The Uranus-Pluto Conjunction in Virgo, the Tech Geek, and the Rise of Electronic Music

​This week I’ve set myself the challenging task of illustrating the astrology of electronic music.  I’ve sat in a lot of astrology classes and have been pained by generalizations about the music of "my generation" based on album sales and top forty hits.  One of the favorite narratives astrologers like to tell about popular music is the rise of punk rock in the late seventies.  All those kids born during the dramatic conjunction of Pluto and Uranus in the 1960s grew up to invent punk rock, a genre characterized by its use of taboo lyrics and iconography (Pluto), and its rebellion (Uranus) against both musicianship and commercialism.  Here was a scene which embodied the liberating force of Uranus and the more nihilistic end of Pluto.  Armchair pundits will tell you that punk rock had a social conscience, but that seems to me to be a later development – the people who were vibrating to this scene in the late seventies and early eighties were more drawn in by a sense of social alienation (Uranus) expressed musically with the Plutonian force of aggression, and lyrics of unflinching honesty. 

If you’ve noticed a discrepancy here, so have I.  Almost every performer who rose to prominence in punk rock was born in the 1950s, not the 1960s.  Without derailing this blog into a speculative exercise about precisely WHEN the artistic-cultural stamp of a generation will show itself, which is a huge topic, I’d like to suggest that it was the innovations appearing immediately after punk rock which have had the more lasting impact on the music of our generation.  It’s important to remember that that Pluto-Uranus conjunction took place in Virgo, which, among other things, has proficiency with GEAR and TECHNOLOGY, and may be ascribed the archetype of the PROGRAMMER.  

For the first time in recorded history, our culture is identifying artists and performers as "musicians" who may have no kinetic relationship to sound – meaning that they’re not physically strumming a guitar with their fingers, blowing into a flute with their mouths, or jamming on timpani with mallets.  A pop song can be generated entirely by a computer with a programmer at the helm.  Purists may scoff and claim that electronic music isn’t real music, but if top forty radio shows the way the wind is blowing for the culture as a whole, the younger generations don’t seem to be too particular about the distinction between electronic and so-called "real music."

When I was a teenager in the nineties, there was a popular bumper sticker making the rounds that read, "Drum Machines Have No Soul."  And I was troubled by this because I enjoyed both the sounds made by live drums, and the programmed rhythms of the electronic and industrial music I was just getting into.  I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me because electronic music seemed to me to be, well, just as soulful as any other kind of music.  A wonderful Discovery article (Is Electronic Music Real Music?) explains how the mass implementation of electronic music today has effectively de-stigmatized the idea of programmers as musicians.  The article further points out that, after its development, the piano was considered a controversial piece of musical technology because it made it so dang easy to produce beautiful sounds.  One didn’t even have to develop finger calluses to play well, where’s the skill in that?!? 

For my purposes here today, it’s extraordinarily telling that the piano was also developed during a conjunction of Pluto and Uranus, appearing around 1710 when these planets met in Leo (performing arts) before moving together into Virgo (practical mechanics).  The piano has had quite an impact on all kinds of music, from orchestral to jazz, even serving as a source of family entertainment in the days before TV.  It’s currently one of the most popular instruments in the world.  The rapid elevation of the piano as a staple of instrumental music makes it fairly easy for me to speculate that these other Pluto-Uranus innovations – purely electronic instruments like the synthesizer and the drum machine and all their rapidly evolving derivations – will be prominent features of music in the generations to come.

Pluto and Uranus meet in the sky in a conjunction only once every 125 years or so.  Typically this conjunction corresponds to radical upheaval in the social order, as we witnessed in the 1960s with the convulsions of the Civil Rights movement and the sexual and cultural revolution.  It should not surprise us that 1848, when Uranus was approaching a conjunction with Pluto in Aries, is remembered as the "Year of Revolutions."  The drive toward social equality (Uranus) and the destructive power of Pluto cut a swath across Europe and parts of Latin America when these planets were in antagonistic Aries, champion of the underdog. 

Best-selling electronic album by Walter (Wendy)​ Carlos, 1968

As a scholar it pains me to say this, but the Wikipedia article on electronic music is actually quite excellent and thorough, distinguishing between electromechanical instruments like the electric guitar (a blend of the electronic and traditional instrument), and purely electronic devices like the synthesizer.  As the article makes clear, the 1960s – when Uranus and Pluto were hovering in Virgo’s frequency in the sky – was the watershed decade for electronic music.  A sort of critical mass of avant-garde artists and inventors perfected their electronic creations, and these innovations went on to influence the progressive rock of the nineteen-seventies, leading up to the explosion of synthesizer pop music in the nineteen-eighties.  After perhaps a bit of a backlash in mainstream music against overuse of the synth, the proportion of electronic music in top-selling albums has steadily increased thanks to the popularity of rap, house, and other dance genres. 

I’m taking a lot of inspiration from the BBC documentary Synth Britannia, which I encourage you to view if you can find it.  It traces the rise of synthesizer music from the German pioneers Kraftwerk in the 1970s, to the wildly popular electronic albums of Depeche Mode in the 1980s.  It’s fascinating to hear about how early innovators like Gary Numan (see video above) were panned by the press for not performing "real" music, and how they were perceived as both anti-social (Uranus) and transgressive (Pluto).  It’s also quite striking to hear groundbreaking electronic bands like the Human League, OMD, Throbbing Gristle, and Cabaret Voltaire talk about how they admired punk’s iconoclasm but deplored its methods.  In other words, the alienation first voiced by punk could be better expressed by the disembodied, soulless (if you will), hollow, droning, and repetitive sounds made possible with electronic instruments.  Synthetic sounds (Uranus) were a more accurate reflection of a mechanized, industrialized urban lifestyle than traditional instruments, and they permanently transformed (Pluto) popular music.  

The Grammy-award-winning electronic musician Skrillex

I think up to this point most astrologers would agree with me, in connecting the dots between Uranus (technology), Pluto (transmutation), and the proliferation of electronic music in late twentieth century culture.  But I think the occurrence of this conjunction in the sign of Virgo is also an important part of the equation.  The rise of the "tech geek"-cum-musician is clearly Virgo’s legacy, as is the appearance of performers whose only musical accompaniment is a laptop.  Sadly, the only thing most people know about Virgo is that she is a virgin, giving the sign an exaggerated connection with purity and perfection.  In fact, Virgo’s virginity is an expression of her self-sufficiency and competence (think of the famous Virgo virgin Queen Elizabeth), and is more accurately depicted by the archetype of the craftsman and his tool. 

One of the first astrology books I ever read lamented that the "true ruler" of Virgo had yet to be discovered, and that the earthy nature of the sign was not well-represented by busy, intellectual Mercury.  The writer went on to theorize that when Vulcan, Roman god of smithing and craftsmanship, was discovered (!), Virgos everywhere would embrace their natural mechanical skill and craftiness and leave off their mercurial criticism and carping.  Sadly, that day has not come, although some astrologers give the recently discovered asteroid Chiron rulership over Virgo, a proposition to which I am sympathetic. 

​A modern Vulcan hard at work in her forge

In my experience, the difference between Mercury-ruled Gemini and Mercury-ruled Virgo is that Gemini consumes knowledge for its own sake, while Virgo prefers knowledge to be practical.  Knowing how to change a tire, fix a friend’s computer, or help an elderly relative file her taxes can give Virgo an immense amount of satisfaction.  Flighty Gemini knows a little bit about everything, but Virgo’s knowledge tends to be deeper and more oriented toward service and a usable skill.  Astrologers will often attribute anything to do with technology and computers to the planet Uranus and the sign Aquarius, but it’s important to remember the association of Aquarius with the future and with innovation.  At this point it’s become de rigueur for every active member of society to have access to a computer and a high-speed internet connection.  In other words, computer technology no longer falls under the banner of the futuristic, but has wandered into Virgo’s realm of simply knowing how things work. 

