i deleted co-star, then had some fresh berries
The pitfalls of astrology, E.E Cummings, and how to end our constant search for belonging.
Dear whomever,
I have spent the last few weeks cultivating presence, as you know. It turns out that one of the reasons I’ve been perpetually exhausted is my incessant hypervigilance - and as I slowly begin to shed this trait, I’ve found myself tuning into what truly matters: movement, friendship, good food, and every single synonym of love.
Question: why do you believe in what you believe in?
Preface: you’ll notice I ricochet between belief systems. Excuse this, as I am a Theist, if I must supply a technical word - and I believe in mostly everything (a weakness, really, if applied to my outlook on life in general).
The thing about most belief systems is that they are often adopted at low points. (From an atheist point of view,) Humans created religion and Gods and spirituality to soothe the deeply embedded fear of unbelonging. Community wasn’t enough - there had to be bigger, older, all-knowing beings to reinforce sensibility and loyalty, to push people to differentiate between right and wrong, and - most of all - to give human beings unconditional love.
Whatever you may believe about religion/God/spirituality doesn’t really debunk the fact that these things were created for comfort - whether by the higher beings we worship, or by us. God could have easily created us without telling us anything about him, without the bibles or the masjids - but, (from a religious point of view,) maybe he wanted us to know that he would always be there for us. Our obsession with God or religion or deciding on belief systems isn’t a bad thing, by the way. That’s not the point I’m trying to make. We create communions and mass and churches and mosques to develop meaning in a world that possesses little of it. We read the books and go to the lectures to be better at being alive. To give ourselves hope that this is significant - the being born, living, then dying. That isn’t a bad thing. It is a beautiful thing, in fact.
A few years back, midst of a depressive episode, I found myself drawn to astrology - which, I believed, would alleviate how lost I felt. The way I adopted this belief was similar to the reasons why people often find themselves in churches, I think. For a couple years there, what surrounded astrology became my religion. I figured - if something could just tell me who I was, then I could be that, and everything would simplify. Life would become easier. So, I downloaded all the apps. I read all the charts. I did all the things. But this belief system failed me just as organized religion once had: it did not diminish the fear I had of being alive, which is all I wanted. It did not take away all the difficulties, and if I’m to be honest I’d say it all made me somewhat of a control freak. A wannabe mind-reader.
I still enjoy it all casually: the witchy aesthetics, the art and storytelling of the tarot cards, the conversation starter of “what’s your sign”; I certainly like the excitement I can provide with my cards, the way people all circle around me at parties, excited for what I could say. It makes socializing easier - it is a spark that begins conversation, and very often leads to openness, but I find myself tired of reading, tired of trying to figure it all out, for I have never gotten to a point where I felt like I was even close to actually figuring out.
Life is difficult because the only constant is how everchanging it is. That’s why when I’m depressed, I keep trying to forget how to wake up. When I’m depressed, I don't want anything to surprise me. That’s why I learned every message of all the 78 tarot cards. I wanted to be able to ask something - anything - what tomorrow would be. And I wanted, so badly, to trust whatever answer it gave me. That’s why I checked Co-Star every morning - to see what my day would look like, who I would get along with, who would probably hurt me.
None of that ever worked, of course: life remained aimless and un-plannable, people remained surprising and most of the time difficult, and everything continued to surprise me despite how desperately I wanted it not to.
Our search for meaning can easily lead to a never-ending loop of self-editing,
Algorithms are constantly feeding us ways to make ourselves and our lives better, often through division: personality traits, attachment styles, astrological signs, tarot readings. In this day and age, we are always trying to reach perfection - to reach total and complete understanding of the self. We curate our feeds and even ourselves, we try to find our niche; we are perpetually looking for rules in a world that simply has none.
It is exhausting - a cycle that will never end. One never reaches Nirvana - not in this life. Perfection is unattainable, and yet, and yet, and yet.
When I was pursuing my degree in Literature, the most fun I had is when we got to work/study/write pieces that completely overlooked the so-called “rules”. I hate grammar. Always have. Modernism, naturally, then, was one of my favorite courses. I believe that the best literature is the kind that feels like it bled directly from someone’s brain, onto paper - Modernist pieces do that well. I love literature and art that is painfully honest, and nothing is more honest than incohesive thoughts. No one thinks in perfect, embellished sentences. I love messiness, confusion, run-on sentences -
- in art. Not in myself.
