Against All Prediction

I am an astrologer.

It’s honestly still such a strange thing for me to say.

I have a vivid memory of being in a junior high science class when someone said “astrology” when they meant “astronomy.” We all laughed — myself included — and firmly nodded as the teacher proclaimed: Astrology isn’t real. It’s a pseudoscience.

My younger self — the atheist with the Darwin fish bumper sticker — would find the person I’ve become completely ludicrous. And I’m certain there are people from my past who think I’ve gone off the deep end.

That’s fair.

But life, if nothing else, has a way of presenting us with confounding twists and turns that no one — not even the astrologers — can predict. I couldn’t have known any of what was coming. Not a single turn of it.

I couldn’t have known that at 23, I would follow my intuition across the globe alone — and that the beautiful, ancient wisdom I encountered in Asia would turn my Western worldview completely upside down. That I would witness healings that would baffle any doctor I’d ever met. That I would be moved, for the first time, to pray to one day be able to help heal others — and that I had no idea yet the power and weight that prayer would carry.

That I would survive a brutal sexual assault, alone in a foreign country, and be catapulted into the darkest night of my soul.

That I would return home bewildered, carrying PTSD and reverse culture shock, and unknowingly walk into a relationship that would teach me that abuse doesn’t always leave visible marks.

That at 25, I would suffer a stroke — likely a reaction to birth control medication — and face the fragility of my own life in a way that changed everything.

That I would leave that relationship with little more than some clothes and books, seriously weighing homelessness.

That I would be rescued by the people we call friends — angels, really — who offered unconditional love to a shattered soul, and that through them, I would learn about grace.

That I would spend my Saturn return in an inpatient facility, because I had lost the will to live.

And yet — something began to grow in the ashes.

I started slowly rebuilding my life. And in that rebuilding, I began to truly know myself for the first time — wounded, yes, but cleared of everything I had assumed was true.

It was the forest that found me first. Under open sky, among roots and canopy, I began to remember an ancient truth: that we are not separate from nature. That healing is not linear. That the land itself speaks, if you learn how to listen.

I became a certified nature and forest therapy guide.

I met the love of my life — a Chinese Medicine doctor — who reminded me that healing is archetypal, not mechanical, and that our bodies carry more wisdom than we are taught to trust. I began to see the language of pattern that the ancients have always known.

And something in me began to open.

I would finally admit to myself — and then to the world — that I was born with deep psychic awareness. That I am a spiritually powerful woman.

When the pandemic arrived and dismantled everything I had built, I reached for the tool I had quietly carried since I was nine years old: tarot. I began reading publicly, just to offer something to people who were lost. They came in droves. And so I had to start charging.

For as long as I can remember, I had been drawn to astrology’s strange and intricate language — tracing my fingers over the vast, complex glyphs scattered across calendars and ephemerides long before I understood what any of them meant. Something in me recognized those symbols even when my mind did not.

Then a friend gave me a reading that floored me — sent me spinning in the best possible way — and showed me there was something vastly deeper in this system than kitschy horoscopes or crystal balls. I dove into ancient Hellenistic astrology. And when I did, it was like remembering how to ride a bike. Not learning. Remembering. Something I had already known, that had simply been waiting for me to come home to it.

I finally said out loud what I had known for a long time: I am a priestess, a witch, a soulful guide through both treacherous waters. I am someone who can help others navigate their own darkness — because I have intimately known mine.

And I no longer give much care to what people think about that.

This truth was meant to be lived.

Since that homecoming, I have continued to go deeper — weaving in Jyotish (Vedic astrology) and Evolutionary astrology alongside the Hellenistic foundation, drawing from each tradition what it does most beautifully. The sky, it turns out, has many languages. I am still learning to speak them all—and, I suspect, will be learning for the rest of my life.

My journey has been hard won. But I know who I am now — and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

This is the work I offer through Re-Member — natal chart readings, transit and relationship readings, astrocartography, tarot, parts work, and soulful mentorship for those in deep transition.

All sessions can be done in-person or online.

The Lantern Letters is where I write: on the seasons, the sky, and the sacred mess of becoming.

WHERE TO FIND ME IN PERSON

You can come for a reading at The Hearthside, an adorable private English pub tucked in SE Portland — a fitting place to sit across from someone and tell the truth. And once a month, I gather community at The Hobbit Hole in SW Portland for the Circle of Re-Membering — a space for collective witnessing, seasonal attunement, and remembering together who we are beneath the noise of our lives.

In service of your remembering,

Katrina

If something here stirred you, I’d love to sit with you.
You can find me and learn more about the work at

PATHOFRE-MEMBERING.COM

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