Roy and Moss of the "IT Crowd"

If you think the very modern archetype of the condescending IT guy who looks down his nose at you for lacking basic computer literacy is a far cry from the smithy who lovingly hand-forges his tools, I suppose I would have to agree with you.  But try on another late twentieth century archetype: the gearhead.  Most of us can see the archetype of the craftsman in the guy who works on old cars on the weekend, in all the time he spends in mechanical tinkering and in his emphasis on getting the whole system to run smoothly. 

​The musical tech geek is a function of the same archetype; who else but Virgo could systematically memorize the technical functions of the dizzying array of gear which goes into setting up a live show, from amplifiers, monitors, and mixing boards, to tube amps, equalizers, and effects pedals?  I’m enjoying the multiple meanings of the word "gear" here too, in that the gearhead is not simply concerned with having lots of equipment or "gear," but in getting each device, a metaphorical gear or cog, to run in harmony with the entire system.  Virgo’s practical know-how comes in very handy when you’re plugging in all your cables and power-sources, and in fact much of contemporary music performance would be closed to you if you failed to master these basics of electronic technology. 

Even though the members of Kraftwerk (video below) were born a whole generation before the Pluto-Uranus conjunction in Virgo, the music they pioneered on the heels of this conjunction in 1970 perfectly encapsulates the energy of the Virgo tech geek as musician: four clean-cut guys in modest suits, in sharp contradistinction to the glam look which carried the day in the 1970s, efficiently performing their music behind four electronic machines.  Their name might literally mean "power-station," but isolating some of those Anglo-Saxon word-roots on which the English language was built, "craft" and "work," provides us with a convenient shorthand for understanding how the Pluto-Uranus conjunction of the 1960s came to fruition in humble, mechanically-minded, and methodical Virgo.

Mermaid at Midnight: Melissa Mankins

So how is the effect of five planets in Pisces right now grabbing you?

I’ve been surprised at how powerful those metaphorical ocean waves have been, as Mercury retrogrades in Pisces.  But you may also be experiencing the rigors of Saturn's retrograde in Scorpio, which Portland astrologer Tony Howard has a great piece on.

In honor of all the misty, murky, and haunting Pisces energy floating around, this week I’d like to highlight the photography of one of my oldest and dearest friends, Melissa Mankins.  She and photographer Claire Flint Last recently opened the Paper Moon photo studio in the colorful Whiteaker neighborhood in Eugene, Oregon.

Melissa’s photography has a particularly poignant, subtle quality, a way of capturing the emotion of longing and the fantasies of childhood.  I selected her beautiful image of a dancer’s reflection to represent the element of WATER in the gallery display on my website.  Zeroing in on Melissa’s strongly-placed Venus in Pisces, conjunct the past-life point or South node, can tell us a lot about the source of her artistic vision.

With any artist or any client who aspires to be an artist, I tend to look at Venus first.  Venus shows personal taste, and can reveal a fund of knowledge about the native’s artistic potential.  Melissa has Venus in hazy, sentimental Pisces.  This tells me a number of things.  First, Pisces is particularly susceptible to art – or TV and movies, any medium which takes the hard edge off reality.  Pisces can get lost in a world made of dreams, and so Melissa’s taste might tend toward the highly romantic and grandiose, or art that partakes of fantasy and exalted feeling states. 

Watery Venus in Pisces is also in the watery fourth house.  In astrology, the element water signifies the realm of mysticism and the emotions.  Earthy art might make pronounced use of materials (think ceramics), while airy art appeals to the intellect or one’s social conscience (art with a message).  Fiery art forms are bright and broad and awaken the passions (a sexy fashion spread in a magazine).  So what about water?

http://melissamankins.com/home.html

It’s said that those people with a high ratio of water in the chart think in images.  Think about what happens when you wake from a dream: you might not remember the words that were said, or the plot, but you retain an image, or two or three.  You also remember the feeling, even if you forget all the other details – and you might not be able to put this feeling into words.  What happens when you see a photograph of yourself at an event from the past that you’ve erased from your consciousness?  The memory of that day and how you were feeling come flooding back in a way not possible if someone had only brought up the event in conversation.  With a picture to look at, you remember that the dress you were wearing that day was too tight and that it made you feel a little self-conscious.  You remember the smell of popcorn in the air and the feel of sweat on your skin.  You remember the admiring glance of a stranger and the simultaneous rush of embarrassment and attraction.

This is how water works: it evokes the subtle realms, the psychic plane and the underworld of emotions for which we have no words.  It’s tied to the imagistic world of memory.  The fourth house is the most private house in the whole chart, and shows the inner world of the soul, our psychic home.  Traditionally, the fourth house shows our tribal or family heritage, as well as the circumstances of our childhood home.  But the fourth house is also our own personal midnight, who we really are in our innermost core.

Melissa’s fourth house Venus tells me that she’s an artist in her soul.  Now one in every twelve people, roughly, is going to have Venus in the fourth house, and one in 144 people will have Venus in the fourth house in Pisces.  It’s not rare, and not all these people are artists.  But there will always be a certain exquisite sensitivity, a certain elevation of the inner world and an ability to respond to its innate beauty and subtlety, with anyone who has this placement.  In the type of astrology I practice, the fact that Venus is also conjunct the South node in Melissa’s chart gives it a whole heap more importance.  The South node shows the dominant theme of the past life. 

http://melissamankins.com/home.html

For a few years, Melissa was studying to be a nurse.  This career path is not inconsistent with a Venus in Pisces.  Generous Venus is exalted in compassionate Pisces, and this placement can indicate feelings of universal love for all humanity.  A nurse spends her day administering to those in need of care, and there is an association with Pisces and service, and charity to those who cannot help themselves.  A simple way to read the past-life story in Melissa’s chart is to say that she was a nun in a former life.  Mystical Pisces can connote Christian love, and Venus in the private fourth house suggests a cloistered life characterized by devotion.  In history, nuns were often the only ones who would administer to the gravely ill and those beyond the pale of medical help.  But the South node also shows a place where we got stuck, a limiting pattern that we need to move beyond if we are going to continue to develop.

We are always moving toward the North node in the chart.  The North node represents something untried, a future point which we must access and develop if we want to reach our highest potential.  The North node is always 180 degrees opposite the South node, and it is always scary because, karmically, it’s new territory for us.  Melissa’s North node is in the hyper-public tenth house.  In the tenth house, we are something larger than ourselves: we become a community figure, often a community leader.  It’s no surprise that actors and politicians tend to have a lot of tenth house planets.  Somehow, even without consciously willing it, tenth house individuals come to represent some segment of society and its desires and needs.

http://melissamankins.com/home.html

So while Melissa is most comfortable at home (fourth house), and pursuing her artistic sensibility in private, she’s also enduring some intense karmic pressure to come out as a public figure.  While the South node signifies an old piece of karma which we don’t need to repeat, it also highlights some energy we’ve mastered and can offer to the world as a gift.  Melissa brings the gift of her nuanced, emotional, and private world to her public life as an Artist, capital A.              

One of my most vivid impressions of how Melissa’s sensitive vision impacts the public occurred at a gallery opening and artist talk she gave in 2011.  Her photos were essentially fashion shots, as she photographed models wearing the creations of designer Allihalla (all the photography featured in today’s blog is the product of that collaboration).  Yet the images are more reminiscent of Waterhouse paintings than fashion photography, drawing from that numinous Piscean well of longing and fantasy.  As the small group of art patrons admired Melissa’s photographs, one older woman was moved to tears, and spoke about how evocatively Melissa had captured the spirit of a woman’s youth with her lovely shots.  Venus in Pisces in the fourth house, that mermaid at midnight, gives Melissa’s photographer’s eye its moving and mystical quality.  Explore Melissa's photography website here.

http://melissamankins.com/home.html

Bouguereau, Heavenly Mediocrity, and Neptune in Capricorn

Welcome to my new website, launched when the Sun was in the first degree of Pisces and moving into a conjunction with ethereal Neptune in the Year of the Snake, 2013.

I’m woefully verbose as a writer, and always have been.  I can’t ever remember, in my perpetual years in school, having turned in a paper which came in under the suggested limit.  Call it the effect of my well-placed Mercury, my chart’s ruler, in literary Libra in the expressive fifth house, trine garrulous Jupiter in Gemini.  To paraphrase a line from one of my favorite comedies, my Mercury is "kind of a big deal."

