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Books and Articles
 The
Inner Soak
Astrologer, Hunter Reynolds, reflects on his first
year catering
to the curious, the calamitous and everything in between.
(Reprinted from The Harbin Quarterly- Spring 2006)
WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT of doing readings at Harbin, it seemed counter
intuitive. Why would someone snake his or her way deep into this secluded
valley only to spend time talking to an astrologer about the life they
worked so hard to leave behind? Harbin, I thought, is a place to savor
the wisdom of the body and the earth, not a place to soak in a pool
of cosmic perspectives- however accurate. So I dropped the idea and
continued my astrological detective work, disguising myself as a deep
tissue body worker, silently noting the correlations between archetype
and body type, Mercury sign and talking style, lunar temperaments and
the endless moods and meltdowns I was honored to comfort and contain.
Harbin became my laboratory of awareness, and Bay Area astrologers-
the chemists who would help me understand the fizzing test tubes all
around me.
One day, in the middle of a session, I glanced up at the
clock. Twenty years had passed. After splashing in the psychophysical
surf of thousands, the limitations of my 50 yr. old frame began to nudge
me out of hiding.
Of course, I had not aged alone. Harbin had moved well past its first
Saturn Return and was no in its mid-thirties. A sizeable number of residents-
once young, transient and blissfully enslaved by the ego’s “wave
jumping in search of wetness”- now appeared ready to die here.
The community had become more sober, self-possessed… a quiet band
of souls in the mood for reckoning with their karma.
Meanwhile, out there beyond the never-ending string of sentinels standing
guard at Harbin’s front gate, something curious was happening.
Twenty million books on astrology were being sold each year, licensed
therapists were consulting astrologers for “jump starts”
on their clients and reputable surveys were reporting that anywhere
from one quarter to one half of the U.S. population now believe that
the position of distant celestial bodies has an influence on the fleshy
bodies moving far below them.
It seems the age of my body and the Age that I lived in had suddenly
conspired to produce a new service at Harbin. After finishing the requisite
testing, I constructed what was, in effect, a kind of self-maintaining
reception desk on the wooden deck outside the Blue Room Café’.
This had never been done before. Success or failure would depend solely
on my picture, a write-up, and the prospective client’s willingness
to insert a deposit of $20.00 into an envelope that had, on its face,
a form requesting relevant birth data, as well as a few general “areas
of focus.”
As curiosity gave way to the first trickle of sign-ups, I immediately
realized two things:
First, doing interactive readings outside, in the healing ambiance of
this wooded valley, with clients who were relaxed- if not splayed open-
by yoga, bodywork and the baths was going to be profound. Profoundly
rewarding. Profoundly challenging. For many, what started out as an
hors d’oeuvre became the “main course.” Second, Harbin
clients hit the ground running. They come savvy and primed for an integrative
approach that addresses the needs of ego and spirit equally. This would
compel me to embody a style of relating that was as personal as it was
transcendent. Alas, I had stumbled into a mystery school!
As spring turned into summer, clientele picked up. A mother tryng to
understand the needs of her rebellious daughter. A grandfather eager
to honor the learning style and emotional needs of his new grandson.
A 29 yr. old woman trying to make meaning out of a chaotic Saturn Return.
A curious skeptic (reformed!).
After parting with each client, I often saw them later in or around
the springs. They were not just grateful: they were intrigued, disoriented,
quiet and digesting. How much would have been lost, I wondered, if they
had immediately climbed back into a car instead of a warm pool. How
strange, I thought, to imagine Harbin without at least one place reserved
for “clothing optional psyches.”
Then came the couples. Married couples in crisis. Contented couples
wanting to go deeper. Couples in the first blush of love, eager to stay
grounded and see each other clearly. Dissolving couples determined to
negotiate an amicable breakup. Half-couples trying to get perspective
on a partner back home. Few things can evoke a knowing smile or a tear
more quickly than looking together at one’s relationship through
the lens of astrological symbols.
As winter darkness encroached, questions
deepened. A man—dependent on the health benefits of a toxic job
that was killing him—wonders how to strategically extricate himself.
A woman seeking guidance on how to navigate the cleansing, visceral
emotions of a Moon-Pluto transit without jeopardizing her relationship
or career.
Of course Harbin is no stranger to individuals in “hot water.”
As long-term residents and visitors know, when one is held in communal
embrace, habits of distraction and denial naturally unravel. A smooth-running
life of numbness and isolation suddenly looks untenable. The casual
“get-away” morphs into a vision quest.
In this sense, my little kiosk had found its perfect home, and the responsibilities
of shouldering the grandiose role of “emissary of cosmic forces”
continues to wash me of self-importance as nothing else could.
It’s hard to describe the
peace that descends when two souls join in the realization that the
episodes of grace and grit weaving through their lives are infused with
a larger, discernable Intelligence. These are the moments that tether
me to this challenging work— the silent moments when an inner
voice whispers to both of us, “Be humble for you are made of dung.
Be noble, for you are made of stars.”
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