What is Depth Astrology? Click here to learn more.
|
 I first heard the word succulent in reference to desert flora when I moved to Los Angeles 11 years ago. Before that, I’d always thought they were called cacti. The word succulent struck me as odd because I always associated the word with something juicy, luscious and fleshy.
In contrast to the dark-green rhododendrons and towering pine trees of my youth, these desert plants — with their pale green skin, lean bodies and pointy spikes, growing, it seemed, straight up out of hard, dry rocks — said anything but succulent to me.
Click to continue reading “Picture of the Week: Saturn, Survival and Succulents”
I first heard the word succulent in reference to desert flora when I moved to Los Angeles 11 years ago. Before that, I’d always thought they were called cacti. The word succulent struck me as odd because I always associated the word with something juicy, luscious and fleshy.
In contrast to the dark-green rhododendrons and towering pine trees of my youth, these desert plants — with their pale green skin, lean bodies and pointy spikes, growing, it seemed, straight up out of hard, dry rocks — said anything but succulent to me.
Click to continue reading “Picture of the Week: Saturn, Survival and Succulents”
Astrology is the study of patterns as they play out through time.
Sometimes we get caught in an unhealthy pattern and call it a bad habit or an addiction. Other patterns grow into rituals that mark certain moments: beginnings, endings, transitions, the rhythms of the seasons. Still other patterns become routines — neither healthy nor unhealthy, just the usual way of doing things, until something comes along to change, upset or improve old standbys.
It’s pretty easy to tell when something’s a routine as opposed to an addiction, a rhythm as opposed to a habit. Though each word means essentially the same thing, we can feel it in our bones when the pattern is unhealthy, or comforting, or neutral. But the etymology of these words can give us further insight into how the things we do repeatedly — Saturday morning chores, for example, or singing a particular lullaby to a child, or that six-pack you just can’t get through the evening without — affect the deep psyche.
Click to continue reading “Addiction, Ritual and Rhythm: In Life and in the Horoscope Chart”
Astrology is the study of patterns as they play out through time.
Sometimes we get caught in an unhealthy pattern and call it a bad habit or an addiction. Other patterns grow into rituals that mark certain moments: beginnings, endings, transitions, the rhythms of the seasons. Still other patterns become routines — neither healthy nor unhealthy, just the usual way of doing things, until something comes along to change, upset or improve old standbys.
It’s pretty easy to tell when something’s a routine as opposed to an addiction, a rhythm as opposed to a habit. Though each word means essentially the same thing, we can feel it in our bones when the pattern is unhealthy, or comforting, or neutral. But the etymology of these words can give us further insight into how the things we do repeatedly — Saturday morning chores, for example, or singing a particular lullaby to a child, or that six-pack you just can’t get through the evening without — affect the deep psyche.
Click to continue reading “Addiction, Ritual and Rhythm: In Life and in the Horoscope Chart”
 I’ve been grumpy for a couple of days.
Nothing has really changed in my life in that time. I’m just grumpy.
I’m not usually a transit-checker — that is, I don’t wake up every morning and check where Venus is in my chart, or the Moon, or whatever. I know approximately where the outer planets are, and I try to watch what I say when Mercury is retrograde, but I don’t live and die by my transits.
But this morning I had to check them out. Because the inexplicable grumpiness was getting to me.
Sure enough, there was Mars sitting right on my natal Sun-Mercury conjunction, opposite Saturn: a driving force in my life and personality.
If you’re not an astrologer, that last sentence won’t mean much to you. What’s important to know is that, when Mars energy bursts into a major part of your personality, even for a short period of time, that part of you can get pretty energized — for better or for worse.
If you’re not in full awareness and possession of yourself, as I haven’t been the last couple days, Mars energy can get pretty prickly, pretty quickly. I’ve been snapping at my three-year-old, feeling edgy and tense, defiant and selfish. On the other hand, the whole house is clean and I’ve done more walking and weight-lifting this week than I’ve done in ages.
See, Mars is productive and physical as well as angry and irritated.
It’s a good example of how each planet and sign has both positive and negative manifestations. At the core of each planet is not good or bad but, simply, energy.
