Here’s a point that would be hard to deny – 100% of your past lives occurred in the past. I mean, we might go down the rabbit hole of wondering “what time itself is” . . . but in the end that line of inquiry just leaves people tongue-tied and staring into space. Maybe ultimately time is one of those “useful fictions” which allow us to communicate with each other – what the Buddhists would call a “relative truth” rather than one of the ultimate truths which always lie beyond the realm of language.

For our practical purposes in this little essay, let’s just stick to the helpful notion that the 20th century came before the 21st.

Here’s a second point that would be tough to argue against – history has often been unimaginably weird. For example:

Among the Lakota people, one’s status was increased by giving away one’s possessions rather than by accumulating them. Try explaining that to a Wall Street stockbroker.

There is some evidence that the Trobriand Islanders of New Guinea didn’t make a connection between sex and pregnancy. Imagine high school there.

In Japan until the end of the 19th century, blackened teeth were seen as a sign of female beauty. In China for centuries, the same could be said for tiny little feet – hence the (dreadful) custom of foot-binding that would render a woman effectively immobile.

The list goes on. History is a real zoo, full of surprises and head-scratchers that none of us could easily imagine as we sit here a quarter of the way into the 21st century.

Of course by the 23rd century, people will be looking back at us and marveling at how for a few decades people preferred staring at cell phone screens to actual human contact. We modern humans are no exception in the weirdness department. What kinds of south node signatures will those 23rd century astrologers be seeing when they’re faced with the unresolved karma of 21st century people who drifted into their phones instead of into each other’s eyes?

All of this leads directly to a practical dilemma that we all face as evolutionary astrologers. In creating the past-life nodal story, we are by definition framing a tale in an earlier historical context. If we don’t actually know some history, we might blunder – as, for example, did a US President talking about the good guys “taking over the airports” during the American revolutionary war. (There were of course no airports).

“There you were, a thousand years ago, way back in the Stone Age, dining on deep-fried Stegosaurus steaks straight out of the freezer.” One obvious advantage of knowing some history is that we won’t make mistakes like those. A client has no reason to assume that you, as the astrologer, should be an academic historian, but you will definitely come across more plausibly if you don’t show evidence of abject ignorance. The true disaster is that obvious historical errors might undercut the client’s capacity to take the rest of what you are saying seriously.

This goes beyond not looking dumb and losing credibility. There’s a purely positive side to knowing some history too. Its second benefit is the color, plausibility, and depth that such information adds to the story you’re telling.

Here are a couple of illustrations of what I mean:

• Maybe you see a south node in Sagittarius in the 2nd house squared by Jupiter – so you tell a story about your client once having been a Lakota who gave away everything. 

• Maybe you see a 12th house Capricorn south node conjunct Venus and squared by a 3rd house Saturn – and that leads to a story about being a Chinese woman a millennium ago hobbled by those bound feet.

As always, coming up with the nodal story – a process that is so central to therapeutic dimensions of the astrological work we do – is an act of creativity. In a sense, we are making up these stories. Ethically it’s important to make sure that the client understands that – we don’t claim to know the outward facts of anyone’s prior lifetimes. We just know their emotional effects – what they felt like, and what has been carried forward.

And we depend on a good story to get that feeling across to the client.

The bottom line is that, as astrologers, we start by burning the midnight oil in order to understand the basic methodology of nodal analysis. Then we color creatively within those lines – always making sure that every important element of the tale we weave is justified by the symbolism. 

We’re creative – but not too creative, in other words.

As we strive to pull an effective, convincing nodal tale together, a knowledge of history is like the difference between having a ton of money in the bank versus worrying about whether you can pay your electric bill this month. That’s because with this kind of knowledge you are rich in historically authentic images. They put words in your mouth – good words that amplify the impact of what you are presenting. Your stories have more punch and a few accurate, exotic details of the past enhance their verisimilitude for anyone sitting with you.

Plus you never blunder into talking about clients microwaving their Pterodactyl wings on their way to the Lincoln-Douglas debates.

HOW TO GET GOOD AT THIS

To be a skilled evolutionary astrologer is to be a skilled storyteller. At least when it comes to the lunar nodes, those stories are all set in the past. To succeed there, you certainly don’t need a degree in history. It’s not nearly so hard. In fact, I think it’s fair to say that for most of us, the process of absorbing this kind of knowledge is actually fun. Much of it comes down to reading books and watching movies. I’d be surprised if you’re not at least half way there already, just from your education – not to mention books you’ve already read and the films, documentaries, and television shows that you’ve already seen and enjoyed.