Bouguereau, "Girl with a Pomegranate"

But since I find my previous blog posts a little exhausting to read for their exhaustive length, my goal for this new site blog is brevity.  Yet I have the sinking feeling that I’ve already violated this condition quite before I’ve even properly begun.

I’m dedicating this first blog post to the French painter, William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905), whose oeuvre I mined for images to enhance the description of my “Psyche’s Gift” series of readings.  I’m a bit ashamed to say I’d never heard of Bouguereau prior to trolling the internet for depictions of Psyche.  But there’s actually a pretty good reason for this: Bouguereau was on the wrong side of Impressionism, post-Impressionism, and other late nineteenth century modern art movements.  Though he was enormously successful and popular, boasting a career which spanned over fifty years, his otherworldly skill and classical (read: conventional) themes were sacrificed to our lust for neat historical narratives.  In other words, he was criticized by the avant-garde and thus functionally erased for posterity.  Read more about the suppression of the legacy of this prolific painter here.

The planet I want to highlight from Bouguereau’s natal chart is that striking Neptune in Capricorn.  This single placement can tell us so much about the lush, ecstatic feel of Bouguereau’s paintings and his subsequent damning by history. 

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, born Novemver 30, 1825, in La Rochelle, France, at 4pm.​

I’ll start off by sharing my own reaction to Bouguereau’s collection of over eight hundred paintings, many available to view here.

When I look at his work I feel enchanted and exalted, the sort of state one expects to enter upon being confronted with Great Art.  No mere mortal painted this, I think.  Truly the photographic realism he applies to his divine and angelic subjects is a god-given talent.  Liz Greene unfolds Neptune’s rulership over this redemptive and religious quality of art in her massive tome, The Astrological Neptune:

Art and magic are closely allied.  The power to make something out of nothing, to create worlds from the elusive stuff of the imagination, is an act which – even to those who regularly engage upon it – partakes of a numinous element.  The artist has always held a special and ambiguous role in myth and legend – as prophet, outlaw, mouthpiece for the gods, tool of daimonic forces, and victim of both human and divine retribution.  The mystery of creative power is increased by the taint of theft, for the artist’s ability to make something out of nothing  transforms him or her into a god, thus encroaching upon the jealously guarded preserve of heaven.  Prometheus’ terrible fate is as fundamental to the myth of the artist as is his ennoblement as divine culture-bringer.      

I also find Bouguereau’s paintings quite erotic, and there is precious little on this feature of his work for the armchair internet historian to gather.  I think the closest I came to finding a discussion of the erotic quality of his work is a comment by that arch-villain in censorship, Anthony Comstock, who claimed absurdly that Bouguereau’s "Nymphs and Satyr" was edifying to him personally, but hanging in a bar in New York the painting promoted lewd and lascivious behavior!

Well let’s take a look at this painting.  For twenty years it hung in a New York night spot (the blurb above is taken from King’s Handbook of New York City of 1893).  The nymph in the foreground is showing us her posterior in a strong light and is partially bent over.  The nymph behind her has her breasts pressed against the satyr’s resisting arm, and the space between their naked nether parts is filled by what I can only assume is a particularly long and bushy tail for a goat.  I’ll give my husband credit for noticing that the third nymph has a pretty robust grip on the satyr’s horn, and her arms are thrown back in a state of wild abandon, elevating the breasts.

I’m sure Anthony Comstock found this life-size, roughly eight-by-six-feet painting edifying in the extreme.  I still find it erotic.  As some of you may know, Capricorn is an earth sign, ruled over by stern and commanding Saturn whose symbol is the goat.  But the goat’s long-time association with sex, satyrs, and Satan himself gives us some indication of the other side of Saturn, as does the Roman holiday “Saturnalia” which was celebrated with total sexual license.  Both sides of Capricorn appear in Bouguereau’s artistic vision – the rigid champion of convention and the impish and sensual satyr.

Bouguereau, "Nymphs and Satyr"​

The planet Neptune rules over religious and mystical experience, and the mysterious propensity art has to waft us up to these exalted realms may be counted as one of its domains.  In the goatish and eminently methodical sign of Capricorn, however, Neptune’s store of grace and unbounded vision is said to be unhappy, and unable to really flourish within Capricorn’s need for order and usefulness.  Some writers would even call Capricorn the sign of Neptune’s Fall.

Yet Bouguereau’s oeuvre represents a perfect marriage of Capricorn values with Neptunian experience.  Bouguereau is known as one of the most talented painters to ever limn the human form.  Capricorn is the architect, the builder of the zodiac, and Saturn has general rulership over form and structure.  In medical astrology, Saturn’s domain is skin and bones – the building blocks of the human form.  Bouguereau’s divine ability (Neptune) to execute the human form (Capricorn) gives his paintings a magical quality which is both sensuous and numinous.  The eroticism of his paintings is a direct result of this; his themes are Romantic, i.e. Neptunian, but their depiction is accurate enough to class Bouguereau as a Realist, where many critics in fact place him.  I can’t help but think of Neptune’s twentieth century passage through Capricorn, from 1984-1998, when the pornographic film industry exploded.  Neptune rules over film, and all mediums which promote escapism and release, and when it passed through earthy Capricorn there was a visible trend toward crass commercialization of the flesh in the film industry.

The most Capricorn aspect of Bouguereau’s style appears in his classification as an Academic painter.  Neither an early nineteenth century Romantic nor a late nineteenth century Realist, Bouguereau’s style borrows from both these movements, producing a synthesis known as Academic painting.  “Academic” is a very Capricornian word, suggesting prestige, tradition, convention, training, and the domination of the status quo.  As Fred Ross notes in the ARC link above,

[Bouguereau] won the Grand Prix de Rome in 1851 at the age of twenty-six, and after winning nearly every accolade and award imaginable for an artist of his time, ultimately become the President of the Academy, Head of the Salon, President of the Legion of Honor. He was in fact, considered the greatest French artist of his time, and Paris was the center of art world.

Bouguereau was no starving artist, no malcontent shivering in a garret, no iconoclast with a theoretical ax to grind.  He rose up through the ranks of the French Academy (Capricorn), until he achieved the ultimate Capricorn goal of arriving at the summit of the mountain and being the top in his chosen field.  He worked in conventional, classical themes and in a style that was generally acceptable to the public.  He didn’t push the envelope. 

And because he was a symbol of tradition and conservatism, Bouguereau came under the attack of late nineteenth century modern artists, who tarred him with the brush of "mediocrity."  There’s something to this – ever tried to penetrate to the top of your field by being an iconoclast and pressing your pet agenda?  Typically you’ll never arrive until you learn the value of tact, formality, and respect for the middle way - and so "mediocrity," derived from the Latin for "middle," is a Capricorn word too.  It's the quickest way up the mountain of public acceptance.​

Neptune rules over Christ-figures and martyrdom in general, and later generations of artists and art critics crucified Bouguereau for the very technical excellence (Capricorn) and academic synthesis (Capricorn) which made him such a giant of the nineteenth century art world.  His reputation has been redeemed (another Neptune word) in recent years, though much of his rightful place in art history has been sacrificed (Neptune) to the more compelling emergence of modern art within the same historical period.

So much for writing a short blog!​

Venus and Friends

Part of what I'm interested in doing with this blog is making the language of astrology more accessible to people who just want to learn about it in a desultory way. Not everybody is ready to sign up for a class or commit to some serious book-learnin'. One of my first teachers, Karen McCauley, used to have me just feel the energies of the planets we discussed, or meditate on them, which, at the wise old age of nineteen, I assumed was a waste of time. But in the many years that have passed since those first classes, I've found that when studying astrology, just vibing with the energy of a particular archetype is the perfect complement to reading about the planets and the parts of our lives that they rule. You can't even really begin to use astrology in any personally meaningful way unless you can connect to how the different planetary energies feel.