Mars contains the energy of output and individuality. It’s like the first yelp of a baby as it emerges from the womb. It can be a yelp of pain and protest, or a yelp of concerted effort, or a yelp of productive breathing, or simply a yelp that says, “Hey! I’m here! Look at me!” The important thing is that the yelp occurs: The baby is bringing individual energy up from inside, out into expression in the world.
Some people feel Mars-like most of the time; it means Mars is prominent or particularly energized in their horoscope chart and personality. (On the other hand, people with a weaker Mars may try to make up for it by adopting Martian habits — but feel woefully inadequate about them.) We see strong expressions of Mars energy in sports figures, soldiers, drummers and Nike’s “Just Do It!” slogan. We also see it in red-faced anger, mouthing off, reckless driving and crimes of passion. It’s no wonder that professional football players, for example, have a reputation for getting into trouble — and that their fans sometimes cross the line between excited cheering and incited rioting. It’s all on the Mars continuum: It’s output of physical, productive, creative, instinctive, freely-expressed energy.
When we feel Mars energy bubble up in our lives — and we especially tend to feel it in our bodies — we might first feel irritated or angry for no reason we can readily identify. Or maybe we can identify the reason, but it’s something that wouldn’t have bothered us last week. Or it’s something that always gets to us but we feel like a hamster on a wheel with it: running, running, running with no productivity, no resolution.
For me, this week, it was my preschooler’s clinginess — an apt example because Mars wants to be free and independent, able to choose where and when to go, and what to do, tied down to no one. The Dragon’s clinging and whining this week made me feel angry and trapped, whereas in other weeks I’m able to take it in stride, address it, soothe it and move on. Not this week: Instead, I felt like a volcano about to explode. I’m actually planning to spend this evening out so I can indulge my need for freedom and independence instead of giving into irritation and anger. I hope I can return a little calmer, having gotten my short spell of freedom.
It’s really important to be aware of when Mars stirs your anger. However Mars is situated in your chart, if you haven’t learned to manage your anger, certain triggers — a child’s defiance, a spouse’s socks on the floor, a boss’s tone — could set it off at the drop of a hat. On the other hand, many people suppress irritation and anger because it’s not considered polite to show it. This can, of course, be just as damaging: Witness the ample evidence that the stress of suppression is connected to heart attack and other ills.
It might seem strange, but both hair-trigger anger and suppressed anger are sourced in the same place: the inability to manage Mars energy productively. Mars is not anger; anger is one expression of Mars energy. But that energy can be channeled into a more productive and creative place. Primal scream therapy is a quintessential example of this channeling, though other activities — like cleaning house, going for a walk, lifting weights, mowing the lawn, drumming, listening to loud music or having (safe and respectful) sex — will do just as well.
Astrologer Robert Hand says:
One way to ensure that a Mars transit will not cause disputes or arguments with others … is to have plenty of hard work to do. The negative side of Mars most often manifests itself when there is no other outlet for its energies. (Source)
Maybe, instead of anger management, we should call it Mars management. That would acknowledge the more productive and creative uses of this wild, unruly energy instead of dissing it completely. Because, like a needy child, Mars gets really, really, really pissed when it’s ignored.
Photo credit
 Yesterday I went to the doctor to get a cortisol shot for a bulging disk in my neck. I expected to arrive at 10:30, get the shot and be on my way by 11:00. But instead, the receptionist cheerily handed me a big pile of paperwork that required my signature multiple times, acknowledging the possibility of my death because the procedure would involve anesthesia and sedation.
At first I balked, then I made sure it wouldn’t be a general anesthesia. “Oh, no,” the nurse said. “It’s a local, plus, you know, just a little sedation because they don’t want you to move. But you won’t be completely under.”
I changed into a robe, climbed onto a gurney and watched as a nurse poked an IV into my wrist. I have a grotesque love of watching myself get shots. The doctor came and introduced himself, then I was rolled 30 feet into the surgery room, where I flipped over, prone, onto a stationary table. Why I couldn’t have just walked in and hopped up, I don’t know. I double-checked with the anesthesiologist about the level of sedation and he assured me I wouldn’t be completely out.
