Depth Astrology

Remember the case of Nature v. Nurture? And how the brilliant psychoneuro- biologists finally resolved it with a burning, complex, insightful answer (“Uh, it’s both, people.”)?

Well, the even-more-esoteric among us have been taking sides for years in a similar debate: Opposites Attract v. Likes Attract. Which is it?

Uh. It’s both.

Because, like Nature and Nurture, if you look deeply enough, Opposites and Likes are so intertwined that, ultimately, they find the seeds of themselves in the other.

Huh?

Look: The astrological chart is comprised of opposites. Because it’s a circle, every point is exactly 180 degrees away from exactly one other point in the chart. Yet at the same time, every point is really the same as its opposite because both are equidistant from the Self — from the center of the circle. No point can exist on the circle without the tension wrought by its polar opposite.

So any given planet, sign or house in the chart is — often unwillingly, often resentfully — beholden for its very existence to the energy of whatever opposes it. The opposite is what anchors it in place, what makes it part of the whole, what ties it to the core, to the Self.

If we ignore the energy pulling on the other end of the rope, it gets stronger and yanks the rope away and runs wild around our lives while we’re standing there without a rope.

Or, conversely, if we pull too hard, get too attached to a particular way of being, the opposing force loses steam and lets go. And we fall on our asses. And if we still insist on holding tight, instead of getting up to offer a sportsman’s handshake, the opposite comes up from behind and kicks us while we’re down.

This opposite stuff is what Carl Jung termed the shadow — the very stuff we’d rather ignore, rather deny in ourselves. If we’re perfectly happy swimming in our Sagittarius soup, why on earth would we try to engage its opposite, Gemini?

Because if we don’t, the world will do it for us. Deny your shadow and the world sends it forth in spades.

And because if we deny that energy, we’re not really living up to the potential of what comes naturally. The blow-me-away insights of Sagittarius mean little unless they’re grounded in the everyday understanding of Gemini. Internal Scorpionic instinct is well-buttressed by the external Taurean senses. Capricorn does better standing on the shoulders of giants than climbing on the backs of the little guys — both possible ways of using the Cancer energy that stands opposite Capricorn.

I’ve been reminded of this lately as I’ve been planning a workshop on Libra. (E-mail me at enantiodromia1@verizon.net for more info about the workshop this September in the Los Angeles Foothills.) At its core, Libra is about balance — in aesthetics, in relationships, in society, in ideas. As I looked for images of balance to share with my students, I saw a lot of healthy meals, scales of justice and perfectly symmetrical flowers. These were nice. They communicate Libra energy well enough.

But the images with the most energy were the ones of gymnasts on balance beams and daredevils on tightropes — the images that incorporated Libra’s opposite, bold and daring Aries, into the mix. Not that it’s easy to eat healthy or achieve justice or grow a perfect flower. But the energy in those images was pretty one-sided. Flat. There was Like, but there was no obvious Opposite to give the true flavor of what was there. I wanted to see the chocolate ice cream alongside the salad, the attorneys’ arguments that led to the just judgment, the seedling’s bold decision to press through the soil and open its face into wild sunlight.

I wanted to see Libra’s true nature — the smooth cool that is energized by raucous Aries, the saint that welcomes the rebel, the astoundingly bold and balanced walk across the nauseatingly-high tightrope. The tension that brings deep meaning to the balance that Libra so delights in.

Jung identified the tension of opposites as a core affliction of the human spirit — one that produces shadow material in each of us, unless we accept and integrate the opposites. If we pretend that Libran balance doesn’t matter, that the only important thing is the crazy guts needed to run across the rope, we fall deep into the chasm below. But if we pretend that we’re entirely balance and peace and light, the Aries daredevil will chase us into Hell and back till we take a deep breath and step out onto that tightrope.

And balance there.