Today's lesson is dedicated to Venus. When we think of the planet Venus, we typically think of love, and that's a good place to start. But romantic love can draw on a lot of other parts of our psyches that are not strictly Venusian. Sex (Mars), power (Pluto), high romance (Neptune), trust (Saturn), emotional neediness (Moon), and exchange of ideas (Mercury) are some of the many other components to a relationship which might get us into a Venusian mood in the first place. We're not usually inclined to kiss someone that we don't trust, or to whom we're not attracted! So what is Venus really about?

Venus makes us feel good, plain and simple. It's an integral component of the equation for attaining those elusive states, FUN and HAPPINESS. In astrology, Venus is given rulership over two signs, Taurus and Libra. In Taurus, we see the face of Venus that is primarily concerned with PEACE. In Libra, we meet the part of Venus that is given over to BEAUTY. I think peace can sound a little dull to younger ears, like a still-point, a no-action zone, an emptiness. Think of Venusian peace instead as those periods in your life, or those moments of the day, when nothing is wrong. For chronic worriers like Cancer and Virgo, or ambitious signs like Aries and Scorpio, or intellectually restless Gemini, such moments may be rare indeed. But we need them, desperately - they are balm to the soul, the everyday graces that make us feel like life is running smoothly and going according to plan. Another simple way to connect with Venus is to think about those parts of life that are easy for us. Do you have a beautiful, comfortable home (Venus in Cancer)? An effortless faith in God (Venus in Sagittarius)? A dynamite relationship with your co-workers (Venus in Virgo)? Or a seemingly endless fund of artistic inspiration and creativity (Venus in Aries)? In each of the examples named, it's all too easy to overlook the magnitude of the gifts we've been given. Venus in Virgo: "Sure I have an easy time at work, but I'm not cute enough to attract a partner." Venus in Aries: "Sure I'm burning up with ideas, but when will the recognition - and the money come?" The trick to mastering Venus is to find contentment in the things that are going right. Venus is about wanting what you already have.

If Venus is sounding a little lazy or unambitious, then you're cluing into another facet of the planetary energy. Laziness can be a danger of too much Venus, and foster the sense that we're so beautiful that we don't have to look after our health, or the conviction that the values handed down by our parents were good enough and don't require any adjustment, or the belief that life is just fine the way it is and there's no sense in trying to make it better. Venus can become stuck and resistant to change, just like the rest of the archetypal energies. But it's my firm feeling that in the West, we don't place near-enough emphasis on the higher expressions of Venus. Sure, lots of people get addicted to money and security (the negative stereotype of Taurus), but then these people aren't really connecting to high Venus either: they're not enjoying what they have beyond the having of it.

You'll notice that the Empress card in the Rider-Waite Tarot deck features the Venus glyph. In the Tarot, the Empress augurs a time of sensual indulgence and relaxation, a period in your life when there's time to make love and cook a sumptuous meal, and chat the night away with good friends and a bottle of wine. Take a break, the Empress says. Smell the roses. Come home from work early and look your lover in the eyes. Though Venus can function as shorthand for money in the chart, most of the activities I just listed don't cost very much. Human connection is free. Ditto the beauty of the natural world. Playing with a child or a beloved pet just takes time, as does cooking a delicious meal. There's something to the old adage, "The best things in life are free." High Venus is a state of mind, an attitude which allows us to see the beauty in the things that are right in front of us, and to discover peace and joy in the way things are.

One of my favorite Venus words is "local." We might dream of one-day storming the New York literary scene, but Venus is about being satisfied with being the best poet in Peoria. Healthy Venus is thinking that the local offerings of people, entertainment, and opportunities are just as good where you stand as they would be in the next town, or across the ocean. Wise Venus knows that you can just as easily get enlightened in Fresno as Tibet. Venus is the "here" and the "now" in Ram Dass's immortal formulation, "Be Here Now." Astrologers wax eloquent about the spiritual capacity of Neptune, Saturn, and the Moon, but what about chipper little Venus and effortless, everyday happiness? How spiritually advanced or juicy can we really be without ease, grace, and personal comforts? How much would our lives change if we really loved all of who we are, however humble or small we judge ourselves to be? To quote Oriah Mountain Dreamer, "What if the question is not why am I so infrequently the person I really want to be, but why do I so infrequently want to be the person I really am?"

As you can see, we've wandered from romantic love to self-love, which is another way of describing the state of being happy with who you are. Venus is associated with romantic love because it allows us to see our own beauty through another person's eyes. Some people just make us feel good - or wonderful or gorgeous or hilarious - and typically we have Venus contacts with these people in chart comparisons (called synastry). So does Venus rule over those heart-pumping grand passions that lead us to dramatic, Romeo-and-Juliet-style expressions of our love? Well, perhaps, with a little stimulation from the trans-personal planets or the South node. But sustainable Venus in action is more along the lines of, "Every time Billy comes into the coffee shop where Carrie works, it puts a smile on Carrie's face." Billy sees the best in Carrie, so Carrie sees the best in Billy. "She's so easy to be with ..." is something we hear a lot from people who are falling - and people who are still - in love. It's another way of saying, "I can open up my whole self and she still likes it! And I reward her for this generosity of spirit by allowing her to be who she is." We don't usually think about any of this consciously, of course. But we get a clue to how Venus operates in our lives when we notice the activities - and people - which put us in a good mood.

I've been sustaining some pretty heavy outer planet transits to my Venus these past few years, and so I thought I'd share my own personal story of taking Venus gifts for granted. Several years ago I did a chart reading for an acquaintance who has since become a celebrity. She's drop-dead gorgeous, so much so that I could easily put aside my own Venusian pride in my appearance when I was in her presence, because it was just so thrilling to orbit her radiance. When I'd tool around Los Angeles with her, the reactions she got were incredible. Not only men but straight women would fawn all over her and make every effort to please her. I'll call her Betty for the sake of convenience. Even before Betty was in films or on magazine covers, she was treated like a celebrity, and she graciously accepted this treatment.

I was tickled when I cast her chart and saw that sexy Venus in Aries was smack-dab on Betty's Ascendant. Venus in the Mars-ruled sign of Aries gives off epic sex appeal, and Aries ain't shy about putting it out there (neither is Betty). The placement of Venus on the Ascendant just ups the ante in terms of how widely that sex appeal is going to radiate. The Ascendant is one of the most visible points in the chart, and so any planet there is on prominent display: in Betty's case, her feminine endowments were her calling card. A first house Sun in Taurus contributed to this charismatic picture (first house planets can't hide their light), with earthy Taurus softening the potential for masculine harshness that comes with Aries rising.

So here I was, in truth fawning a little bit over Betty and singing the praises of her Venus rising, and noting how neat it was that the goddess of beauty was elevated in her chart, since Betty herself resembles Venus incarnate. Now I had noticed that gloomy Saturn in Cancer was squaring that Venus in the natal chart, but Betty was happily married, and about to embark on a career in which her Venusian body was the key to getting jobs. I read the Venus-Saturn square as the challenge of turning personal beauty into a business, and thought that that was that. Overall she was very happy with the reading, but when I asked Betty if there was anything else she wanted to talk about, she floored me.

Her face and mood changed, and a note crept into her voice which told me that this was one of the deep pains of her life: "Why can't I keep any female friends?" All in a flash I had one of those astrological revelations which let me know that my own filtered perspective had crept into the reading and led me to miss something. I have Venus in its own sign of Libra, in the outgoing fifth house and trine expansive Jupiter. I have to struggle not to make friends so I keep enough time for myself and my projects.  Friends?  It took me a moment to even comprehend Betty's question.  Friends? Who except the extremely smelly and socially inept has a problem making friends? I'd never thought about making friends before. I can be stiff, shy, and stand-offish, and I still make and keep friends in spite of some natural awkwardness. How could a woman who looked like Betty help but have a whole gaggle of friends? As it turned out, she'd had so many negative experiences with female friends, and suffered so many betrayals, that she was extremely reluctant to trust women at all (Saturn square Venus). I stumbled through an answer to her question but probably made a mess of it because I was so shocked.

