Stories like this are always great teaching tools. The more absurd or emphatic an event the more the planetary positions (and chart angles) are highlighted.
I spoke with a Verizon official to get an estimated time for this event and it was between 11 am and noon (*) on July 17th.
The short version of the story: A woman entered a Verizon store in California without a mask on, she was asked to leave, she refused. The store’s manager called 911, and the women then proceeded to lower her pants and urinate on the floor in a corner of the store. Cops arrived to arrest her and while doing so found a cache of stolen goods in her bag, stuff cockroached from an adjoining sporting goods store.
So high-jinx and criminality that’s displayed in public would have Mercury and 10th house associations throbbing — and sure enough, the chart for the adventure has a Virgo ascendant (which Mercury — god of thieves — rules) with the Moon (females) and Venus (an older-than-a-child female) conjunct the mid-heaven of public (oops, Freudian slip — typed ‘pubic’ there which is my way of knowing that this is worth amplifying) happenings or displays.
The Gemini mid-heaven is a high-noon Mecurial iteration — an event for all of the world to see (or read about). And with Venus and the Moon conjunct in Gemini — both of those markers link over — another iteration — to Mercury (Gemini’s ruler — in Cancer, as well as the chart’s ruler par excellence). All this Mercury, all of this Gemini, all of this trickster acting out.
Mercury in Cancer (unedited instinctual reactions — that can be highly imaginative) makes an applying square aspect (gathering storm and ‘cloud burst’) to an impulsive Mars in Aries in the 8th house of clandestine criminality: stolen sporting goods (Mars-ruled) hidden in a bag (the 8th house).
Add scatological behavior (8th house is associated with elimination and expulsion, especially with Aries on the house cusp) and we’ve slipped into another dimension of ‘the return of the repressed’ — as kids we just shit and pissed ourselves willy-nilly, often as ways to punish our parents who we might have experienced as controlling or, worse, blind to our existence. Read more
Typical of dreams, I did not recognize the house I was in, nor the door, nor the man.
Three nights ago I dreamt that an African American entered through a door in a house that I occupied. There was no doorbell or knock. He simply walked in unannounced. Shocked — and again typical of a dream’s rhythm — I woke up.
What was recognizable about the dream was the feeling tenor of the unexpected appearance of a person entering a room uninvited. Layered through that feeling was the wonder that accompanies the beginning of a strange new relationship.
The dream had other components, none of which I recall — but it was the visitor, his presence and surprise entry, that stayed with me throughout the day. And the following day. And now, while writing this article.
Freudian dream analysis would have tethered this dream to some repressed happening in my past. And because I am caucasian, a Jungian dream interpretation might say that the dream figure was a component of my ‘shadow’ — an aspect of my unconscious converting into consciousness.
The psychologist James Hillman would say that as soon as I’d named and cataloged the contents of my dream (by analyzing or interpreting it) I would have destroyed not only the dream’s vitality — its impression — but also the denizen of the dream — my visitor. A figure from the underworld.
Too, Hillman would say that I’d lost an opportunity to better prepare for my death.
Hillman — a longtime scholar of both Freud and Jung‘s dream typographies — came to see, after decades of exploring his dreams and that of his patients, that a dream scenario, a dream figure (or dream animal) are happenings and entities that visit us from the underworld.
As Phil Ford and J.F. Martel write in their introduction to their Weird Studies podcast that takes on Hillman’s masterwork:
“In order for dreams to do their work on us, says Hillman, we must cease to regard them as hallucinations, mere metaphors, epiphenomena, or illusions, and instead see them as the imaginal other life we all must live. Every night, for Hillman, each of us descends into the underworld to encounter those forces that shape us and our surroundings. The way down is the way up.”
I’d read Hillman’s book The Dream and the Underworld years ago, but it wasn’t until the outbreak of COVID-19 that I began to understand, in a direct-knowing way, what exactly Hillman was positing.
The Buddhists have their concept of bardo, and Christians assert a purgatorial realm — waystations of sorts. But the mythological realm of the underworld is, to me, universal — not creed dependent — and this is what Hillman helps us understand in his book. He writes:
“The…transformative work in dreams constructs the House of Hades, one’s individual death. Each dream builds upon that house. Each dream is practice in entering the underworld, a preparation of the psyche for death.”
I mention COVID because the last three months have moved many of us closer, with unrelenting proximity, to the universal underworld — way more frequently than our usual six hours of nocturnal sleep provides.
The cessation of our maddeningly busy and self-important lives has allowed not only nature to reassert her might (I love all of those pictures of animals rewilding abandoned city streets) but also the underworld to shift its boundaries. Read more
In India there is an astrological term that corresponds to our current pandemic-related claustrophobia.
This cosmic configuration is called the Kala Sarpa Yoga.
I’m not a Vedic astrologer but I’d asked my colleague Kate Petty about our current exaggerated sky pattern last month and she mentioned how, within Indian astrology, the pattern is considered extreme and perhaps inauspicious — and that got my head whirling. And so I did some research.
Kala Sarpa Yoga is generally studied in natal astrology and relates to a condition where the seven planets that are worked with in Vedic astrology (Sun, Moon, Mars, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, Mercury) are trapped between Rahu (the Moon’s North Node) and Ketu (the Moon’s South Node).
Of course, modern Western astrology also includes Uranus, Neptune and Pluto in the pantheon. And this is why when I first started to consider our current sky pattern — where the Nodes have locked all of the solar system into one half of the zodiac, I was struck by the pattern’s literal correlation to the COVID pandemic and the feeling that — well, people feel trapped — frozen in time.
Think of it metaphorically: Picture a pie where all ten pieces of the pie are crammed into just one-half of the pie plate— instead of being evenly dispersed in the circle.
