No Rest on This Pisces Moon

Gotta wash this nightmare outta my hair:
The world in flames, our planet's last dawn
People gather as witnesses to silently bear
Bloodred ember-studded sky looks so wrong
We can only take baby sips of air
Mars opposing Saturn, civilization gone
Malefics playing Truth or Dare
Our house is on fire, keens humanity's swansong
If other species could speak, they'd say it's not fair
Life can no longer soldier on
And it's too late for us to productively care

Phosphorescent Sea: Imprinted on William Steig

(In the Better Late Than Never category, here is an article I wrote three months ago that was published in the NCGR-NYC's spring 2021 "Astrology and Literature" issue of The Ingress. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!)

When I dove head- and heart-first into the sea of astrology many moons ago, I was a college student majoring in English with a concentration in creative writing. I had very little in the way of elegant defense when individuals who had previously respected my intelligence called it into question upon learning that I was a budding astrologer. Sometimes I proselytized, attempting to explain the tenet “as above, so below”; other times I asked to interpret their charts to demonstrate that astrology was far more than a vague Sun-sign horoscope (no takers there); and if I was in a foul mood, I reminded them of their own non-scholarly pursuits.

In a forum like The Ingress, of course, I need no such defense, yet the Astrology and Literature theme of this issue made me realize that I had fallen in love with the former in much the same way as I had with the latter—that there was indeed a common thread. Both astrology and literature deal in timeless symbols; in archetypes; in universal truths and a finite number of themes that find new, highly personalized life and meaning with each interpretation or narrative. Although astrology has a scientific, mathematical component (as the planets in our solar system exist and form various geometric angles to one another), it is not strictly quantitative—just as literature can be analyzed in many ways or experienced on a sheerly intuitive, visceral level. Both astrology and literature are kin to mythmaking, a collective need to find meaning and order in seemingly random chaos. Both explore various facets that illuminate what it means to be human; what it means to be alive.

Of all the planets, the Sun, ruler of the “superstar” sign Leo, has the most to do with conscious “I am”-ness and with the urge to shine and to create. The Sun longs for immortality, which manifests most obviously and literally by creating children (traditionally associated with the 5th House, which is ruled by the Sun) but also in masterpieces, for those who choose to define themselves as artists of some sort. Thus, while it is important to consider the placement and aspects of an author’s Mercury (communication), the Moon (emotion), Neptune (imagination), and the ruler of the Ascendant (if exact birth time is known), the situation of an author’s Sun sign must come first and foremost.

From early childhood up to the present day I have been a devoted re-reader, thanks to a heavily aspected natal Sun-Mars-Mercury stellium in Cancer (the “comfort food” sign that, like its opposite sign, Capricorn, is linked to the past). I cannot say if this deep-rooted desire to go back time after time to books and stories that spoke strongly to me is why I started writing and dreaming of becoming a published author and artist as a six-year-old, but learning entire passages of favorite books by heart certainly showed me how it was done, even if I could not articulate the mechanics until I landed in undergraduate creative writing seminars. The first literary god of my personal pantheon was William Steig, best known as a prolific cartoonist for The New Yorker and author of Shrek (which led to several movies only loosely based on the book, as well as a Broadway musical). To me, he was the creator of several books for children that, despite having won prestigious awards back in the 1970s, probably would not be published today due to their combination of unflinching intensity and sophisticated language. To me, they are typewritten treasures that both shaped and validated my worldview.

William Steig was a Scorpio with a Sun-Mercury conjunction trine his Moon-Saturn conjunction in Pisces (pulling in my own Cancer Sun and Scorpio Moon). Because Steig’s time of birth is unknown and I wished to rectify his natal chart for this article, I researched his personal life and studied some photographs of him (one of which revealed to my immense pleasure that he was a fellow left-hander). Throughout his life, Steig retained a full head of thick hair and customarily posed for photos with his arms crossed over his chest in a manner more self-protective than swaggering. His Polish Jewish immigrant parents encouraged him and his brothers to become artists instead of laborers (who would be exploited by businessmen) or businessmen (who would exploit laborers). In high school he was an All-American water-polo athlete, graduated early, then dropped out of three colleges. Although he wanted to run off to sea to become a beachcomber, the Great Depression intervened: he instead became the family breadwinner when his father, a housepainter, could not find work. As an artist, he achieved early and sustained financial and critical success. He had three children from four marriages and was obsessed with the psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich’s controversial orgone box (immortalized in the film Sleeper as the Orgasmatron). At age 95, he died of natural causes shortly after publishing his last picture book, When Everyone Wore a Hat, based on his childhood. With all of this information, this is what I came up with: November 14, 1907, 7:42pm EST, Brooklyn NY.