For many of us, reading an interesting tale about some juicy period in world history is no hardship. Thick, erudite academic volumes with tons of footnotes can admittedly be slow-going, but there’s no need to turn the process into such heavy lifting unless you feel like it. Such  “PhD-in-History” writing often gives you a lot more detail than what you actually need for our purposes. Popular treatments are fine.

And don’t forget about novels! If they’re any good, they contain characters with whom you can identify. That identification means that historical novels actually often make a long-ago period come alive for you more vividly than any pure “history book.” And they’re definitely more fun to read – many of them are real page-turners.

The same is true for films. Off the top of my head, I find myself thinking of that big Mel Gibson film from 1995, Braveheart. I bet many of you have seen it – and unwittingly gotten an education in late-13th century Scottish history. Admittedly, it’s a seriously flawed history – but it does give you a feeling for what it must have felt like for those poor Scottish farmers to be thrown off their land by English aristocrats.

What about Gladiator? Watch that movie and two hours later, you have enough rough  scholarship about the Roman empire in the 2nd century C.E. to tell a dozen colorful, historically-plausible nodal stories.

Titanic? Those Gilded Age days are long gone too and that well-heeled aristocracy went down with the ship – but what a wonderful set of images that film gives us for a Sagittarian south node in the 12th house squared by a 9th house Pluto!

The list of course goes on. I think of Mad Men, a television series that was popular during its 2007-2015 run. I suspect that many of you saw it. The setting is the 1960s – and (may God help me) half the people now enrolled in the FCEA might have actually had a past life during that tumultuous period! I was alive and reasonably sentient during that decade myself, but I admit that in watching Mad Men, the customs and especially the gender assumptions underlying the story made it felt like I too was remembering a past life.

Have kids? There’s a woman who was a dear friend of mine in college (just that – we were housemates) back toward the end of those Mad Men days. Her name is Mary Pope Osborne. We lost touch with each other long ago, but she’s become quite famous in the world of children’s literature, having sold 134 million books, most of them in her “Magic Treehouse” series. The “magic treehouse” she invented transports kids on time-travel adventures, some to historical periods, some to mythological ones.

If you’ve got kids in your life, reading Mary’s stories to them – or reading them yourself – will give you exactly the kind of knowledge I am talking about here. It’s fun and totally painless.

And Mary, if you ever happen to read these words, get in touch! I’m easy to find. I’ve often wondered if you and I were the only ones ever to actually make any money from our degrees in Religion – UNC-Chapel Hill, class of ‘71! 

In the name of having some creative fun, we both verged dangerously close to “scholarship” about that faraway time. I can set a nodal story there in my sleep.

Read The Rhymer and the Ravens and you can too.

A READING LIST?

Let me start by saying that trying to compile a reading list or a “must-watch” list here would be misguided. For starters, probably three-quarters of the films ever produced were made long ago enough that every single one of them is like a time-capsule. And I’m not even talking about “period pieces,” such as Gladiator or Braveheart. Every decade for the past dozen or so has yielded a crop of films that were “contemporary” – at the time.

Bogart and Bergman in Casablanca? Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire? Each one is like a living window on a decade that presently doesn’t boast many surviving representatives – but how many people living today might have lived back then too?

Books can be veins of gold in similar ways. How many historical novels have been published? How many straight history books have been written? I doubt that anyone would have enough time even to count them all, let alone read them.

Here I just want to list a few volumes that I’ve found particularly helpful. They could help you too – but maybe you prefer to help yourself.

In the list that follows, you’ll note one pattern that’s worth underscoring, and that’s an attempt at honoring cultural diversity. I suspect that most of us have occupied bodies with a variety of different “paint jobs” in our previous incarnations. For that reason, it’s good practice to make sure that your nodal stories don’t all sound like the scripts of costume dramas you might watch on the BBC.

SOME OF MY PERSONAL FAVORITES

Alex Haley’s Roots: The Saga of an American Family, 1976. A tale of the Black experience in the New World. 

Barbara Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century, 1978. The Black Plague anyone? This brilliant, scholarly volume brings you right back to the late Middle Ages in Europe. And Tuchman can write – it’s not tedious at all. 

Gary Jennings’ Aztec, 1980. This is a very sexy “pulp fiction” tour of pre-Columbian Mexican cultures. It gave me a far more nuanced understanding of the diversity and complexity of those societies than I ever got from my western-biased education.

Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies, 1997. In the U.K., this brilliant, even life-changing, Pulitzer Prize winning book was subtitled “A Short History of Everybody For the Last 13,000 Years.” That about says it all. Diamond ranges over various world cultures. For nodal stories set in the distant past, this volume delivers the goods on every page.

Edward Rutherford’s Sarum, 1987. This is the story of humans in Britain right from the beginning. It’s an episodic novel in which very similar characters keep appearing in subsequent historical periods. Was he thinking of reincarnation? I don’t know – but it reads that way.

Thomas Berger’s Little Big Man, 1964. (This was also a fine 1970 film.) Either the book or the movie will give you a feeling for the Native American experience in the 19th century. My partner Michelle Kondos does historical Western painting. She has a friend named Michael Badhand who consults in Hollywood on Native authenticity issues. He’s generously helped her make sure that the Native people who appear in her historical paintings are depicted accurately. Badhand says that Little Big Man, even though it’s a comedy in many ways, gets more details right than most of them do.

Isabel Wilkerson, The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration, 2011. A Black friend gave me this book or otherwise I would have missed it. Wilkerson tells the story of the trials, tribulations, and hopes of Black people escaping the American South and heading north for jobs and freedom after the Civil War and onward through World War Two. It’s a gold mine. 

Susan Barker, The Incarnations, 2014. Chinese history is long, complex, and dauntingly alien to many of us in the Western world. Susan Barker’s book is the best introduction to that long story that I’ve ever found. Reading it, you get a very human perspective on various periods in Chinese history. Again, like Sarum, is it about reincarnation? I think so. 

I’d recommend Anne Perry’s fiction in general. She writes murder mysteries, all set in Britain, but in two different periods – the early and the late 19th century. It’s all England, but they are two very different times. Reading her work is like stepping out of a time machine and into the shoes of various characters from different levels of society during those periods.  

James A. Michener was hugely popular a couple of generations ago. Even though his star seems to be fading now, he can still transport you into another time and culture with his panoramic vision of societies developing over centuries. His opus is huge. I’d aim your attention particularly at Chesapeake and Centennial for some American history, Iberia for Spanish history, and The Source for the story of the Jewish people from their earliest roots. 

So that’s my list. It’s far from definitive. Once again, these are just books that have been personally helpful and meaningful to me. They’ve all certainly enriched my storytelling, and probably made me a better human being – and a better astrologer – in the process. 

To me, the glorious thing about books is that there are so many of them. The sad thing is that there is so little time.

Our most fundamental spiritual commitment as evolving souls is to honor human diversity. If we can’t aim to treat everyone with respect and compassion no matter how fundamental our differences are, we’ll be held back in our journeys by that attachment to separateness. 

Note that I wrote “aim to.” Getting it right every time is impossible. And the love I am talking about needs to start with ourselves. Faced with offenses against human kindness, hard, miserable feelings naturally arise. We have to forgive ourselves – and to try to forgive others. We have to get back to “aiming.”

Like many of you, I am heartbroken, angry and fearful about the recent American election. At a practical level, I don’t plan to give up. I don’t plan to cope with the hurt by taking refuge in some dissociated state of trying not to care or to feel. I’ll spend the rest of my days on earth fighting in my own way for fairness, kindness, inclusiveness, and a viable human future. 

That’s my outward commitment. Here’s my inward one.

There’s a simple saying I once heard from a Buddhist teacher. It’s helped me to keep my balance when I am faced with stormy, difficult emotions: Take what arises as the path. Whatever happens, it’s always a chance to work on yourself. It’s always the path. 

This is never about rationalization or a “flight into light.” It’s about a commitment to being vulnerable. Emphatically, it doesn’t take the hurt way. But it affirms our fundamental belief as spiritual seekers that nothing happens randomly, that the universe is an incubator of higher consciousness, and that whatever happens can be turned into an opportunity to work on ourselves.

With the recent election, I find myself pulled into a vortex of awful feelings. I’m torn between murderous fantasies and the urge to not feel anything at all. But if I try, I can still find a place of equilibrium, perspective, and even peace in myself too. That takes effort and I can’t sustain it – I can only experience it in glimpses before I am pulled back down into the hell-worlds. But I know what I am looking at: it’s the Higher Ground. 

Even misery can be used as a path to getting there. It can even accelerate the process, just because of grim necessity.

If you’re hurting, I hope these thoughts might grant you a few moments of peace before we return to our sacred work.