When I first got together with my husband, we were gifted a joint astrological chart by a mystically-inclined friend who’d studied deeply in the field of astrology. A beautiful thing to behold, it was circular, artful, and symbol-laden, with constellations representing the twelve zodiacal ‘houses’ segmenting the round, and a crisscross of straight-shooting lines linking one area to another. It looked a little bit like a schematic diagram of a dream catcher, which, depending on your view of astrology’s epistemological status, may seem apt.
I have no more idea how to read the chart now than I did then, but I remember our friend sitting down with us all those years ago and explaining it. Most of all, I recall
