Neptune in Pisces - The Invisible Bridge

Neptune has been retrograde since early June, and goes direct today. Here is a reprise of a favorite Neptune post. It's worth a second read, as Neptune remains in Pisces until March 30, 2025.

“Valley’s deep and the mountain’s so high  /  If you want to see God you’ve got to move on the other side.”—John Lee

On Friday, February 3, 2012, Neptune entered Pisces for the next 13 years.

In my first piece last spring about Neptune’s move into Pisces ("Home I'll Be"), I focused on Neptune’s longings, and how imagination allows us to see and experience the world as something miraculous.  Since I didn’t go into much detail about actually doing that, I want to pick up where that piece left off.  How does imagination fit into this?  What do we do when Neptune seems to call us away from the world in which we live, into a world of fantastic imaginings, heightened longings, poignant nostalgias, or a sense that what we’re dealing with in the practical world just isn’t satisfying?  If Neptune is associated with “escapism,” does that mean there’s something fishy about the imagination?  Let’s dive in and see!

LA MER

Neptune is named after the god of the seas, so let’s start with the biggest seas of them all:  the oceans.  Neptune in astrology is oceanic.  It’s epic, vast, expansive, enveloping, and seductive.  If we look at earth itself, 71% of the planet is covered and filled by oceans, and the oceans are teeming with colorful, diverse and abundant life.  From enormous, elegant blue whales to microscopic plankton, intriguing orange sea horses to mysterious pink jellyfish, yellow starfish to great white sharks, giant green turtles to lean swordfish.  We find octopi that shoot black ink when under threat, and cute poisonous puffers (“blowfish”) that inflate themselves and show their pointy bits when in danger.  All of these finned and gilled beings weave in and out of the constantly shifting waterscape, sometimes making their way through the occasional remains of ships lost at sea, those vessels wracked and wrecked by violent and stormy waves, their crews and treasures buried indefinitely among the pastel and fluorescent-colored coral reefs, the turquoise, teal, and other moody blues of the deep-sea trenches.

Note:  virtually all of this happens beneath the surface.

The oceans of earth are as violent as they are serene, as tumultuous as they are tranquil, and as dangerous as they are alluring.  In trying to imagine all they contain, our minds and visions are stretched far and wide, high and low.  And there’s so much water!  “Your ocean is an image of eternity, I think,” said Queen Elizabeth to Walter Raleigh in the movie “Elizabeth:  The Golden Age.”  Amidst all of this visionary majesty, what’s a little land-locked mortal to do?  Combine that with William Blake’s classic statement, “The world of Imagination is the world of Eternity.”  And Novalis, who believed that “eternity could be reached through imagination and imagination was the realm of poetry.”  Which brings us to one of the key archetypes of both Neptune and Pisces...

THE POET ARCHETYPE

With Neptune in Pisces, we have the opportunity to perceive the world as if we are all great poets.  For centuries and centuries, great poets have been peering at the everyday world through symbolic eyes, painting pictures with words, bringing figures of speech to life, and sculpting metaphors that link the physical world in front of us with the magical and animated world of the imagination, turning concepts into art.  It’s as if every individual thing in the world becomes 71% ocean, full of colorful, animated life swimming beneath its surface.  Life comes alive!  For Emily Dickinson, hope was not just an idea – it was “the thing with feathers.”  Hope has wings to fly!  For William Wordsworth we aren’t just born into the world as ordinary babies; rather, “trailing clouds of glory do we come.”  For Hafiz, a leaf is not just a leaf, but rather “a singing cleaning woman, dusting all the shelves in the air” with her elegant green rags.  Through imagination,  life isn’t just “business as usual,” unless business as usual is a trip down the Yellow Brick Road, replete with witches, talking trees, poppy fields, flying monkeys and an Emerald City up ahead.  To connect the ordinary world with its roots in imagination, as Poets do, is one of Neptune’s gifts.  It doesn’t make sense, and it’s not really supposed to.  As the great 19th century Romantic poet John Keats put it, “Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept the mystery.”

Speaking of Keats, one of his most famous lines can help us expand on this connection between the ordinary, natural world, and the fantastic world of imagination.  In one of his letters he writes, “Call the world if you please ‘The vale of soul-making’ Then you will find out the use of the world.”  Let this be our Neptunian bridge, connecting the imagination and the world around us.

