How I made it in Santa Fe

A.R.T.of Santa Fe, Inc: Origins

           For a long time I wondered how an ordinary guy like me would fit in here in Santa Fe, with its diverse population of shamans, chakra jugglers, psychic healers, tantric sex therapists (my personal favorite), animal psychic healers, energy therapists, astrological cartographers, intuitive healers, radionic technicians, light weavers, life regressors, postal workers and restaurant personnel--those final two providing the diversity of which I speak. In my work at Trader Joe's I have met all of these, and many more. In selling these fine folks their groceries I couldn't help but struggle with a sense of inferiority. While these people were projecting astrally, healing, levitating, having tantric sex, and fighting esoteric spiritual battles, I was schlepping bananas and shelving organic, gluten-free, low salt, rain forest friendly lentil soup. Though I was very productive with produce, my work was, let's face it, dull by comparison to these enlightened souls. This caused me considerable consternation, as I have always longed to be at least a marginally interesting human being. Then, unexpectedly, I began to run into another, entirely different, set of customers: those deeply dissatisfied with their astrological signs. It all started with Devon. Devon looked to be in his mid-thirties, nice looking, and with an accent that placed him somewhere near Indianapolis, Indiana. And he was, I was sure, gay. He'd told me so on a previous visit.
          As I always do with customers, I asked Devon what his astrological sign was while scanning  his groceries at check-out. He stopped bagging his groceries and looked down at his shoes without speaking.
          "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked.
          "Nothing . . . it just that, well . . ."
          "Come on, out with it. What's the matter?"
          "You asked for my sign."
          "Oh . . . sorry. Are you offended by astrology?"
          "No! Not at all. I believe in it with all my heart. And that's the problem . . . I'm . . . I'm a. . ." he shook his head in shame, ". . . a Virgo."
          "Virgo? That's a great sign!" I said with some enthusiasm, hoping to lift his spirits with a well-intentioned lie--"
          He laughed ruefully, " . . . a shy, perfectionist, anxiety ridden, gay Christian Virgo from the Bible belt. Oh, I'd give anything to be a . . . a carefree Leo, a courageous Aries, or a bold sensuous Scorpio, even an angry, gay, Taurus, Muslim. But here I am in Santa Fe, a shy, miserable, freaking pathetic Virgo."
          I'll say no more about Devon for now, but may Spirit bless him. I started paying attention. It wasn't long before I met scores of miserable Scorpios, Leos, Cancers, Libras . . . all bemoaning the horrible sign under which they were born, for various individual reasons. Sure, I'm a little slow, but it eventually hit me . . . I found it! My niche in Santa Fe, my place, my expertise, and with thousands of built-in customers.
          One day late last summer I rushed to the Secretary of State's offices and incorporated under the name "Astrological Reassignment Therapy of Santa Fe," ART, Inc. Then I spent a few minutes thinking up my methodology. The important question was, "How the heck can you reassign an astrological sign?" I thought and thought . . . and thought a little more before it hit me. Duh! Rebirthing!! I'd create a rebirthing ceremony for, say, Capricorns who wanted to be Aquariises between January 21 and February 19. We'd consult the charts and find the optimal moment of birth for an Aquarius, taking into account the sciences of numerology and apitherapy (the real difference maker). I'd then create a rebirthing ceremony using chant, aquatics, big fluffy pillows, bee stingers, and a vagina-shaped entryway into a pure white room, with pure white light, and a great hot-tub, then on to the ceremonial nude spanking at the optimal moment indicated by the client's new sign, and, voilà.
         My business plan complete, I resigned my position at Trader Joe's, took out a bank loan--the self-hating Gemini loan officer was blown away by my plan--and rented a prime just-off-the-plaza location, selected by the astrological cartographer I'd met at Trader Joe's. She included a local Taoist feng shui practitioner to confirm her judgements and help me design my clinic.
          Now, I'm not into sales or self promotion. I'm too much of a obstinate Scorpio; but a simple ad in the Santa Fe Reporter lit the fire. My first call was from, yes, Devon, now a newly hatched ex-Virgo . . . a very, very confident and happy Leo, in fact. In Santa Fe, word-of-mouth is gold, all the advertising one really needs. My Astrological Reassignment Therapy (r) has really caught on. I have astrologically converted roughly 500 people in the four months since I set up shop. At $1000.00 a pop . . . well, you do the math. And I have a waiting list a mile long. Not that it's about money. Of course, of course, it's not. It's about the work. It's about finding one's niche. It's about belonging in a community of highly intelligent, creative people. And these people aren't just smart, they're East Coast Smart. I love helping people, whether showing them in which aisle the dried fruit is kept, as I once did, or rebirthing them into an astrological sign that suits them, reshapes and defines them, as I am privileged to do now, for a very reasonable fee.
           It's your choice: years of expensive, fruitless psychotherapy, maladjusted chakras, endless regressions, or a one-stop, one-grand, one-time astrological reassignment that transforms you into that optimistic, freedom-loving, jovial, smart (and I mean East Coast smart) Sagittarius you have always longed to be.