William Steig once said, as would befit someone with a prominent 5th House, “I think I feel a little differently than other people do. For some reason I’ve never felt grown up.”(1) Yet it was not until Steig entered his sixties that he began writing and illustrating children’s books. His watercolor-and-ink illustrations recall two other Scorpio artists: the bluntness of Picasso and the delicacy of Monet (who happens to share a birthday with Steig). Amos & Boris, the first of Steig’s books that I can recall, was read to me both in nursery school and at home. On its surface, this tale of a seafaring mouse named Amos and a whale named Boris is a recasting of The Lion and the Mouse; I dove beneath the Scorpionic waves and reveled in gorgeous, sophisticated prose that unflinchingly confronts life’s primal joys and fears. Amos, who lives on a beach, has built a boat and set sail:

One night, in a phosphorescent sea, he marveled at the sight of some whales spouting luminous water; and later, lying on the deck of his boat gazing at the immense, starry sky, the tiny mouse Amos, a little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe, felt thoroughly akin to it all. Overwhelmed by the beauty and mystery of everything, he rolled over and over and right off the deck of his boat and into the sea.(2)

Before he is rescued by Boris, Amos, whose boat has sailed on without him, treads water for several hours in this life-or-death predicament, wondering “what it would be like to drown. Would it take very long? Would it feel just awful? Would his soul go to heaven? Would there be other mice there?”(3)

Other Steig tales also feature protagonists of various species who face the probability of untimely death: Pearl, the young pig in The Amazing Bone, is kidnapped by a fox who intends to eat her for dinner. “I’m only just beginning to live,” Pearl confides to the magic bone she found shortly before her abduction. “I don’t want it to end.”(4) The bone urges her to be brave:

She was dragged into the kitchen, where she could see flames in the open stove. “I regret having to do this to you,” sighed the fox. “It’s nothing personal.”(5)

In Brave Irene, which was published when I was about a decade past the intended demographic, a young girl who is determined to deliver a gown sewn by her ill mother to the duchess in time for the ball is caught in a blizzard and pushed by the wind into a snowbank: “Even if she could call for help, no one would hear her. Her body shook. Her teeth chattered. Why not freeze to death, she thought, and let all these troubles end. Why not? She was already buried.”(6)

Although Scorpio as a sign is clearly linked to death—Pluto’s domain is the underworld—it is also associated with bravery (notably, its coruler is Mars) and the desire to intimately, compassionately connect with another soul. The deep friendships formed in Steig’s books—between Amos and Boris; between Pearl and the bone who saves her by suddenly remembering how to put a spell on the fox; and, in Steig’s wonderful chapter book Dominic (the first novel I read to myself repeatedly after having it read aloud to me as a five-year-old), between Dominic the wandering Good Samaritan dog and Bartholomew the centenarian pig—are the rewards for facing life and death with a brave heart and questing spirit.

Interestingly, in Sylvester and the Magic Pebble, a young donkey, Sylvester, has no company after he finds a magic pebble and panics when he runs into a lion. Instead of wishing himself back home safe with his parents, he foolishly wishes to be turned into a rock. Before his inevitable rescue, Sylvester lies in a field for a whole year as the seasons literally pass over his rock form. Sylvester’s consciousness is still intact but beginning to fade due to much depression-induced sleep. While his parents mourn his disappearance, the local cops (portrayed as pigs, which later got the book banned!) cannot solve the perplexing case.(7) Quite an apropos expression of a Moon-Saturn conjunction in Pisces.

Scorpio’s brand of duality finds transcendence by going down into the depths. When that paradox occurs, rebirth follows—as when leaves and seeds go underground, and certain species hibernate in caves in mid-autumn (the Scorpio season in the Northern Hemisphere) so that they can be regenerated or refreshed in the spring. In Dominic, after his friend Bartholomew dies, Dominic slumbers “under the vast dome of quivering stars, and just as he was falling asleep, passing over into the phase of dreams, he felt he understood the secret of life. But in the light of morning, when he woke up, his understanding of the secret had disappeared with the stars. The mystery was still there, inspiring his wonder.”(8) In the morning, Dominic buries Bartholomew in the pig’s front yard: “He had to cry. Life was suddenly too sad. And yet it was beautiful. The beauty was dimmed when the sadness welled up. And the beauty would be there again when the sadness went. So the beauty and the sadness belonged together somehow, though they were not the same at all.”(9)

The above passages encapsulate the emotions of the water element so enchantingly, I keep returning to my tattered copy of Dominic. I do not even want to label Steig’s profoundly Scorpionic tales children’s literature. Like other books that can be experienced in myriad ways by readers (or listeners) of all ages and circumstances, they simply are literature.