SOUL 

To call the world the “vale of soul-making” first requires us to acknowledge the world.  This can be tough when the Siren’s call of Eternity enchants us elsewhere, pulling us to some unseen home away from home.  Yet, here we all are.  Here we are, amidst the deep valleys, rocky mountains, expansive prairies; underneath ever-changing clouds, skies of blue and pink and purple and red and black; alongside insects, countless trees, rolling hills, city sidewalks, glass windows; and immersed in chirping, tweeting (not that kind), barking, cawing, mooing, purring, honking, and howling.  How does this life in the valley called earth “make” soul?  With the soul’s influence via Neptune, skyscrapers can heighten our senses, valleys can depress our everyday lives into deeper feeling, the friendly skies can expand our sights, and those sidewalks can encourage our wanderings.

Where Keats calls the world the vale of soul-making, poet Mary Oliver writes that “the world offers itself to your imagination / calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting.”  Rather than follow Neptune’s call away from this world, we need only engage with this world through the imagination—the world calls us and we call the world in mutual response, engaging the soul of it all.  Our vocation, our calling, is to live.  We are called to live, and life calls us.  Engaging with the world via the imagination is about feeling the world, seeing its signs and wonders, hearing its voices, seeing its imagery, touching the world and letting the world touch you.  The soul speaks in symbols, images and signs, and the world is packed-to-overflowing with soul.  To engage Neptune in Pisces within this world is to engage the soul of the world.

Later in the 19th century another of those great poets, Alfred Lord Tennyson, wrote, “For so the whole round earth is every way / Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.”  Now there’s an image!

NEPTUNE AND OIL

In astrology, Neptune “rules” oil.  This typically means that Neptune transits can reflect oil issues in some way, be it oil prices, oil dependency, etc.  In a different way, perhaps—keeping the poetic eye intact—we might say that imagination is the oil of the psyche.  Imagination is what keeps the gears of the psyche turning, visioning, wondering, enchanting, imaging.  Imagination keeps the engines of life moving, spinning an endless array of creative visions that fashion the world around us, and create the cultural fashions that Neptune also rules.

Ancient Greek culture considered the heart the center of imagination.  Without imagination, the world becomes only literal, what you see is what you get; nothing more, nothing less.  Boring!  Without imagination, we end up like the Tin Man, fixed and immobile on the winding and circling Yellow Brick Road of life, cranky and creaky, waiting for someone to come along and oil our stuck joints, to once again give us flexibility to bend and curve where and when necessary, and to give us a heart.

Neptune changing signs is like a global oil change.  The images that keep our gears turning are changing.  When Neptune moved through Aquarius we all experienced the heady, technical genius of the Internet connecting us all together; we saw the technology and special effects in movies explode into unprecedented HD clarity and complexity; and we saw talent bloom on “reality” shows along with some of the colder and less compassionate aspects of humanity.  With Neptune in Pisces we’ll likely see the images soften a bit.  Lady Antebellum sings in their beautiful song “The Heart of the World,” that “oil is the soul of the engine / ... love is the heart of the world.”  Neptunian love is compassion, and Neptune in Pisces can bring out the compassionate side of humanity in new ways, especially as we are consciously connected as a globe like never before.

THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE

Poets take a decidedly Neptunian view of the world, via the imagination.  I’ve quoted a number of poets in this piece to emphasize the link between the poet’s vision and imagination, and to steer imagination far and away from the notion that it’s something merely “made up.”  Poets connect the natural world and the imaginal world seamlessly.  They devise poems with metaphor, and metaphor means “to carry over.”  Neptune is the invisible bridge that allows us to carry over the images of imagination into physical form.  What images are you carrying over?  What’s in your imagination?

Another of Tennyson’s famous lines reads, “The old order changeth, yielding place to new.”  Remember from my first piece last spring that all new life emerges from water.  With Neptune’s waters washing through Pisces between now and 2024, our imaginings of a new world can become tangible, and we can embrace a truly enchanted view of an alive life, a renewed life, where “once upon a time” is now, and where “somewhere over the rainbow” is here.  We can sense the extraordinary beauty and other-worldly grace that makes life down here in the valley, right here and right now in this world, quite marvelous, really.  Here’s to water, and here’s to life!

Scorpio - Masquerade!

The Doctor: “Can I trust you, River Song?”

River Song: “If you like! But where’s the fun in that?”

