I’m Índigo

How I got here

I was fifteen the first time someone read my birth chart. They made three predictions. None of them came true.

What was actually there, and what they missed, was why my dad and I kept having the same fight. Nobody knew how to read it.

I walked away with a question that took me years to answer. If a chart doesn’t predict the future, what does it say?

I spent the next ten years reading charts for the people around me. Friends, cousins, the guy I worked with. I never charged anyone, because I got a lot wrong. I learned more from my misses than from my hits, and the hits taught me not to trust luck.

Then I noticed something that changed my focus. Nobody asked me about their own chart. They asked about someone else’s. Their mom’s, their ex’s, the one who never texts back. They showed up with one chart, but they were really carrying two. That’s when I knew what my work was.

Why Índigo

Indigo is the color nobody can agree on. It sits between blue and violet, and half the people you ask will tell you it doesn’t exist, that it’s just dark blue. It’s there, but it never quite gets a name of its own.

That’s exactly what I read. What happens between two people that doesn’t have a name yet.

What I do and what I don’t

Fifteen years later I’m still reading charts. The difference is that now I know what I’m looking for.

I don’t predict the future. I won’t tell you you’ll meet someone in March or that you’re getting married next year. Anyone who says they know is selling you snake oil.

I won’t tell you whether this person is the one, or whether you should leave. That’s your call. I’m not the one living your life.

What I do is put the two charts side by side and show you where the trouble starts. Which part of the short circuit is yours, which part is theirs, and which part only exists where the two of you meet. That last part is the one nobody sees, because it isn’t in either chart on its own.

I don’t use templates. I write every reading from scratch, working through your chart and the other person’s at the same time. That’s why no two are alike.

My own code calculates your chart from astronomical ephemerides, with the real Sun, Moon and Ascendant for the minute you were born.

I read both charts in full and decide what matters and what doesn’t. I use tools to organize my notes, like anyone who works with ephemeris tables. What ends up on the page, and above all what I decide to leave out, is my call.

And I never write about death, illness or pregnancy. One careless sentence there can do real damage.