End Notes

1. Literature for Kids: Author Study, https://karissaspitler.weebly.com

2. Steig, William. Amos & Boris. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1971.

3. Ibid.

4. Steig, William. The Amazing Bone. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1976.

5. Ibid.

6. Steig, William. Brave Irene. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1986.

7. Steig, William. Sylvester and the Magic Pebble. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1969.

8. Steig, William. Dominic. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1972.

9. Iid.

Oh, Shazbot...!

Last night, upon returning to my blissfully private lair after a heavy Full Moon weekend of out-of-town socializing, I ordered in some mediocre Chinese food and ate it while watching a documentary about Sunset Strip that had been on my "Nestflix" queue for months. While it suffered for glossing over too many interesting stories in its 72-minute running time (doubling the length would've more than doubled its quality), I still enjoyed it. And during the all-too-brief segment on Sunset Strip's comedy clubs of the 1970s, a fresh young face shone out of the scruffy footage: an up-and-coming Robin Williams, who despite his forays into "serious" dramatic roles in such films as Good Morning, Vietnam and Dead Poets Society, always remained Mork from Ork to me. I had not thought of him in years, even decades.

As footage played of a young Robin Williams toasting Richard Pryor's genius at some "roast" or other, I thought something along the lines of, "It's amazing that Mork survived that era." The tragic element of the comedy section of Sunset Strip belonged to John Belushi, who OD'd at the Chateau Marmont in March 1982. Dark hints weighing about two tons were dropped that Pryor might have also died that night had his promoter not ordered him to go home (and hence stay on the wagon) after performing.

Attempting to interpret a celebrity's death, especially one whose likely cause was suicide, in light of that person's chart seems misguided in the sense that it gives fodder to the criticism leveled at astrology -- that it is all about hindsight. What if Robin Williams had lived to 93 instead of 63 and had died peacefully in his sleep? Would such a scenario transform the storm clouds in his chart into a mere drizzle?

Unfunnily enough, I was thinking along similar lines last week after watching the John Lennon documentary Imagine. Had this iconoclastic genius not been gunned down on December 8, 1980, I concluded that he might not have survived Pluto's transit of Scorpio opposing his Uranus-Saturn conjunction in Taurus -- he might've died of AIDS or even by his own hands.

Perhaps it is only human for astrologers to look for "reasons" after the fact. Always under pressure from skeptics and believers alike to accurately predict future events, looking back in an attempt to understand why something happened can be oddly comforting (to me, at least) as well as a key to considering the manifestations of what has not yet happened.

Is it coincidence that the birthday I selected for Blossom, my fictitious work-in-progress penguin, happens to be that of Robin Williams's? Yes -- but only because July 21 works out to be 28 degrees of Cancer, the degree of my Mercury (writing) and also exactly trine my Neptune (imagination). I realize now that Blossom is Mork: although not literally an alien, she does not fit into her harsh environment. Though she has friends and loving parents, her personality is a quirky, contradictory bundle, and her unusual needs and talents will take her far from home. Mork was also supremely unsuited to his environment; banished from Ork and transported to Earth via egg (an apt symbol of the sign Cancer) ostensibly to gather intel about humans (which he dispensed to Orson, his offstage leader, in wise end-of-show tidbits) but actually because his planet did not allow humor, in which Mork had to engage the way we must engage in breathing.

Interestingly, just a few weeks ago I read a wonderfully insightful blog post on Darkstar Astrology on the meaning of the third decanate of Cancer; as someone with three planets including the Sun there, I kept saying yes! aloud...even when it was not about the fabulousness of this decanate's creativity ("As artists they throw themselves right into their work, there is no holding back. The feelings flood out onto the canvas and touch the public profoundly") but the mood swings ("Sometimes these people can seem like the classic bi-polar. When they are up they are flying, exuberant, charming, fun and playful. When they are down though, it can actually be quite scary and it is often a shock to those who have only seen their sunny side").

Plenty of bad shit has been written about the perils of a Pisces Moon -- its hypersensitivity, its inability to cope with the "real world," its addictive, escapist tendencies besmirching its inspired genius. Robin Williams not only had a Pisces Moon, but a Pisces Moon conjunct the North Node and opposing Venus in Virgo (which, in turn, was conjunct the South Node). This suggests that he was lonely and anxious from birth -- born into privilege, he was a classic Poor Little Rich Boy, playing with thousands of toy soldiers all by himself in a mansion -- and had Major League Mother Issues even beyond that of most Cancerian men. Whether his mother put him on a pedestal or he put her there, whether or not religion was involved (one manifestation of Virgo is the Virgin Mary; one manifestation of Pisces is Jesus, which literally means "Little Fish"), the thing about pedestals is that there is inevitably a fall from such a lofty height. Crushing disappointment (Virgo) follows on the heels of awestruck wonder and love (Pisces). Relentless perfectionism (Virgo) paralyzes stream-of-consciousness inspiration (Pisces).