The Sun has moved into Scorpio.

I like to understand the nature of this time of year through the Celtic celebration of Samhain, because the Celtic tradition first and foremost acknowledges that the entire realm of the supernatural is real-but-not-real, here-but-not-here, there-but-not-there. In this regard, Scorpio is the intriguing sign through which we navigate our relationship between that which is visible and that which is invisible, that which is apparent and that which is apparition.

Danu by Thalia Took

In Celtic lore, the Tuatha Dé Danann are a mythic race of supernatural beings who live inside the earth. At the time of Samhain they emerge from the Underworld to collect their dues for having provided a good harvest earlier in the year.

Six months ago the Sun was in Taurus, the sign opposite Scorpio. In the northern hemisphere, the world flourished with life abundant in rich, exuberant color and a wild diversity of creativity and design in the form of flowers of all kinds, plants, trees and lush sensual gardens of earthly delights. Now, with the Sun in Scorpio, as these riches turn back toward the Underworld and the Tuatha Dé Danann emerge on Samhain, it’s a time to give something back for everything you enjoyed in the six months prior.

This might be the true meaning of “letting go” when it comes to Scorpio. Rather than a last-minute faux-“release” of something gross and nasty you discovered in a recent therapy session—something you didn’t really want anyway and can’t wait to get rid of—Scorpio is the release of something more valuable, perhaps something creative, something truer that comes from the inner depths (preferably from the deepest supernatural depths which touch the timeless), perhaps something that can be a resource for others.

The autumn season in western culture sees an onslaught of “new releases” in stores every year in advance of the Christmas money-making season. Perhaps the meaning of Samhain can shed a bit of new light on why so many artists release new music and new books at this time of year, and why movie studios often wait until autumn to give us the best of what they’ve got. Maybe it’s not just the commercialization and commoditization of the holiday.

See, the creative Sun in Scorpio goes into stealth mode and dons some kind of mask when presenting the deeper self on the stage of the world (not unlike the Sun conjunct Pluto, which I recently wrote about). Pablo Picasso, born with the Sun in Scorpio, knew all about this. He said, “Good artists copy—great artists steal.” Life is a masquerade! And masks come in many forms. Masks have been part of culture for thousands of years. There is a lot of talk these days of authenticity and the removing of masks in order to reveal one’s true self. Yet, the tradition of putting on masks isn’t to hide the truth at all—rather, the tradition of masks is to present the complex truth in its deepest form. Masks cover up what is on the literal surface, allowing us to reveal something deeper about human nature without getting it confused with the actual person presenting it. With a mask on, one can present something more truthful, more powerful, more lasting, and even more troubling. Scorpio gets down to those depths.

The facts of life never present the whole truth of life. Facts are merely facts, and facts have expiration dates. Facts die, as people do. To present one’s more authentic self and the deeper aspects of human nature beyond the facts requires a mask, to show the archetypal truth, the truth that lasts through time and appeals to far more people than do the facts of your life. The truth wears many masks and comes in many forms and guises. That’s what keeps Scorpio true to its own nature. And it’s what keeps life exciting! And mysterious! Of course, the mask used to reveal the deeper self can also be used, as the Phantom sings in Phantom of the Opera, to “hide your face so the world will never find you.” Once a mask is donned, how do you know what is real and what is not real? What is true and what is a lie? Who can you trust? We can get quite lost in the dark, twisted every way in the labyrinthine lairs of life. Herein lies the real complexity of Scorpio. Yet, truth is reliable, like the thin thread tying Theseus to Ariadne as he entered the labyrinth to slay the Minotaur. Follow the thread—trust your instincts—and the truth will out.

The Moon, Venus, Goddesses, Belonging, Fitness and Food - Part 2

Truth be told - full disclosure - as I wrote Part 2 here, it turned into a piece about Venus and Beauty, before I ever got back to the Moon. The Moon will be getting her due diligence in an upcoming blog, though, you can be sure. She’ll be the star of a post delving more into Artemis, the Goddess of the Moon. Meanwhile, here is Venus:

If you want the sense that your life has order and an inherent design to it, the sense that things fit together, beauty (Venus) is essential. Yet, in the United States beauty remains fundamentally misunderstood because it’s often considered merely superficial and shallow, and tends to be exploited or promoted for profit. Calling a women’s razor “Venus” is a typical example—being a goddess is only one close shave away! Let’s not confuse the superficiality of a marketing campaign, though, with the fun and fuss and pleasure of attending to appearances. Why do they matter?

