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
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