An astrologer hears the word “foggy” and immediately thinks of Neptune, that veil of mystery shrouding us from hard reality.

What’s surprising is not that the woman’s Age Point was crossing Neptune right during the time period she spoke of, but that she woke [...]]]> The other day a client described a certain period in her life as “foggy.”

An astrologer hears the word “foggy” and immediately thinks of Neptune, that veil of mystery shrouding us from hard reality.

What’s surprising is not that the woman’s Age Point was crossing Neptune right during the time period she spoke of, but that she woke me up to the fact that I’m going through a major Neptune cycle right now and — in true Neptune fashion — haven’t really been aware of it.

The energetic antithesis of Neptune is Saturn: the building-up of tangible structures and plans; the hard reality of life that we recognize as boundaries, rules and predictable patterns; the limits we accept because they are laws of physics or laws created by humans to ensure security, safety, certainty. Saturn is authority, hierarchy and leadership, even hegemony and control. Boundaries and expectations are clear, hard and non-negotiable.

Neptune is precisely — or, rather, imprecisely — the opposite. It’s that place in the mind, in the soul, where lines blur and boundaries dissolve and truth is relative. We’re not sure what’s real because everything seems real, and it seems possible to slip through the mists of time/space to the sands of some other place, to be transported on music or breath or lushness alone. The mind grows lax with the incomprehensibilty of the cosmos, and we hardly know where to start to accomplish what needs to be done. In fact, the to-do list itself seems elusive and uncertain. What is necessary? Why should I start now, when everything will shift tomorrow? Why don’t I just pick up this fantasy novel and…

Photo: Matt "Birdeye" Rogers

The next thing I know, sleep has descended and with it, dreams, and I really am in another time/space for a short period where the rules and realities seem as equally valid as the doubtful requirements of my waking life. Giant piles of laundry look like soft mountains to climb, and my father says something about rafting down a slow, sleepy river, and a flock of Canadian geese flies past, upside-down and speaking in British accents, and it all makes sense to me.

I know it won’t last forever, but Neptune transits aren’t quick — they meander like mountain streams in the summertime — and for my more goal-oriented mind, its energy seems life-sucking.

***

What do we do when our charts (by which I mean our psyches) are visited by energies that are antithetical to our natures?

I mean really, what do we do?

Clients often come to me when they’re in a cycle like this — not necessarily a Neptune cycle but one that goes against their typical selves. They feel like they’ve been taken over by aliens, that their normal fire has been doused by a bucket of water, or their typical ability to go with the flow has been replaced by a restlessness and dissatisfaction that they can’t escape from.

The most important thing is to recognize what’s happening, acknowledge its difficulties and realize that it won’t last forever. Next it’s important to recognize the risks of the particular energy that’s visiting. For me, where I am today, Neptune’s confusion and doubt are the worst of it. A few years ago, this transit would have manifested for me more as an alcohol problem (in fact, did so). Still others may experience Neptune as a shady, manipulative character; as illusions and delusions; as discouragement, martyrdom, idealization.

Awareness of risks allows us to protect ourselves against them — or, on the other hand, to accept them as part of our current scenario. (I don’t recommend this for really destructive risks!) Then, you can start working with the positive sides of the archetype. I mean, Neptune sounds dreamy, really, doesn’t it? I’ve never been able to rest, veg out, do nothing or sit still. I wonder what will happen if I do that, for a change?

What, then, if I allowed myself to be receptive instead of trying to act upon the world all the time? What if I made space for something else to eke through the time/space continuum toward me? What if I could think secrets were sometimes okay, could accept that I don’t have to know everything right now?

What if I watched my mind/soul for the things it’s picking up on instead of always trying so hard to have something to say? Or if I paid more attention to beauty than productivity, allowed myself to perceive leaves and spirit and soup in different ways, let myself be transported by music more often?

How would I change? How would I come back to reality, when this cycle is over, a more complete, productive and helpful person?