Venus is the mediator between us and the world around us, via the five senses. Seeing, smelling, touching, hearing and tasting the world would not be the same without Venus. Perhaps we’d have no way of being in the world at all! And, while Venus’ beauty is the vital force on the sensual surfaces of life—the exterior decorating—genuine beauty reassures us that there is also more going on behind the surface. Beauty reminds us of kosmos, the Greek word meaning “order, good order, orderly arrangement, decoration” as well as “the universe” and “the world.” Beauty reminds us that behind the cosmetics is the cosmos, a design, a glimpse of eternity, something divine. This is likely part of why Venus is considered to be exalted in Pisces, the sign with a particularly strong link to the cosmic backdrop of our lives. Beauty and myth walk hand in hand. Without beauty, we lose the sense of cosmic order; a tightly-tailored suit becomes just a suit, rather than also being the tailoring of a life that truly suits you. This is vital for astrology, because the orderly appearance of the planets in a chart (or in the sky) is backed by the cosmic, mythic, archetypal nature of your life.

How about an example, perhaps even an auspicious one? In astrology, Venus is considered to be in “detriment” in the mysterious sign of Scorpio. Uh-oh! That doesn’t sound good. What does this mean, and why on earth is Venus in detriment in Scorpio?

VENUS IN DETRIMENT IN SCORPIO

Feminist Naomi Wolf was born with Sun and Venus exactly conjunct in Scorpio, to the minute. Wolf made the case in her 1991 best-selling book “The Beauty Myth” that impossible standards of physical beauty have become more and more detrimental to the lives and health of women. A brilliant use of Venus in Scorpio, if there ever was one. A perfect fit, you might say. I will come back to this shortly.

In astrology, Venus is often confined to the realm of relationships and values, and then internalized. In this framework, Venus in Scorpio can be rather difficult. Given Scorpio’s intense desires, erotic passions, obsessive focus, and tendency to go to extremes—not to mention its innate connection with death and haunted pasts—Venus in Scorpio might be one of the reasons “It’s complicated” is an option for Facebook relationship status. Sexy, yes! But obsession? Death? Venus is supposed to take your breath away, but not forever! No question about it: difficult—especially if confined to relationships, and especially if the model for relationships is balance, equality, love, peace and harmony and all that. If we back up and incorporate what I’ve been saying about Venus thus far (Venus from the perspective of beauty rather than relationship), and add some imagination, we have far more wiggle room to play around.

Venus is likely considered in detriment in Scorpio because rather than showing off on the sensual side of life (as she does in Taurus, for example), Venus in Scorpio is resigned to life on the other side, the darker side, six feet under, invisible, underneath and under cover, lurking in the shadows. Instead of being able to show off her beautiful composition, Venus in Scorpio wanders into the world of de-composition and decay—order replaced by disorder—the supernatural realm more of vampires, zombies, ghosts, shades and the walking dead than the natural world she is most suited for. Perhaps the abundance in our culture of movies, television shows and books featuring these alternatively beautiful and disgusting figures shows us exactly what’s going on. From “True Blood," “The Vampire Diaries,” and "Twilight," to "Supernatural," "Ghost Hunters," and "American Horror Story," to "In the Flesh," "World War Z," and “The Walking Dead”—our crisis of beauty imagined as the zombie apocalypse! If we consider a beautiful flower arrangement, though, and go back to that flower arrangement a week later, we can see that death is also just part of the arrangement. It has its place.

We can look to Mary Alice, the deceased narrator of Desperate Housewives, for further guidance. From the other side, she narrates:

“An odd thing happens when we die. Our senses vanish. Touch, taste, smell and sound become a distant memory. But our sight! Ah, our sight expands. And we can suddenly see the world we left behind so clearly. Of course, most of what’s visible to the dead could also be seen by the living, if they only take the time to look.”

