Hi, I'm Dennis.
The first thing a Vedic astrologer ever said to me, having never met me, was "This is the chart of an outsider." Then she described my life. Not the horoscope-column way. The way a good radiologist reads a film. Here's where the break is. Here's how old it is. Here's what it's been compensating for.
I spent twenty-two years building credit models for banks (yes, really), and I got diagnosed at fifty with what I'd been living with the whole time. Autistic. ADHD. I did years of therapy with good people, more than one modality, and I could name every one of my parts. They were real. Here's the thing, though: they were small. Nesting dolls, and I'd been handed the smallest one and told it was the whole figure. Held up alone, in a room, it never felt like me.
Then I learned to read the nine planets as the parts of me, and the small ones turned out to fit inside them. I hadn't made the planets up. They were older than me, older than anything that ever told me who I was, and they were beautiful. And because I could love them, I could love parts of myself I'd never once been able to reach. I'm not exaggerating when I say that getting to know them has done more for me than every hour of therapy I ever sat through.
So that's me. An outsider who's lived here long enough to know which cafés take the foreign card. That's the whole credential, and for what it's worth, it's the only one that ever mattered to me.
