As Above, So Below
There is a language older than words, one that lives in the bones of everything that breathes and flickers and spins. It is echoed between the shape of a treeâs root system and the branching veins of a lung, between the swell of a tide and the rising of grief in the chest, between the orbit of a planet and the arc of a decision you didnât know you were making. This is what the ancients meant, not superstition, not metaphor, but correspondence. Pattern that weaves through scale, through form, through matter and moment.
âAs above, so belowâ means that life repeats its logic, that truth is recursive, that the code that writes a constellation also shapes your nervous system. Above is archetype, principle, the architecture beneath reality. It is the invisible geometry that decides how things want to move. Below is the intimacy of incarnation, the way the pattern takes on flesh, limits, dust. Whatâs above is the breath. Whatâs below is the lungs learning how to hold it.
The planets donât control you any more than a clock controls time. But ignore the rhythm, and youâll miss the door that only opens once every few years. Dismiss the timing, and youâll push when the world is holding its breath. As above, so below is the art of living in tune with a world thatâs already singing. You are not separate from whatâs moving. The same design that forms spirals in galaxies forms the whorls of your fingerprints. The same ratio that determines the angle of light across a lake governs the arc of your longing when you finally speak the truth. And once you start to see this, life is no longer a chain of random events, but a conversation, a pattern learning itself through you. To live this way is to let meaning return to its rightful place. You stop asking, âWhat does this mean?â as if youâre outside it, and instead, you listen for how the meaning moves through you. Every ache becomes a map. Every obstacle, an echo of something trying to align.
The ancient laws were never written to control or predict, they were invitations to pay attention, to notice that the same story is told over and over again, in every cell, every season, every heartbreak. Thatâs the real secret. That every moment is a doorway. Every small shift, the way you answer the phone, the way you inhale before speaking, the way you arrange a shelf or let go of a lie, is the whole spell, in miniature. You donât need to reach the stars to change your life, you just need to change how you move through this moment, because the pattern will ripple. It always does.
And that is what this space is for. To remind you that astrology is not fortune-telling, and tarot is not theater, and the symbols weâve inherited are not decoration, they are mirrors, tools for listening, ways of seeing through the skin of things. The myths, the planets, the cards, the signs, they are openings. And if you know how to enter them, youâll find the rhythm again. Youâll feel the world speaking through everything you thought was silent. You werenât born to decode the stars, you were born as one of their footnotes. The ink that wrote the sky still stains your tongue.
