Astrological Wanderings (USA, DJT); plus croneversation

June 27, 2026

I just spent the better part of two hours looking at six charts, trying to make sense of the bloviating narcissism of Trump’s personality as it relates to the natal chart of the United States. In the process, I also set up the transits and progressions of both DJT and the USA.

At this point I’m thoroughly confused. Not surprising, given the complexity of what I seem to have embarked upon. Perhaps this foolish project, an attempt to “understand” both the USA and DJT,  and their relationship — their synergy? —  will take me through these upcoming holidays. Pulling out and chewing on little bits at a time.

 

What got me going was sitting with a neighbor — I’ll call her Sybil — outside on her porch a few blocks away. This was the second time we had sat together. Both times on my evening walks. The first time she had yelled “Ann” from across the street. The second time, yesterday, I saw her out there again, waved, and Scampi, pulling on the leash, pranced me over to her side as she reached down from her chair for him.

Sybil: “I’m going to have to get some dog treats!”

Ann: “Yes. You are!”

I had been barely acquainted with Sybil, many years ago, when she seemed more distant, even stern, in her demeanor — while displaying an unusually beautiful and tasteful design for both front and back yards (that someone else cares for). She is clearly an artist, though she has a PhD and taught something technological at Indiana University!

So thus was a croneversation born between an 83-year-old and a 94-year-old, both still conscious and alive, though Sybil is obviously more halting than I am, and has to adjust her ear pieces to hear me.

The first evening, she had mentioned Trump in a disparaging manner, as if, of course we have that in common. Everyone in this town agrees: Trump is the problem. Period.

I just didn’t respond.

Yesterday evening, when she did it again . . .

I said I actually supported Trump.

WHAT?

But she didn’t bat an eye. Good for her!

Then I called Trump a bloviating narcissist, while still supporting him. She loved that!

She wondered how I felt about Mamdani, thinking of course I would support him? I just said, I’m not a socialist. Equal opportunity, YES! But not equal ownership of everything. Because of course, we’re all different, with different skills and talents and backgrounds. It’s up to each of us to set our goals and work towards them without feeling like victims.

She didn’t pursue it.

At one point she asked, “Do you read the New York Times?” Like, of course I would. I’m not an idiot.

“I did until a few years ago,” I said.

This last was on our way out of her yard. Scampi wanted to get home. But it reminded me of when I did stop the NYT, and turned to the internet instead. To pick up on a gigantic range of sources that opened my mind to infinity. Whew! And then of course, the endless epistemological conundrum: what’s fake and what’s real, what can be trusted, what not, and why? And what else do I need to hear or see about this to grok it more thoroughly. What’s the source, the context, etc. And of course any context is, or can be, endlessly increasing and deepening. There is no fixed Overton Window, a concept I will introduce her to next time.

At any rate. Thank you, Sybil, for your sudden, growing friendship at this late date in our all-too-human lives.

P.S. She told me during our first conversation, and then again yesterday, each time with a impish grin, that she’s hoping to die suddenly, in her sleep, like many of her relatives managed to do.

 

DOUBLE CONSCIOUSNESS this morning: Ego’s GLOOM vs FAIR WITNESS

June 26, 2026

Today started out gloomy. Outside and inside.

For months, I had been planning to attend the Midwest Permaculture Convergence. Had even paid for a camping spot.

But plans didn’t ever jell in terms of actually getting there and back. My car has a problem which the mechanic can’t fix until July 3. Plus, just looking at the long way up there (4.5 hours) on that (awful, very crowded, with narrow to non-existent shoulders) —  six lane freeway bordering Indianapolis on the east, made me think twice anyway. Plus, we’d be camping. Do I still have a tent? Not sure. Plus, if I went, I’d rather sleep in the car, etc. etc.

I could have pursued car-pooling with others, but surprised myself with only half-hearted attempts.

So I woke up on the morning that I had planned to go up there, mainly to see my permaculture teachers from over 15 years ago again for the first time, and instead, I was still here; stuck here.

And boy was I stuck! In the muck. Internally. Extreme gloom. Gloom which I noticed. Gloom which I did not identify with, though it still got to me, somewhat. Gloom that the fair witness in me was amazed by; how a single, sustained emotion can still spread its poison throughout my entire mind/body/soul/spirit. The witness watched, bemused, risking obliteration by the gloom that held ego in thrall.

An even deeper part of me noticed, and was fascinated by this double consciousness (fair witness/gloomy ego).  In fact, utterly amazed. Have I ever been able to hold a double consciousness before in such a sustained manner? Because it lasted throughout my hour-long morning walk with Scampi.

But the amazement didn’t stop the gloom.

I had taken a raincoat with me in case I needed it (turns out I didn’t) and on the way back home went over to a beautiful beech tree and stood with my forehead to its trunk for many many seconds: the gloom temporarily evaporated to admit the overwhelming embrace and infusion of the tree’s patient, silent, stalwart, spreading presence. Grateful.

But that mysterious, mystical interruption was momentary.

The gloom returned, took over.

Poor me.

Then, when I returned, I decided to drive to nearby Target, for a soup pot, since the one I have is not only very very old, but its top screw will no longer keep the handle in place (I had gone to the hardware store yesterday to get another screw, but it didn’t do the trick.) I had made bone broth yesterday in the old pot from chicken bones frozen from several Community Dinners, and today decided to also boil some extra veggies from our gardens in it, and plan mush the whole thing up later this afternoon.

Yes. I went to Target to see if I could find a similar pot.

And right away, as I entered the store, with this aim in mind, the gloom lifted . . .

“What?” Said the witness part of me. “Does ‘shopping’ serve as a dopamine rush even for one such as me, who thinks of herself  ‘above’ such nonsense?  If so, how disgusting.”

So now, I was furious with myself for not feeling gloomy?

In any case, I got the pot, though not as big as the one that it’s replacing, and then, when I left Target, for the large nearly full parking lot — and damn it, I had forgotten to note where I had parked the car! — I was faced with a deluge. Massive, continuing buckets of rain instantly flooding everything.

And I was going to find my car, with purchase in hand, in that deluge?

Yep. Did it; in fact spotted it right away! Though by the time I ran to the car and opened the door, I was already utterly drenched, and I mean even my underwear.

Suddenly, and I mean just then, right then, I noticed that the gloom had vanished! GONE!

To me, it was as if my internal state had precipitated the outside deluge. 

Then I came home, and, once the rain let up, went outside to take this photo.

Whew! The single bloom of several days ago is now joined by many others!

And bursting buds promising more to come!

Oh wow, and I just looked up their name: STARGAZER LILIES!

I could riff on how gazing at the stars above is polar opposite to feeling gloomy for any reason down here below.

But I won’t.