“yesterday was an angry day for me and i had felt it bubbling up for a few days. after a fight with the SO, snapping at the Dictator, slamming the door (4 times, i kept forgetting things) i FINALLY made it out the door to school – late, beaten, angry, down. i didn’t start [...]]]> Reader Andromeda writes:

“yesterday was an angry day for me and i had felt it bubbling up for a few days. after a fight with the SO, snapping at the Dictator, slamming the door (4 times, i kept forgetting things) i FINALLY made it out the door to school – late, beaten, angry, down. i didn’t start to feel better until i spent about 5 hours in the darkroom.

“things are starting to make sense now. i suppose it would be a good time to channel all this energy into writing 2 term papers, an artist statement, do artist research, rewrite the art history essay that i completely failed, read 2 books for history, and study for 2 upcoming midterms. any planets coming into play soon that will help me from feeling completely over-whelmed?”

This certainly does sound like anger and overwhelm not just running amok, but smashing right into each other! Andromeda has external forces (her husband, her child, her school work) making lots of demands on her. At the same time, she’s getting down on herself for not managing it all perfectly. The result is anger and resentment. There are a few horoscope elements coming into play that reflect this development in Andromeda’s life.

First, her natal horoscope chart shows someone who values stability and reflection — and who needs sufficient “down time” to recharge before she has to motivate to action again. If she doesn’t get that down time, she likely starts to feel frantic and overwhelmed. This is not a natural state of being for her: Though she is by no means a slacker, she simply doesn’t thrive on constant Type A activity. It’s counterproductive.

Second, with her Age Point early in the 6th house of her natal chart, Andromeda has recently been thrust from more pleasurable life pursuits into facing the demands and realities of the world — and, at the same time, learning to cope with them. The Age Point in Aries adds a more demanding dimension to the life of someone who prefers to think and reflect before acting: The world is asking her, now, to just do it: Move, produce, create, react with little respite or reflection. That can create a sense of helpless resentment for someone who’s not used to this level of demand. Andromeda would do well to be a little selfish in this area right now: Set some boundaries and schedule some time when she need only focus on her own health and well-being. Otherwise she runs a serious risk of burnout.

Third, Andromeda’s progressed chart (which progresses the natal chart forward to show how her internal life has developed over time) shows a continued need for stability but confirms the greater level of activity she’s involved with now. It also shows that she’s putting a lot of energy into higher education and processing her experience on a deeper level — making what she learns an integral part of herself. This effort is also connected to a restlessness that is striving, but not yet finding, a strong outlet for expression.

It’s as if the productivity she’s engaging on one level wants to blossom into individuality, but the time is not yet at hand. And that can be frustrating. She should start feeling more directed with this energy after the new year — definitely by February — and its direction should become more and more clear with each coming year.

Finally, at the time of Andromeda’s question to me, Mars was (and remains) conjunct her natal Uranus, which is strong by house placement. This transit can indicate sudden intrusions, rash responses and resentfulness, not unlike those described by Andromeda in her message to me. It can also indicate an urge to unique self-expression and intense desire to go your own way — to buck authority, break the rules and forge out on your own. (It can also be an accident-prone period if a person is not aware of herself — so a time to be cautious as well.)

So I would warn Andromeda to slow down, pay attention to her surroundings and be absolutely sure that any rash decisions she makes now are either easily reversible or truly good for the long-term. This influence remains for Andromeda* until next Sunday or Monday (October 26-27), so until then she should be especially aware, and more careful than usual, of how she expresses her individuality, anger or impatience.

She could actually make use of a longer-term Jupiter transit, square her natal Pluto, to carve out time for emotional self-reflection and growth. If she is disciplined enough, she could do this on her own (that darkroom she describes could be the perfect place, if she sees it as a place for deepening instead of a place for escape); or she could seek out a wise person to be her guide. In any case, this kind of daily practice in self-reflection could be a steadying, long-term, maturing force in her life.

–
*Please note: This interpretation is specific to Andromeda’s chart only. Please e-mail me if you have a question about your own chart that you’d like me to answer in my blog. Include your birth date, birth time and birth place in your message.

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 [...]]]> 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

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 [...]]]> 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