I’ve had the dream twice, in about as many months: I’m summoned to Carrie Fisher’s house, where I sort out her belongings and collect my “inheritance.” From there, it’s a blast: me in some vast basement, sorting through video games, comic books, movies.
Of course, for many years now, Carrie has been the crown jewel in my pantheon, though I can’t say quite why. Much of her writing, all of which I’ve read, is half-assed — by her own admittance. She didn’t find acting to be a divine vocation, and in fact regularly pointed out that she and her industry peers were the equivalent of carnies in a freakshow. She was an addict, bipolar, with endless weight fluctuations. She’s a legend.
I watch the Carrie Fisher-Debbie Reynolds documentary every year, and talk about her endlessly with my aunt Yoda. And then there’s Catastrophe. And the part in the iconic New York Times Meg Ryan interview when she talks about how Carrie took her and Nora Ephron to a town in Newfoundland called Dildo, just because it made Carrie laugh. And, of course, the look in her eyes when Luke calls out to her, as he hangs on the brink of death in Cloud City: “We’ve got to go back.” I have chills thinking about it. She was a genius, cast by the fates to wander the wax facades of Los Angeles. I remember her death vividly, at the end of 2016. I think she saw where this was all going and wanted out, like Sinead O’Connor.
So what did she want from me, or for me? What did she want me to know?
In my akashic therapy sessions, the guides instructed me to embrace my “average” self: flabby, stupid, unattractive, unremarkable, unnoticeable, intellectually unstimulating. Essentially, I am not called to liberate my inner Muad’dib, my god consciousness. No, the mission here is to affirm the Potato Person inside me, the Toe I always have been.
The irony is that, just now, in a way that I’ve never felt before, I really believe that I can be the best there is at what I do — in the world. At a blissful pop party last week, while screaming out every word to “What You Waiting For,” it hit me: I can either have a life of total anonymity, or world domination. But there can be nothing in between. Choosing world domination will risk humiliation, self-compromise and even betrayal, as I play the game to win.
These are the terms set, of course, by Libra, the sign of hierarchies and traditional success. I always thought of Carrie Fisher as the black sheep of her sign, the negation of the princess narrative: she was born Hollywood royalty, but her father pissed away the kingdom. In fact, she played the most legendary princess in the history of the universe, but preferred getting high over gracing red carpets.
My moon is in Libra. This is a rough placement, which often indicates borderline personality disorder, or at the least an inability to separate one’s own needs from a desire to keep others happy. To be unlikable is to risk annihilation. I can worship Carrie and Fran Lebowitz and Joan Rivers and Bea Arthur, but I can’t ever step into their daring displeasure, their sardonic delight in the bitterness of life.
The south node is currently in Libra, which I’ve written about plenty in regard to dark Libras like Netanyahu and Putin. But beyond them we have seen a certain…unshackling of other Librans.
The oscar campaign for Shakespeare in Love will forever be a scandal, and a farce. But Gwyneth Paltrow earned her golden statue for her role in last year’s “ski and run” trial. Paltrow elected not to settle this case out of court, but to instead let the people have their show. For The New Yorker, Naomi Fry writes that “any semblance of relatability is completely absent from the Paltrow trial, which is why it makes for such an engaging watch. The actress has unabashedly leaned into every stereotype that has ever been used to label her, showing up to court, day after day, impeccably turned out in well-cut garments by leading designers, in shades of taupe, ivory, slate, and olive.” When asked whether her infamous ski collision caused her lasting harm, she replied, deadpan: “well, I lost half a day of skiing.”
Fighting for her union, Fran Drescher ditched her glittering Libran charm and risked getting ugly. As for the Libra rising Britney Spears…this is unprecedented. For Britney, the show is really done and finished. The posts don’t have to make sense. She may not be well. It’s none of our business.
The truth is…my feelings towards visibility are ambivalent at best. I love the nightlife, I like to boogie, but when affection or attention comes my way, I fear that I’ll have to sing for my supper, play the prostitute to keep others pleased. This has led to missed opportunities and botched collaborations, to career setbacks. It’s hard to keep an audience if you want to control them.
The same week of that Akashic reading, Henry told me that he was in season three of his Sex & the City rewatch, relishing every second of it. I asked him if Carrie had a message for me, when he got to her iconic cameo. He responded:
‘the message is this: “lean into your fucking attitude. you’ll be thanked for it.”’ Woof.
Regarding Princess Leia, Carrie often spoke of herself as a custodian, playing host to a part that would long outlive her. She wasn’t Leia. She could do whatever she wanted, make mistakes, burn her life down, transgress. She knew that long after she was gone, audiences would see Leia however they wanted to. And indeed, a year after her death, Disney was already reanimating her face with horrifying digital technology. The point is: she had no illusion of control. So why not just enjoy your time here.
I haven’t channeled Carrie, or attempted contact. It’s not my place. But I get it, I think, what’s on the other side of the inheritance. I can glimmer and radiate, and I can just as easily growl and sneer. Let them enjoy all of it. Career triumph, cancellation, broke periods, fat periods. It’s all me, and none of it is me.
If success is the way, then it must have a bitter taste, a note of indifference. If I’m to be seen by the world, like Carrie Fisher in a gold bikini, I can’t take it so fucking seriously.
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UPDATES:
Book a reading! Spring dates are going fast.
Check out my interview on the Curious Ones podcast, in which we really dig into the Saturn Return saga.
MY podcast, The David Odyssey Show, is now on Youtube, and of course, wherever else you get your podcasts.
OK, that’s enough for now.
All my love,