As the doctor chatted with the nurse about a recent trip to Italy and the quality of gelato to be had at Whole Foods, I heard the anesthesiologist repeat, over and over, “The right side, she says. It’s the right side of the neck. The right side. We’ll do it on the right side.” I was relieved that at least one person in the room would get it correct.
The next thing I knew, I was mumbling senseless syllables and waking up, supine, back on the gurney in the room where I’d started.
“I’m surprised to be here,” I said to the nurse through a fog, without meaning to. She smiled.
I’d never been sedated before, and what surprised me wasn’t exactly that I came out of it so much as the complete and utter absence of experience during it. Usually when I awaken from a normal sleep, I have a sense of having slept: of turning, or dreaming, or grabbing covers back from Alan, or being climbed over by a groggy three-year-old. This time, there was none of that. It was utter nothingness for half an hour — though it could have been half a year for all I knew. Even the partial consciousness that exists during normal sleep was completely erased from my experience.
I think I understood, then, a little more of the horoscope’s 8th house dynamic.
Across from the 8th house, the 2nd house is where we possess things: money, valuables, values and even ourselves. It is the sphere of control over our lives, the place where we exert power over what we own, including our bodies. It is the space where we forge self-worth, self-control, self-possession.
The 8th house is exactly the opposite: It is where power, control and possession belong to others. We usually think of the 8th house as other people’s money, but that’s just a symbol of its underlying and deeply powerful dynamic: the ability of another person — including their possessions, valuables, values and motivations — to affect our lives without our consent.
 In her wonderful book Archetypes of the Zodiac, Kathleen Burt describes the energy of Scorpio (the sign associated with the 8th house) through the ancient Egyptian story of Queen Isis and King Osiris. Osiris was killed by his brother, Set, who desired the throne for himself. But that was just the beginning of the story; what became of Osiris’s body after his death was the real plot. Set killed Osiris by taking possession of his body in a coffin and disposing it in the Nile River. But Isis later found the mutilated body, took possession of it, reconstructed it and, with it, became pregnant with Horus.
There is much more to the story, of course, but a major theme is the importance of trust when control is not ours. When we are not self-possessed — when others are in possession of our bodies, or our money, or even our values — we must trust them completely to do right by us. If we believe the other person isn’t trustworthy, we feel jealous, or instigate power struggles, or try to thieve or trick to regain self-possession. We want to grab our toys and hightail it back to the 2nd house.
And, whether we trust or not, if those 8th house people don’t act in a way that’s worthy of our trust, we lose: The wrong limb gets amputated, or sexual abuse occurs, or our money is used for bad loans, or grave robbers heist our belongings. When we are not in control, our possessions — our money, our valuables, our principles, our integrity — are vulnerable to pillaging.
Someone, or something, has to be in control, and if it’s not us, we tend to feel at risk. Witness the themes and dynamics of the world financial crisis: Who possesses what, anymore? Who controls decisions? How do fear, possession and trust play out between people and institutions? These themes, as Pluto (ruler of Scorpio and the 8th house) moves into Capricorn, are bouncing around world politics and economics with incredible intensity and anxiety these days.
I believe this fear of lost control is a huge element in our fear of death. Of course, when faced with the possibility of death, we fear losing connection, love and familiarity; of course we also fear not doing everything we want to do in life. But there is also a distinct fear of losing control. If we lack consciousness, movement and speech, if we cannot affect what happens around us, we simply cannot have control over anything that occurs.
When Alan and I honeymooned in Costa Rica, we climbed 60 feet up into the rainforest and strapped ourselves into harnesses so we could swing on rope lines through the canopy. I was terrified beyond belief. But the guide kept saying, “Trust the equipment. You have to trust the equipment.”
How could I? I thought. I haven’t checked it out. Maybe a possum chewed through it. Maybe lightning struck it when no one was looking. I imagined falling through the branches to the hard ground below.
But I gritted my teeth, held on and swung anyway.
It was exhilirating.
I thought, Maybe control is overrated. But just for a second.
Photo credits: Surgery, Osiris
I don’t use astrology to predict events. I use it to help make sense of life.
Of course, I have other tools, too, like feelings, family, friends and faith. Astrology isn’t always the first place I go, especially in the midst of tragedy, but I often end up there, searching for clarity, groping toward meaning.