I learned a lot about Venus that day. I learned that one of my own natural Venus gifts is the ability to attract and keep friends. As proof that I'd always taken that talent for granted - I'd never thought about it before Betty confessed her own struggles in the world of friendship! I'd never had to. I'd set up my life so that I always had a ring of people to celebrate my accomplishments with, or commiserate with me over my woes. I never lacked for folks to invite to movies or parties or happy hours. A fifth house Venus in Libra can mean a lot of things - like a dangerous propensity for falling in love with love - but it wasn't until after Betty's reading that I really appreciated my own Libran friendliness and gift for forming relationships.

Now the savvy astrologer will have already noticed that the Aries, first-house emphasis in Betty's chart can be productive of diva syndrome - Aries is extremely self-focused, while Libra, its opposite, is other-focused. Saturn in Cancer in Betty's chart also makes it difficult to show tender feelings and neediness. So without knowing exactly how all of Betty's friendships went south, it's easy to guess that her natural talent for self-promotion (her very star quality) struck her friends as self-centered, and her Saturn in Cancer would have prevented her from letting those friends know just how much she cared. It's easy to feel eclipsed by Betty's radiance, and so the friends in question might have betrayed her out of jealousy, spite, or anger over their unmet needs. Betty's Saturn in Cancer also tells me about her high sensitivity level, and how these broken friendships probably wounded her in a way that might not have phased someone with more social experience. In spite of her exaggerated Venusian beauty, Betty seemed to be lacking in that higher octave of Venus - balance and reciprocity in relationships - as suggested by the placement of her Venus in competitive Aries.

Friends are usually not the first thing astrologers think of when discussing the role of Venus in a chart. We're far more focused on Venus as an indicator of romantic relationships, self-esteem, personal resources and even hobbies (i.e. what you like to do for fun). But I think our friends tell us a little something about all of the above. In most cases, your romantic partner is also your best friend, and the values of our friends reflect what we think is important about life. For the first time in my own life, I've really had to think about what kind of friends I want, and why, and how one goes about attracting them. Check the status of Venus in your life by thinking about your relationship to your friends. Do you feel at home with them - at peace and relaxed? Do your friends reflect your values - at least in part? Do you feel like you have no friends at all, or so many you have no time for yourself? Just a little reflection on your own experiences with friendship can yield loads of information about how much Venusian joy you're letting into your life. We work out a lot of karmic baggage in partnerships, but friendships are supposed to be fun - that is, Venusian - most of the time. If your friends aren't stimulating your personal sense of peace and beauty, then perhaps it's time for an upgrade. Change your friends, change your life. And if you take nothing else away from this post, remember that no one person can have Venus everywhere in the chart, and that even the pretty people have Plutos and Saturns.

History Pocket: Nineteenth Century Astrology

When I worked with the Caroline Myss book, Sacred Contracts, I was simultaneously annoyed and relieved to discover that one of my twelve archetypes is the scribe. The scribe can explain why I've spent the bulk of my life poring over things that other people have written and offering my own dry commentary, but come now, a scribe? It sounds crabbed, and peevish, pedantic and petulant. Decidedly not sexy.

(Fortunately I slotted some fun archetypes in there, like Anais Nin. Oh yes I did. No, she's not a goddess or a type but - oh well then, isn't she? I'd make the argument that she lived her life on the mythic level. Zora Neale Hurston is one of my twelve archetypes too. No, I didn't follow the rules. So sue me.)

For the scribe I had some cartoon version of Ebeneezer Scrooge in my head, crouched over a table and squinting under the light of a single candle, wrecking his hands with the repetitive motions writing involves (regrettably I resemble this image all too often - I'm currently folded up in my desk chair, squinting at my computer). Then my sub-conscious mind took over and intoned the epic word, THOTH. Oh yes, Thoth is a far-sight better than the impoverished Clerk of The Canterbury Tales.  The Greco-Roman (and Western astrological) archetype of writing, Mercury, didn't work for me as well as the ancient Egyptian scribe and god of magic. Mercury is too saucy and immature. He's also a thief. But Thoth is a Merlin. Or a Comte de Saint Germain.

And because I'm a Thoth, at least in part, I'm going to scribe for you, not minding that the old-timey font I've selected deploys backwards quotation marks (OK I mind a little). Someone needs to write a book about the history of American astrology. (Note to publishers: this person could be me). Astrologers in history are extraordinarily difficult to track down, not least because by-and-large their trades were illegal. Usually we know of their existence only because some unlucky few ran afoul of the law. Or because a prominent writer made fun of them; thus Ben Jonson immortalized the notorious career of the Elizabethan astrologer, Simon Magus. A 1767 play by Thomas Forrest, The Disappointment, narrowly missed becoming the first American theatrical production written by a native talent. And it tells us that eighteenth century Americans were conversant with the core language of astrology - if they hadn't been, no one would have gotten the play's jokes, which lambasted astrology by botching its esoteric terms.

Tonight I scribe for you the first entirely positive portrayal of astrology in early America that was not written by an astrologer. George Lippard was the best-selling American writer of the nineteenth century prior to Harriet Beecher Stowe's monumental success with Uncle Tom's Cabin (the only book more popular than this one in the entire century was the Bible). Lippard had an astrologer friend named Thomas Hague, and Lippard based a small but pivotal role in The Quaker City, his most popular book, on Hague. I'm not sure I've ever read anything like Lippard's portrait of the astrologer before. In his depiction, there is no mystery, no chicanery, only a plain, honest man who knows his craft. The astrologer also makes an uncannily accurate prediction which drives the entire novel. I read several of the passages excerpted below to a small group of astrologers at one point, and I do believe their eyes glazed over. But someone needs to do the painstaking work of collecting the physical traces of our psychic history, and weaving them into a coherent frame. Someone like me. A scribe.

From The Quaker City (1844-1845) by George Lippard, U-Mass edition, I give you-

The Astrologer

In a small room, remarkable for the air of comfort imparted by the effects of the neatly white-washed walls, the floor, plainly carpeted, and the snug little wood-stove roaring in front of the hearth, sat a man of some forty-five winters, bending over the table in the corner, covered with strange-looking books and loose manuscripts.

The light of the iron lamp which stood in the centre of the table, resting on a copy of Cornelius Agrippa, fell full and strongly over the face and form of the Astrologer ...

There was nothing in the dress of the man, or in the appearance of his room, that might realize the ideas commonly attached to the Astrologer and his den. Here were no melodramatic curtains swinging solemnly to and fro, brilliant and terrible with the emblazoned death's-head and cross-bones. Here were no blue lights imparting a lurid radiance to a row of grinning skeletons, here were no ghostly forms standing pale and erect, their glassy eyes freezing the spectator's blood with horror, here was neither goblin, devil, or mischievous ape, which, as every romance reader knows, have been the companions of the Astrologer from time immemorial; here was nothing but a plain man, seated in an old-fashioned arm chair, within the walls of a comfortable room, warmed by a roaring little stove.

No cap of sable relieved the Astrologer's brow, no gown of black velvet, tricked out with mysterious emblems in gold and precious stones, fell in sweeping folds around the outlines of his spare figure. A plain white overcoat, much worn and out at the elbows, a striped vest not remarkable for its shape or fashion, a cross-barred neckerchief, and a simple linen shirt collar completed the attire of the astrologer who sat reading at the table.

The walls of the room were hung with the Horoscopes of illustrious men, Washington, Byron, and Napoleon, delineated on large sheets of paper, and surrounded by plain frames of black wood; the table was piled with the works of Sibly, Lilly, Cornelius Agrippa and other masters in the mystic art; while at the feet of the Astrologer nestled a fine black cat, whose large whiskers and glossy fur, would seem to afford no arguments in favor of the supposition entertained by the neighbors, that she was a devil in disguise, a sort of familiar spirit on leave of absence from the infernal regions.

...

And thus turning from page to page, he disclosed the remarkable fact, that the great, the good, and the wise of the Quaker City, who met the mere name of astrology, when uttered in public, with a most withering sneer, still under the cover of night, were happy to steal to the astrologer's room, and obtain some glimpses of their future destiny through the oracle of the stars (26-27).