I’ve finally realized that astrology placed me in a box (self-built), and it made me continuously try to behave within it. I’ve always been ashamed of my sensitivity, and actively sought to be more detached and hyper-independent in order to be more aligned with my Aquarius-ness. I tried so hard. So badly, I wanted to be easier. More relaxed. Less passionate. Apathetic. Cooler.
I’m just not.
And I’d forgotten, in my search for understanding, that what I’ve always loved most of all - in both my art and in my childhood - was the destruction of rules. There is a joy I derive from destroying what is “meant-to-be”. Why, then, have I accepted that the world can be a messy thing, that the best art is the type that is lawless, but I must create and follow a collection of finalities? That I must always match who I was yesterday and who I will be tomorrow morning?
There is a child in me begging to kick her shoes off and run wild and free, utterly sure and confident in her instincts - of where her feet are taking her.
old age sticks
up Keep
Off
signs)&youth yanks them down (old
age cries NoTres)&(pas)
youth laughs
(singold age
scolds Forbid
den
Stop
Must
n’t Don’t&)youth goes
right on
gr
owing old
- E. E Cummings
Tomorrow’s horoscope means nothing to me!!!!!!!!!
Our constant search for meaning is, at the end of the day, a search for love. When I pull out my Tarot deck at a party, and ask what my new acquaintance wants, it’s almost always a love reading. All we do in our short lives is search for understanding, for belonging. We search for someone or something to tell us that we are loved, despite it all. That’s why we love God so much, because God always loves us. Most of the time, God wants to forgive us. God gives us community, belonging, but…
Well, has life ever promised us confirmation of anything at all? Has God? God says be good and hope for heaven. What did the cards and the stars say that was any wildly different? What did any of the religions say other than (overarchingly): be kind and you will be rewarded?
So where do you get confirmation?
I guess I’m starting to believe that you get it from what’s around you in the now.
How does one know they are loved?
They know through others, and through themselves.
How?
Well, sometimes the words don’t matter. Sometimes, someone lovely does my dishes purely because I hate to, and then they sit on the dinner table to eat with me, and I remember I am loved. Sometimes, someone stays with me past their curfew because I’m sick, or crying, or heartbroken, or really just because, and I remember I am loved.
I scrub clean my body and moisturize my skin and brush my teeth. I know I will wake in the morning, maybe snooze a few times, but still do my hair and wear my new dress and make my way to work. That’s love. That’s strength.
It turns out, I do not need the stars to remind me of my resilience, or my ability to care, or the fact that I am sometimes sensitive and sometimes not, or who I get along with and who I don’t - I know. I already know. I have this built in thing called instincts and feelings and emotions, after all. They are within me. The stars, the knowledge, the understanding.
Why was I ever looking outside of that?
Listen,
I am writing to you from this moment in time, which is fleeting. I deleted Co-Star off of my phone because I was tired of waiting for the notification that would finally tell me I was destined to be happy. The stars don’t know me like I know myself. The cards don’t, either. I know myself as I am: a writer, a romantic, a disruptor of language. A lover of words. I am a lot of things.
Today, it is a lovely day. The sun peeks through the clouds. I opened my front door, and my landlord gifted me with fresh berries she picked from her garden: perfect, fresh, a deep shade of purple. I deleted Co-Star off of my phone, sat on my couch under my window, and I ate the plate-full in one sitting. I am a child again, for just a moment, as my tongue turns magenta. The weather is as it often is in this town: confused and seesawing between hot and cold. My cats jump around me. And I decide, on my own, that it is a lovely day - it took the whole universe to make this day. There will never be another like it. It is today.
What else does a person need? Must I read it off of the newspaper, must I learn the charts, must I flip through the cards?
I already know.
You already know, too.
With love always,
Amal
PS: Yes, I’m posting on Tuesdays now - to keep Friday’s free as my weekly “do-nothing” day. So goes. Luv u xoxo
i deeply adore your writing <3
This is so beautifully written, definitely something I needed <3