turn my attention to the candidates soon-to-be wormy carcasses and wonder: How does it feel to live in a world where, as Eckhart Tolle puts it, “Future shrinks, past grows, and you are continually pushed out of your life?” Suddenly, I see why I’ve scripted these billionaire-sized egos so prominently into my dream:
Every moment is election day. We are constantly electing souls to represent us, then labeling our projection “who they are.” No matter who wins the election, the question remains the same, “Which government will we live under: Hillary’s, Donald’s or the psyche of cosmic dimensions struggling to awaken to itself, through every single one of us?”
Eager to stabilize this glimpse of what Buddhists call “pure view,” my head lowers into a bow of gratitude to these two Astro-Buddhist mind trainers. Then comes a prayer:
Hillary, Donald, World As It Is
Hillary, Donald,
world as it is,
how touched are we
by the resemblance of you
with the woundedness
in our heart.
Hillary, Donald,
play of the Supreme,
forgive us for falling for your “trait bait,”
eclipsing the Unborn,
pinching
the umbilical innocence
that could, even now,
be rushing nourishment
to the Divine Stare.
Hillary, Donald,
storyless presence in all,
bless you for twisting
the arm of identity
hard, harder, until we confess
the poverty of personhood:
the graffiti-trashed breeding ground
of all terrorism and unhappiness.
Hillary, Donald,
blind beggar in all,
who better than you
to assassinate our world-saving pride
then resurrect us
as an ember
buried in the ash
of every opinion-shriveled eye?
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