Perfume Corner: 40 Notes

I'm exhausted from a long day of writing on other projects, and so I thought I'd post something from a while back. This is the review I wrote for my personalized experience with the lovely Miriam of 40 Notes Perfume. Enjoy!

It’s such a pleasure for me to relive the sessions I had with Miriam, in her elegant atelier, when crafting a custom scent for my wedding day. I honestly can’t imagine a more sensuous, indulgent experience! During the first session, Miriam encouraged me to list the qualities I wanted my wedding scent to convey. From these initial ideas, a lush and three-dimensional creation was born, and it was fascinating to watch how a little bit of inspiration was transformed into a complex, finished product over the months we worked together. The first time we met, Miriam had me sample a number of notes from her impressive collection of essences. I think the most enjoyable part of this session was knowing that Miriam was having absolutely as much fun as I was, nosing around in these gorgeous florals and heady botanicals. I was, literally, astounded, when Miriam showed me an essence of Palo Santo, a wood sacred to Peruvian shamans and an important part of my spiritual practice with my husband – we burn it often as incense. No other note could so uniquely capture the bond I have with my husband, and I think the fact that Miriam produced this exotic essence, on a whim, is a testament to her keen, intuitive sense of her client’s vision. We quickly decided to make Palo Santo the keynote of my custom scent, and to this rather intense base, Miriam added soft musks and mellowing cedar wood. I also wanted my perfume to be sexy and round, and so for the mid-notes we selected juicy mango leaf and the luscious spice of white ginger flowers.

Palo Santo Wood

In follow-up sessions, Miriam shared her alchemical process with me, and had me provide input on several blends so we could get the final product just right. The top-notes came as a bit of a surprise – sharp, green kumquat expressed the bracing feel of the first day of Spring (the day we selected for the wedding), while white grapefruit gave the blend the lightness and lift of a sophisticated fragrance. When I tried on my wedding scent for the first time, I immediately dubbed it “Serpentine” because of the sinuous way the natural essences developed on my skin, and because its bright, green notes reminded me of the green stone, serpentine – a perfect complement to my non-traditional wedding dress – also green!

I couldn’t be happier with the finished product, or with the memorable hours I spent in Miriam’s studio, an experience that was relaxing and vivifying all at once. Serpentine was everything I’d dreamed it could be – a scent appropriate to the solemnity of our ceremony, but also soft and feminine and befitting a bride. Playing in Miriam’s atelier was akin to taking a scented trip around the world – I felt like we searched the four corners of the globe to discover the far-flung ingredients that best expressed my unique “scentual” desires. Scents are famously hard to describe in words, and I was impressed with how Miriam was able to translate my feelings, wishes, and subtle reactions into a holistic vision which meshed with my own. I would recommend Miriam to anyone looking to craft a custom scent for any occasion. Miriam brings her expertise and artistic, intuitive sense to such a collaboration, but the emphasis is firmly on the client’s individual vision. The process of creating a personalized perfume enhanced the magic of my wedding day tenfold. I was walking on air – and clothed in an aromatic cloud of exotic woods, sexy florals, and the piquant promise of a bright, green day.

Astrology will surprise you ...

Recently I was at a gathering at which a young astrologer wailed, "Uranus is opposing my Moon during my prime child-bearing years!"  Now I don't want to shame her, there's reason to be concerned here.  The implication of her lament was, "Uranus, god of accidents and sudden change, will prevent me from getting pregnant (symbolized by the Moon) or from bringing a child to term."  Or worse, heaven forbid. But should that Uranian transit prevent her from trying, if she's feeling the call of motherhood?  The evolutionary answer is - no!  Don't let the projection of the transit's worst manifestation stop you from actualizing your heart's desire.

Here's why: astrological transits rarely conform to our expectations of worst-case scenarios.  If they did, we'd all be dead.  Many people have lost their mothers, suddenly, under this transit's influence, and others have lost children to accidents so bizarre they seem "fated."  This is sensitive territory.  But I would guess that just as many people fell in love during this transit to their natal chart - for the first time with someone of the same gender!  Or finally managed to swing a job at a not-for-profit company.  In the first case, Uranian (progressive, surprising) sexuality is opposing (coming from the outside, often symbolized by the impact of another person) one's emotional life and sense of home.  I realize this is somewhat of a non-standard interpretation - in the astrological literature.  But in practice, astrology is truly a Uranian art in that it will surprise you with the myriad and endless ways energetic symbolism can come to life on the material plane.  In the second example, political consciousness (Uranus) has welled up to the point in the individual that he feels pressure (the opposition) to feed his soul and sense of home (the Moon) by switching to a career whose basis is an ethic of care.  A transition at work - with a Uranus/Moon transit, the by-the-book astrologer asks?  Sure!  Many natal Moons feel at home at work (Virgo, Capricorn, Aries) and airy Moons (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) could be stimulated by this transit to become more authentic (Uranian) to their inherently egalitarian natures.  Confused yet?  That's part of the point. 

I've found, increasingly, that transits manifest in individual lives as uniquely as dream symbolism is to the individual psyche.  Though the transits always carry a piece of the inherent symbolism (in this example, Uranus opposing the Moon), the transit's specific manifestation might be unrecognizable from one individual to the next.  The energies we are working with here are vast and cosmic and pure; manifestation on the material plane, conversely, is small and narrow and, for that reason, infinitely variable. 

Let's play a game. What are all the bad things that could happen to you when Uranus transits your Moon by opposition?  Lightning strikes your house and burns it down (Uranian shock to the lunar nest).  Your husband leaves you (someone else's Uranian independence whacks your sense of security).  In the case of my friend who's concerned about getting pregnant, let's really ramp up the negative imagery.  Expensive, intrusive technology will be required to facilitate the pregnancy (Uranus is associated with cutting-edge lab work).  The mother will suffer an accident while pregnant.  The fetus will be diagnosed with a debilitating illness and she'll be forced to terminate while it's in the womb.  The baby will be born with two heads. And a tail.

Writing that bit of sorcery felt absolutely awful.  But isn't it better to state our worst fears than to let them fester because a nay-saying astrological tradition waved its finger and said, "don't get pregnant right now"?  Shame on us astrologers, I say, for not having more creative and constructive interpretations for this transit. Let's think of five WONDERFUL things a Uranian transit could mean in the context of pregnancy. 1) The baby is born premature, but healthy, and the parents are continually shocked and surprised by all the odd and capricious ways the little bundle finds to express itself. 2) The mother develops psychic communication with the child after getting pregnant, and talks to its spirit.  The onset of this skill is sudden (Uranian) and permanently alters the mother's emotional mood (Moon). Uranus is weird, after all, and symbolizes New Agey phenomena that the Muggles can barely get their heads around. 3) The mother can't conceive, but by a strange chain of events she is good friends with her husband's ex-girlfriend, and the ex-girlfriend is willing to be a surrogate, and even though just - nobody - understands this arrangement, all the major parties involved are happy and pleased with the outcome (Uranus = strange and progressive social relationships). 4) The poor way the mother is treated at work after getting pregnant inspires her to become a legal advocate for the rights of pregnant women in the workplace (the politicization of motherhood). 5) And, finally, the least exotic and therefore one of the most likely outcomes of pregnancy under a Uranus transit: The woman in question gets pregnant and suddenly feels free. What - you cry!  Free!  When saddling herself with twenty years of work and more?  Yes, free.  She's always done it everyone else's way, and now she's got her own kid and is the ultimate authority over that child's life.  She's free to express her beliefs and understanding of the world, free to try her own educational methods on the child, free to open up the nurturing side of herself that had been dormant up till now.  Paradoxically, pregnancy and motherhood prompt a radically authentic expression of her emotional nature.

I think it is the ethical astrologer's job to let astrology surprise us.  Every day.  You'd be shocked at how often astrologers discard perfectly rich and legitimate information from the client because it doesn't fit a textbook description.

Engage that part of your mind you would open up at an art gallery, or a Mahler concert, or a dream group, and let the symbols speak.