Venus in Scorpio takes the time to look. Moreover, Venus enters the realm of memory, or Mnemosyne as I wrote about recently. Venus in Scorpio makes the invisible realm “visible.” Dark fantasy author Clive Barker, a Libra born with Venus in Scorpio, works this way. His stunning “Weaveworld” (described as “an epic adventure of the imagination”) is chock full of beautifully poetic, extremely moving, erotic, wildly sensual and out-of-this-world descriptions of a mysterious and magical-yet-often-horrific land inhabiting an ornate rug. Venus in Scorpio senses the weave of the world. Describing one man’s desire for a close relationship, Barker writes, “He wanted the intimacy of a secret shared.” That’s Venus in Scorpio right there. Barker also wrote the dark epic fantasies “Imajica” and “The Great and Secret Show” (note that the show is “secret”), proving that the darker realms of life can be just as breath-taking and magical as anything.

Agatha Christie was also born with Venus in Scorpio, and she didn’t shy away from mystery, murder and death. We love her for it! We wouldn’t want her any other way! We’ve made Agatha Christie the best-selling author of all time! Not too shabby for a planet in detriment. Again, a perfect fit. What would the world be without Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot? Agatha Christie’s detective eye for death leads us time and time again into treacherous territory, and we still pay her for it. In the 37 years since she died, she has made more money than most people on the planet will make in their entire lives, I'm guessing.

More examples: Better Midler gained her initial fame by singing in the gay bathhouses of New York City. So perfect for her! And perhaps bringing Venus into the gay bathhouses as the modern gay community was beginning to emerge is part of why one of the archetypes associated with the gay community today is Keepers of Beauty.

Anne Hathaway was able to portray the desperate, almost-too-heart-wrenching Fantine in Les Misérables, as she sings “I Dreamed a Dream” and looks back on her lost life. Anne won an Academy Award for her performance. Susan Sarandon also won an Academy Award, for “Dead Man Walking,” in which her character befriended a man on death row. Bette, Anne and Susan—all perfect fits. See, if you imagine into your life as a movie, in what role would you cast yourself? What roles would fit you? Fitness is more than just physical.

Back to Naomi Wolf. Since the publishing of “The Beauty Myth,” standards of beauty have arguably relaxed quite a bit, yet I wonder if the rampant epidemics of obesity and diabetes, and the unprecedentedly long lines in pharmacies today indicate further crises. When we ignore beauty our senses become numb (or, as Mary Alice said, our senses vanish). We become indifferent and complacent, while at the same time jittery and restless, because the lack of beauty is that tangible. Ugliness is uncomfortable. Without the inherent sense of order that accompanies beauty, bodies can break down. Could beauty be an essential component to healing?

If you’re wondering how the United States has come to be so mired in false, flat beauty and turns enormous profit from it, consider this rather astonishing astrological correlation: The first-ever budget of the United States was passed by the Continental Congress back in 1778, when Venus in Scorpio was conjunct Saturn in Scorpio. Almost two centuries later, in 1954, the first televised Miss America pageant was broadcast while Venus in Scorpio was conjunct Saturn in Scorpio. Although she likely didn’t have an astrological perspective to work with (I don’t know), Naomi Wolf instinctively put these pieces together, recognized the detrimental nature of what was going on, and published her case. Venus in Scorpio is currently approaching another conjunction with Saturn in Scorpio (exact on September 18, 2013). Perhaps this time around we can release ourselves from the stereotype once and for all and start once again with the archetype (the original pattern), the actual and essential mythic beauty, Venus.

Of course, once we grasp the nature of the archetype, each person then has a "different" and original Venus (while all thrive within the same original archetype), depending on the sign Venus is in, the house she occupies, the houses she "rules," and the planets in aspect to her. I could write an entire blog about Venus in Capricorn, for example, and include such diversity as Frank Sinatra (who insisted on doing it his way and we love him for it), Dolly Parton (who built Dollywood), and perhaps the 2 drag queens and 1 transsexual who climb to the top of a mountain in "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" in full drag, proclaiming, "Just what this country needs: a cock in a frock on a rock" before heading back down. If you’ve never let the über-endearing “The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” color your world, please watch it. As the movie switches back and forth from the playful and made up surfaces of life, to the more in-depth issues that make up our human lives, genuine beauty emerges throughout. The story becomes archetypal, truly beautiful.

In the meantime, let’s keep in mind one last succulent slice of Venus in Scorpio wisdom from Desperate Housewives.  As the spirit of Wisteria Lane’s resident Femme Fatale, the late Edie Britt, drifts away into the other world, she speaks her parting words to us

“I’ll tell you something:  it’s not hard to die when you know you have lived.  And I did—oh, how I lived!”

Beauty wants to live.