 So when a dear friend was killed this weekend in a horrible accident, my first reaction was gasping disbelief. Second came a deep and jagged grief. Third, a need to connect with other friends who loved her. Then, as the reality coursed through me, came numbness, and emptiness.
This morning, because I am who I am, I awoke yearning to understand the senselessness of her death through the perspective of my craft of astrology.
Why does it hurt so much that she’s gone?
Why can’t I grasp that she went the way she did?
What are we supposed to do, anyway, with grief?
I’m not pretentious enough to claim I found answers. But below are my thoughts, the small bits of meaning I glimpsed as I pondered the sudden, premature, tragic death of a beautiful, life-loving woman.
I wrote on Friday about the way astrology views the usual cycle of energy that guides an event, whether it’s the blossoming of a flower, the unfolding of a life or the movement of seasons. There is output, then enjoyment, then — usually; hopefully — slow shifts that dismantle the old order and prepare for the next cycle. I pointed out how important it is to take time when contemplating great changes to an old way of being, how rushing change could lead to crisis. I thought I was talking about politics, and money.
The suddenness of Heather’s death interrupts our sense of how time unfolds. Life is supposed to spin out evenly from its spool, one long flowing arc at a time. When it doesn’t, we say things like: “How can this be?” And: “I can’t believe it.” And: “It just doesn’t make sense.” A sudden, tragic end to a life doesn’t fit into the expected patterns of our mind, nor the gently sloping pathways of our hearts. Life is supposed to allow us some time to get used to change, to learn what we need ahead of time, to shift our gaze toward the next phase. It’s not meant to thrust us into loss all at once. At the very, very least, life is supposed to allow us a bit of time to say goodbye.
When death comes unanticipated, we don’t know what to do with ourselves: our hands, our voices, the alarm rising up in our chests. Our minds: What are we supposed to even think?
Often, then, not knowing what to do, we turn to the specifics of the departed person herself. This is the other way I can look to astrology to make sense of this loss. Because it occurred to me that, while astrology views each planet and sign as a symbol of an internal personal trait, other people in our lives also carry some traits for us — especially, perhaps, the ones we’re not able to manifest well ourselves. We need them to show us the way, the proper expression of laughter, or confidence, or drivenness.
I kept remembering, yesterday, how much Heather simply embraced life — how deeply she drank in the pleasures of the world all around her. She seemed always engaged, passionate about everything from coffee to music to movies to the people she loved. She laughed easily. She teased and admonished and was always good-natured. She seemed to let troubles roll off her back, shooing them away like flies.
Other traits might stand out more for other people, depending who they are and how they related with her. But whatever the specific experience, in relationship generally, each person brings something that the other needs in their life. Sometimes it’s the thing that drives us crazy; sometimes it’s the thing we most admire. Sometimes we don’t even notice the trait till they are gone. And when they are gone, we are left holding our hands out, waiting for more of what they brought: that passion, or that teasing, or that laughter. And when it doesn’t come — again, we don’t know what to do.
We have, then, to find her elsewhere — not to replace her, but to fill the emptiness her death leaves in our lives. Maybe, hopefully, we find her gifts in ourselves.
So my questions now are: What gifts did Heather give me that I could not accept when she was alive? What traits did I unconsciously ask her to hold that I could not yet make a part of myself? What do I need to become, now that she is no longer there to be it for me? I look at the list above and know immediately.
And so to celebrate Heather’s life, and to defy the tragedy of her death, I promise myself, and my family, and my friends, to cling less fiercely to worry — to let it go — so I can sink much more into each delectable moment life hands me, the way I saw her do.
Photo credit
|
What People Say “Truly gifted astrologers are a rarity. Kathy Crabb is one such person. She is a brilliant, original thinker, an intuitive and empathic counselor and a superb workshop facilitator.”
Pam Tyler, Dip. API (1981), Dip. FAS (1979),
AFA Teacher Cert. (1978); Astrologer since 1977;
Co-founder of Astrological Psychology Institute (UK);
Author of Mercury: Anatomy of a Planet
Get Our Blog Updates Your Way!
contact lenses - Lens.com offers a huge online inventory of brand name contact lenses with reasonably priced prices. Services include online order and shipping straight to you.
|
Recent Comments