Perfume Corner: Evan Healy

A few years ago, I taught a class which explored the relationship between alchemy and perfume.  Just as modern chemistry grew out of the medieval science of alchemy, so perfume technology developed alongside advancements in chemistry.  Alchemy is the metaphorical heart of perfuming, a process which involves transforming raw ingredients (flowers, plants, and resins) into an ethereal substance worth a King's ransom for how it makes us feel.  Alchemists quested for centuries, and slaved in smokey laboratories, in search of the Elixir of Life and the Philosopher's Stone.  It was said that a little sliver of the Philosopher's Stone could transform any stone into gold, and just a few grains from the Elixir of Life could add decades to one's life.  Though no perfume can claim as much (at least not yet!), perfume affects me with a powerful euphoria which gives me a visceral sense of the divine and our closeness to God.  It's no wonder that the primary use of incense and perfumes in the ancient world was religious; the odor of perfume in the air connotes the invisible (and sweet!) presence of the divine in our lives, and the smoke from burning fragrant woods and incense carries our prayers to heaven. 

Once upon a time, people believed that everything in the natural world had a corresponding principle in heaven.  Those of us familiar with the idea of "sympathetic magic" in folk traditions will understand this principle.  For example, to add love and intimacy to our lives, magical traditions like Santeria advocate rituals involving sweet foods like honey and cakes to propitiate the Venusian deity Oshun.  Like attracts like; the sweetness of honey attracts the divine principle of sweetness - love!  In the Western magical tradition, particular herbs and plants have a sympathetic correspondence to the celestial bodies or planets.  But how were these relationships determined?  The principle of energetic "sympathy" or the likeness between things of earth and things of heaven led to a planet's rulership over a physical substance.  In alchemy, Saturn, lord of limits and the dross of the material world, was given rulership over one of the heaviest metals, lead.  Conversely, gold in alchemy was symbolized by the Sun, not only because of its bright, shiny, yellow color, but also because of its exalted position as the most sought-after and expensive metal.  Gold was the primary object of the alchemical quest, just as in astrology, the Sun is the most important principle in the chart for overall health and well-being.   

Once you get the hang of this principle, it's really very simple.  In our modern world, we're very removed from the medicinal functions of plants in our life, but people who lived in more intimacy with nature would have had a simple way to categorize herbs according to their planetary correspondence.  For example, herbs which soothed the digestive tract or assisted in childbirth would most likely have been given a lunar rulership, since the Moon symbolizes women and the stomach organs in astrology.  I'm thinking of another simple example that's appearing in yards all over Eugene, Oregon right now - sunflowers!  They're big and yellow and they thrive in the summer heat, so it's pretty easy to give sunflowers a solar rulership.  Understanding the basic principle of sympathetic magic can authorize you to be more creative in practicing magic at home.  Want to increase the solar principles of centered-ness, health, and self-esteem in your life?  Place sunflowers on your altar.  Don't their large, happy faces and impressive size put a little spring in your step, and give you a boost of confidence in the grandiosity this physical world can support?  That's sympathetic magic in action.

Which brings us back to perfume.  Using essential oils in ritual or for personal adornment can activate this principle on the sub-conscious level.  It's no secret that wearing a sweet perfume with, say, a vanilla base, makes you feel sweet and sexy, an attitude conducive to attracting lovers. Voila!  That's sympathetic magic.  Wearing pure essential oils is not always practical, not only because they can be hard on the skin (they are potent chemicals, after all), but also because they don't always smell, well, perfumey.  Patchouli is great for attracting money and resources, but slathering on a headshop-grade oil is probably not going to endear us to our co-workers.  Fortunately, both the natural and commercial perfume industry has developed so much in the past few decades that there are, literally, endless possibilities for drawing on the magical properties of fragrance and still smelling sophisticated.  My obsession of the moment is Evan Healy's Saffron Attar, a natural fragrance oil which lifts my spirits at the same time that it delights my senses.

Natural saffron

There's something about Evan Healy- I think she's a true alchemist!  I was first introduced to her products via her face-care line.  As a long-time acne-sufferer, I was always searching in vain for a face cream that would soothe and smooth my skin without causing break-outs.  Nothing worked quite right - light moisturizers controlled the acne but left my skin dry and thirsty, and this became of increasing concern as I aged.  It was great not to have the acne, but now I had to worry about wrinkles!  I took one look at Evan Healy's rich and thick Blue Chamomile Day Moisturizer, and thought, "Yum!  But it would never work for me."  I gave it a chance though, all the while convinced that the heavy cream was going to clog my pores.  The first time I put it on my face, something happened.  My skin cheered!  I'm particularly sensitive to plant energies and resonances, and I actually felt the synergistic activity on my skin as the herbs soothed the surface and the natural oils nourished my face.  The appearance of my skin changed dramatically with repeated use, with the calming herbs controlling the acne and the other ingredients restoring much-needed nutrients and anti-oxidants.  There's even shea butter in this cream and it doesn't cause me to break-out!

Now part of what Evan Healy got right was the science of dermatology (her company slogan is, "the skin breathes"), but I'm also convinced that she is a master-blender, and that part of what impacted me the first time I used the Blue Chamomile face cream was the consciousness and intention that went into gathering these healing herbs.  So when I heard she sold fragrances too, I jumped at the chance to experience them.

Saffron is a solar herb, an attribution that derives not only from its warm, sunny colors, but also from its healing properties.  The ancients used saffron for a variety of purposes, among these as an aphrodisiac and mood enhancer.  Nicholas Culpeper, the seventeenth century English herbalist, wrote the book on the correspondences between planets and plants - literally.  His incredibly popular texts, The Complete Herbal and The English Physician, tell us much about the history of medical astrology and how it was practiced.  Culpeper has this to say about saffron: "It is an herb of the Sun, and under the Lion [sign of Leo] and therefore you need not demand a reason why it strengthens your heart so exceedingly."  Just as all life on the planet would cease without the Sun, human life is dependent on the beating heart, and so the heart in the body corresponds to the Sun is astrology, and the sign of Leo.  One of the most expensive spices in the world, highly-prized golden saffron (remember the Sun's rulership of gold!) is naturally a solar herb.  As a further illustration of how this principle would be applied astrologically, Culpeper explains that saffron "quickens the brain, for the Sun is exalted in Aries."  Each planet or celestial body is said to be unusually strong in a particular sign, and the Sun finds this "exalted" expression in Aries (modern astrologers still refer to these ancient dignities, by the way).  Aries rules the head in medical astrology, and so the solar herb saffron also has a strong application for the brain.

I will tell you that the first time I applied Evan Healy's Saffron Attar, it quickened my brain and strengthened my heart exceedingly!  This perfume is definitely a mood enhancer, and activator of the solar principles of centered-ness, confidence, and a sunny disposition.  So many perfume companies invent bogus, metaphysical properties for their perfumes - but in this case, the claim is not bogus!  Beyond the emotional lift Saffron Attar gives you, it smells heavenly, and I mean that with all the spiritual inflection of the term.  Evan Healy's fragrance line is called Puja, derived from the Sanskrit word for ritual offering.  I think this is one of those rare companies which perfectly hits the mark of combining pleasing scents with sacred purpose. 

Describing a perfume is a sophisticated art, almost as rarefied as the craft of perfumery itself.  It involves being initiated into a certain vocabulary of fragrance families such as floral, oriental, and citrus, and occasionally draws on more exotic terms like chypre.  For myself, I've never found descriptions with these pseudo-scientific terms to be very helpful in grasping the essence of a scent, because smell is such an intensely personal and non-linear sense.  Saffron Attar smells like dawn in a woodland retreat.  It's decidedly not green, but it is reminiscent of the promise of a new day among a circle of sacred trees.  True to its solar nature, the saffron note is bold and loud and vaguely strident, but this fiery note is mellowed and contained by the base of a heart-breakingly beautiful sandalwood.  I've never cared much for sandalwood before, finding its oily components a bit too close to the odor of semen for my taste.  But this is a perfume ingredient which varies widely in quality, and Evan Healy's sandalwood smells like an ornate wooden chest - with the saffron adding an accent of faded red paint.

