Astrodivergent

You've spent your whole life learning everyone else's language. Let me help you learn yours.

Maybe it's not another therapist you're looking for.

We should talk

You've done the work.

I mean really done it. Years of it. More than one therapist, the books, the modalities, the diagnosis that explained everything and changed nothing. You can describe your own patterns to a stranger at a party (and you have), and you still don't feel the way you want to feel.

So here's the thing nobody in that room will say, so I will. You're not an outcast. You're an outsider. The world called you one. You believed it. The difference changes everything. An outcast got thrown out of home. An outsider was never from here.

Therapy is the closest thing on the shelf to what you're actually longing for. That's why you keep going. That's why it keeps not being it. It was built, with love and good intentions, for people who belong here.

You don't. Neither do I.

Get busy living.

Every coach, every therapist, every program in this space is selling you the same thing. How to function better. How to fit in. How to pass. Said differently: how to assimilate. And I'll ask you the question I ask everyone. How's that been working out for you? Good? Then by all means, keep it up.

I'm selling the opposite. You don't need to be more like the world. You need to be less like it. The further from this world you live in your head, the better you'll be able to live in it with your body. I know that sounds like a riddle. It isn't. It's how every expat on earth survives: keep your language, call home, and still make the rent.

Look, the world isn't for you, and it's not going to start being. That sucks, and I'm not going to pretend it doesn't. But you're here anyway. So get busy living or get busy dying. You've been told your whole life that getting busy living means conforming. It doesn't. It never did. It means learning your own language and keeping the line home open.

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. I spent twenty-two years building credit models for banks, got diagnosed at fifty with what I'd been living with the whole time, and did years of therapy that was real and too small. Then I learned to read the nine planets as the parts of me, and the small parts turned out to fit inside them.

The rest of that story, and what this isn't.

Dennis, in a sweater, leaning in an archway in front of a dark blue wall, smiling.

How it works. The Navagnosis Protocol™

Nava, the nine. Gnosis, the knowing. It sounds like a word you already know, and it isn't one. Nobody is going to diagnose you here.

  1. The map

    Your chart is a character sheet you didn't write. I read it to you the way mine was read to me: who's in there, and what each one is afraid of.

  2. The room

    Then you go meet them, in a quiet, guided state, by the names the old astrologers gave them. I say the first sentence and then I shut up.

  3. The practice

    Something to do on the days you're far from the tower. Spoken, not pictured. Yours to keep.

The whole of the protocol, and the way in.

That's it. I know this is a lot.

If none of this landed, feel free to back away slowly and avoid eye contact. No hard feelings; either it resonates or it doesn't. But if something in here called to you, if some part of you read "you were never from here" and went quiet, then say fuck it, and let's talk. I'm here, and I'm not in a hurry.

May you be overtaken by blessings.