Just about anyone you talk to nowadays would acknowledge this feeling of restricted disproportion. It’s like we are forced into viewing the world through a pair of glasses where one of the lenses is blacked out or a blinder is in place on one side of the frames. Our ability to remain objective is severely compromised.
Kala means time, Sarpa means Serpent and Yoga means combination. So we could read Kala Sarpa Yoga, when considered within mundane (world-focused) astrology, as global consciousness trapped into one segment of time.
In Vedic astrology the Moon’s Nodes are based on a snake metaphor, whereas in Western astrology they are aligned with the image of a dragon. The Nodes in both systems are highly charged points that mark the eclipse cycles, and if you think of time as an actual entity — not just a conceptual creation — the Nodes would mark the entrance and exit points of force, within time’s body.
This is a topic for another article, but I’ll just say quickly that it was Rudolph Steiner‘s explanation of solar and lunar eclipses that made me reconsider the Moon’s Nodes in a different light.
What’s interesting is that the Kala Sarpa Yoga began to move into exactitude about a month before the Covid-19 pandemic was acknowledged as an encroaching and unavoidable health crisis. Read more
On the weekend I got together — virtually — with Rachel and Andrei from the Aeolian Heart website to record two episodes for their Stargazer podcast.
The cast is debuting today May 25. And you can listen to the first episode here.
And you can listen to the second episode here.
Rachel, Andrei and I took on a free-for-all approach to the conversation and let imagination lead the way.
I was reminded, once again, that when you’re an astrologer you’re a lifelong student. Both of these artist/scholar/astrologers offered a wellspring of cogent astro-facets to consider.
• We covered everything from our fandom for art and culture critic Camille Paglia.
• To the conundrums of traditional astrology and the gnarly topic of prediction and dignities — and how potentially harmful those can be for a novice client. “Oh your Venus is in Virgo? I’m sorry!”
• We also consider the invasion of the Jungian world (synchronicity and archetypes) into modern astrology.
• Qualia (and wine tasting 🍷) and a language for describing the present moment.
• How has the astrologer’s ability to communicate astrology developed over time.
• Humanist philosopher Marsilio Ficino as a proto-psychological astrologer.
• Modern astrology’s indefatigable connoisseur Liz Greene.
• Morrisey‘s song Hairdresser on Fire — (you just have to listen to the episode).
• Please be advised that there is some salty language in the cast.
Enjoy the episode and you can leave us comments on my Facebook post here.
Be sure to visit Aeloion Heart and subscribe to Rachel’s newsletter — she’ll surprise you over and over with her scholarly astro-musings.
Happy listening and holiday!
From an article posted today on the Atlantic’s website:
“Biden’s Virtual Campaign Is a Disaster: The candidate has reached the peak of his career in the rec room of his basement, talking into a computer.”
Grant Lewi labeled Saturn’s transit through the 1st, 2nd and 3rd house of a natal chart as “the obscure years”.
Although each transit is unique — depending on how it relates to other natal factors, still the lower quadrant passage of Saturn is generally painful and frustrating. A grind and slog.
As Kate Petty reminded me the other day, ancient astrologers named the second house of the chart: THE MOUTH OF HELL. This relates I’d imagine to a planet heading towards the chart’s nadir — the rock bottom — where things go to die.
It’s interesting to note that before cemeteries were a thing people just buried their dead relatives under their home’s floorboards. Reinforcing this literal cross-reference to the fourth house as ‘home’ and ‘endings’. I guess there was something comforting in knowing that grandma’s corpse was safe beneath your feet you while you’re sitting on your sofa.
Anyway, as soon as I was forced to start taking Biden seriously as a candidate I was head-scratching about how Saturn was traversing this ‘obscure’ quarter of his wheel. Especially when I consider how in Trump’s natal chart Saturn is ascending towards his mid-heaven and tenth house.
Generally, Saturn moving through this lower quadrant corresponds with frustration and a sense of invisibility. Regardless of your efforts, it feels like you can’t gain traction with projects or plans related to working with others.
Both times that I’ve experienced the transit it matched up with one of the worst periods in my life. Yes, there was a silver lining, but it was very un-glamorous grunt work stuff.
Anyway, so as all things COVID-themed seems to relate to reality being turned upside down right now, here is Biden locked in his basement doing his thing — while the commentary and publicity related to his strategy are scathing.
But then look at the 12th house of Biden’s natal chart. This basement headquarters arrangement is very ‘duck to water’ for Biden. And that potent Jupiter in Cancer in the 8th. Meaning, he might actually benefit from what normally could be a terrible transit for someone running for president.
Almost all of my clients that have strong 12th house, 8th house, Scorpio or Pluto natal placements are benefiting in various ways from the pandemic.
This makes sense because that grouping of markers has a lot to do with vocations and events that people generally DON’T want to look at or engage with — disease, hospitals, mortuaries, death — or actual work that’s related like medicine, counseling, grief healing, recycling, rebuilding, etc.
Paul Horwich, in a long NY Times essay wrote:
Wittgenstein isn’t a walk in the park, but he’s worth your effort because the more you study his philosophy — which was actually, in spots, more akin to mysticism — the more freedom you might gain as an astrologer.
Like the closet mystic Carl Jung, Wittgenstein knew how to couch his propositions to pass the scrutiny of his peers (well, except for his mentor Bertrand Russell who he drove to fury by disregarding traditional formulations of logic.)
And because of this sketchy dance, between chilly logic and the nimbus of mysticism, I find Wittgenstein to be the most satisfying of linguistic rebels. His mix of the effable with the ineffable mirrors in a direct way how human beings toil with making sense (or a muddle) of astrology. Read more