Fire and earth: saffron and sandalwood.  This is a perfume not for dreaming but for being, for capturing the focus of your solar purpose and planting it in the bosom of a soft and welcoming world.  Saffron Attar smells remotely (and naturally) of India, where its materials are sourced.  The slightest hint of food in the attar is due to saffron's ubiquity in Indian cookery, and this subtle connotation is fully overpowered by saffron's bracing, herbal quality.  The entirely feminine sandalwood balances the masculine singularity of the saffron with a lovely dry-down, both powdery and ethereal in the way it calls to mind the onset of evening in an ancient market-bazaar.  It's not flowers, it's not France, it's not particularly sexy or spicy, just a gorgeous woody perfume which yet works well on a woman.      

Find more on Evan Healy's fragrance line here

I just checked and it looks like many of the fragrances are sold out because they are made in small batches and availability changes with the seasons.  Please keep in mind that Evan Healy's ingredients are of impeccable quality in addition to being all natural, a combo which, while it delights the senses, makes a considerable dent in the pocket-book.  The bottles are small, but worth every golden copper you will pay.  Saffron Attar: a way to enjoy the Sun, even in Winter.  Now go out and make some magic!

Reflections on the Autumnal Equinox

Last night, my husband and I celebrated the Autumnal Equinox.  We were married six months ago in the Spring, in the exact moments when the Sun passed over the ecliptic from Pisces into Aries.  So it was an anniversary of sorts.  It was also rather disappointing.  

We were up late, too late, because we know that the conscious mind unspools as the body draws closer to sleep, and we are more receptive to the Powers That Be when the analytical mind is restful.  But perhaps we passed by that magic moment, from receptivity into exhaustion.  I also thought it necessary to clear the air before the ceremony, to vent the grievances that have been sticking to us like psychic glue as Saturn transits build up steam in our respective charts: Saturn opposes my husband's Aries Moon later next month, and squares my Moon in Capricorn.  As any astrologer will tell you, you can feel the heavy feet of Saturn marching toward you several months before the transit is exact.  

So with the last gasp of the Sun in Virgo, conjunct Mercury for some added verbal sharpness, I critiqued my husband's behavior, and he critiqued my complaints.  Edgy Mars conjunct the Moon in Leo meant that emotions were at war, and Venus in a rather wide conjunction to Saturn prompted us to do the hard work of asserting boundaries before any harmony could be reached.

We soldiered on, and called the directions, and the Goddess and the God.  It was the first Mabon that my harvest altar was blessed with the fruits and flowers of the hands of my household.  A bowl of juicy tomatoes and my husband's pepper crop reflected the candlelight.  Potatoes and squash gilded with our garden dirt mussed the golden-purple altar cloth.  Brian drummed and I rattled, to shake out the heavy energy.  Yet Venusian peace and harmony eluded us.  Wasn't Brian neglecting the thanksgiving nature of our celebration, by airing personal problems in sacred space instead of heaping gratitude on the Goddess and the God, for the roof over our head and the fruits of our harvest?  My Virgo mind complained.  Brian fell asleep during the meditative portion of our ritual, as he always does, and I grew fretful.  Why doesn't our personal connection add to the power of the rituals we create?  Why are we at cross-purposes?

I sent him to bed, and unsuccessfully tried to scry with an obsidian crystal ball.  Why wouldn't the magic come?  The night was hot and humid, not reminiscent of The Mists of Avalon at all!  There was no crispness in the air, no winds of change to whip up the static, no October smell of fire and Fall.  I guess we'll have to wait a bit for that.

Earlier yesterday evening, two of my friends gave an astrology talk at a bookstore here in Eugene, Oregon.  How do we apply astrology to our own lives, the audience wanted to know.  How indeed.  I have seen astrologers falsely inflate the importance of quick transits by Venus and Jupiter, and falsely demonize long transits by Uranus and Pluto.  How indeed.    

A priestess friend phoned me yesterday, to check on the transits for an upcoming dance performance.  The Sun was trining her natal Mars on the day in question.  "Beautiful," I said.  "Your public identity is in easy flow to your physical ability and coordination, just perfect for a performance.  You'll appear strong and vibrant."  Yet I felt that she wanted something more from me - a prediction, a guarantee.  For those astrologers like myself who don't believe astrology makes anything happen, but only articulates energetic possibilities and trends, it can be difficult to speak to the question of just what astrology can offer as a life-tool.  

For myself, I find astrology extremely effective as a post-mortem, such as I performed on our Equinox ritual last night.  No, the gods are not disappointed in me, No, my marriage is not in trouble, we were simply feeling the effects of dyspeptic Mars and stick-in-the-mud Saturn on the warm-fuzzy feelings associated with Venus and the Moon.  One of the most powerful, visceral truths astrology has to offer us is, "This too shall pass."  No life situation or the feelings it caused can last forever, because the planets keep moving and stimulate new places in the natal chart.  The energy always moves, and astrology can help us find the hidden treasure in the hard times.  Ugh, Saturn, we all with good reason say, and yet nothing beats Saturn for competence and professional acumen.  I woke up this morning and was motivated to initiate an astrology blog, a move that will hopefully contribute to increased recognition and respect in my field.  Praise Saturn.  Saturn is a businessman, a careerist.  The energies that were damping my affection for my lover last night are the same ones that are pushing me to come out as a worldly authority. 

We are co-creators with the Divine on the one hand, and on the other we are pinioned to the Wheel of Fortune.  A successful life is not one in which we manifest everything we've ever wanted according to our exact specifications.  That is a Western dream of flat perfection.  Flat perfection is a dead-end; if you're honest, you'll notice that the accolades that come too easy do not feed your soul.  It's the hard tasks, the ones that take everything out of us, of which we are most proud.  Sure, you might be the CEO of a successful company - but forgiving your mother has been a life-long journey and adds untold richness to your life when you finally get it right.  You might be an effortlessly glamorous woman who has coasted through life on her looks; finding and knowing your inner value gives you more confidence than that genetic lottery you won.  

The astrology I practice, Evolutionary Astrology, looks beyond flat perfection and mastery of the material world to the bumpy places in the road, to the karmic hang-ups and wounds which keep us from finding joy in the now.  Some astrologers focus on manipulating energetic possibilities to achieve material success.  I honor them and they find the clients who need them.  Though I daresay that letting Uranus prevent you from starting a business is a questionable choice, or that pinning all your hopes on Jupiter for financial success is not entirely sound.  In other words: predictions are often wrong!  A predictive astrologer might caution against starting a business when Uranus is on the ASC because the results could be unpredictable and short-lived (could being the operative word).  An evolutionary astrologer might tell you to go for it anyway, because the business is fresh and ground-breaking (Uranian), and represents an important bid for authenticity in your personal development.  So what if the business itself crashes and burns?  You just made a great leap forward in consciousness, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that would have been missed if you'd spent it twiddling your thumbs and waiting for the planets to align. 

Just as ships at sea are subject to the whim of the elements, so we are alternately batted and soothed by planetary configurations.  The green deck-hand might have a reactive response to the changing tides and weather, and be forever scrabbling all over the ship to attend to its shifting needs and speeds, and find himself feeling rather overwhelmed by the sudden alterations.  But the Captain sees all in advance, he reads the subtle changes in the sea and knows the various procedures to prepare for calm and for storm and for strong wind.  Astrology can transform you from the deck-hand into the Captain.  The Captain doesn't control the weather, but he knows how to care for his ship, when to batten 'er down and when to open 'er up.  But sometimes even the master of the ship has to gulp and pray and hope for deliverance; astrology doesn't rescue us from Fate.  It just gives us a map and a language, sometimes a lantern and a rope.  And in those most vulnerable moments, astrology gives us something else, something astrologers don't talk about near enough: holy humility before forces much larger than ourselves, and a tremulous awe in Divine Plan. 

The little Sunflowers that I grew from seed were clipped and vased for the Equinox; the liquor bottle I stuck them in tipped over on the altar and shattered the lithium crystal with its pink and coral threads.  Energy was released; the wobbly integrity of the one was transformed into the pointed focus of five strong shards.  Of the two Larch trees given us on our wedding day, one died, and one remains to be properly bonsai'ed.  Here we go a'sailing ...