The Best Horoscope I've Read

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Drought. Fires. Floods. Rising temperatures. Police states. White Supremacy. Class wars. Donald Trump. The writing is on the wall. The end is near.
We’re screwed and all anyone seems to care about is their spiritual journey and their artesian chocolate bar made by a fedora-wearing bearded 20 year old living in #Bushwick. Only the hippest can help us. Only the rich can afford authenticity. Only those that can ignore the violence that privilege inflicts will have the most Instagram followers.
We’ve somehow forgotten that we are inherently interesting because we are human. We’ve ended up in this weird hipster hell where everything is an ironic nod to the past, to someone else’s identity or to fractions of an imitation of ours.
We need to occupy authentic. 
Of course, artisanal chocolate isn’t the problem, it just points to it. It points to the lack of care of how we effect each other’s space, cultures, histories and displacements. Because when we have no sense of self it’s far too easy to colonize unconsciously. When we are able to disown what we don’t like about ourselves and buy what we do like it’s far too easy to escape doing the necessary work needed to heal our deeper wounds around our identity.
Owning our identity in all its complexity, in all its shame, in all its triumphs, in its entire history and its possibility is what it means to live an authentic life.

Full Moon Lunar Eclipse, Chani Nicholas