Robin Williams's fame and manic, eccentric persona seemed directly tied to Uranus's transit of Scorpio crossing his Ascendant and into his 1st House of self-identity in the late '70s. (Please note that although he was born in summertime, Chicago did not follow Daylight Savings Time -- which makes Williams's Ascendant 12 degrees of Scorpio, not 0.) By contrast, the current transit of Saturn in Scorpio in Williams's 1st House, going back and forth on a square to his Pluto in Leo (which is his ruling planet), which in fixed signs can seem like it will last forever (not that depression is easy to "snap out of" for any sign). His progressed Sun passed over his natal Saturn in Virgo just over a year ago, another marker of depression. And if that were not enough, the Uranus-Pluto square had been afflicting his Mars-Uranus conjunction at 10-11 degrees of Cancer -- certainly outweighing his beneficial natal trine between Moon-North Node and Mars-Uranus, which might have saved him back in the '70s, when L.A. was blanketed by a cocaine blizzard.

It is hard to believe that someone would decide to end his own life with Venus on his Sun, but yesterday's Full Moon, our second "supermoon" in a row due to its being at the perihelion to Earth, pulled in his Pluto to the mix. The Sun passing over his Pluto with the Moon opposing it must've outweighed any feelings of needing to live for the sake of family love (Venus in Cancer). Since an elevated Pluto in Leo is so wrapped up in yet conflicted about fame, it might not be too much of an exaggeration to say that Robin Williams's celebrity contributed to his death. That said, had this man not become a household name, he might've been known as a narcissistic addict or bipolar egomaniac, and he might've died tragically anyway. Had Williams hung on another year, long enough for his progressed Sun to have entered Libra, perhaps love and some semblance of balance or moderation would have saved him after all -- but now that he is gone, we will never know for sure.

This is your sad, tired astrologer signing off. Na-nu, na-nu.

Start Counting (and Telling, and Writing) How Many Ways You Love _______

Throw off the Mercury Retrograde shackles today and express yourself romantically, in as creative a way as you can. Suggestions: write a poem, a song, a love letter; present a "just because" and utterly impractical token of affection; or go out (or stay in) for a candlelit dinner featuring at least one aphrodisical dish (which need not be caviar; some gourmands swoon more over mac 'n' cheese).

If you happen not to be someone's better, worse, shorter, or taller half, this is a great day to go on a date, or at least set one up. Your confidence and appeal are probably on a justified rise, so cultivate it; this is not the time to be bashful.

Also, the timing couldn't be better for mending fences, whether of romantic, platonic, plutonic, or familial construction. Mercury is still Retrograde, so the mending will necessarily take time, not be resolved overnight -- but far better to start the healing process now than let any negativity or resentment slide any further.

For those of you seeking an astrological explanation of the above, today features a rather impressive triple conjunction of the Sun, Venus, and Mercury in Leo. We began with the Sun-Venus conjunction at 8:08 a.m. EDT; the Mercury-Venus conjunction is exact at 7:21 p.m. EDT; the Sun-Mercury conjunction, at 9:04 p.m.

Please take note that the Moon will be in Pisces until 8:01 p.m. EDT; you may feel some combination of tender, sleepy, weepy, sentimental, wistful, and/or inspired until then. When the Moon transits into fiery Aries, you may get a second wind and feel more energetic and purposeful.

This Summer Solstice, Dare to Dream...

...okay, so I'm a day late with this advice, but the Sun-Neptune trine is still in effect, so keep on daring to dream. This is a particularly significant aspect, as it marks the first time the Sun trines Neptune in a water sign since late 1970. Neptune is the ruler of Pisces, emphasizing the imagination and compassion in addition to fantasy, as well as selfless sacrifice (especially if it pertains to the home and family -- Sun in Cancer concerns).

You may well have been challenged by the Mars-Neptune trine (exact today at 2:46 a.m. EDT), which may have taken the form of an argument with a sibling or neighbor. Mars in airy Gemini can be quite argumentative, wanting to take the wind out of Neptune in Pisces' sail. Other possible manifestations of this square: health trouble (with the arms, hands, feet, or lungs), nightmares, and simply feeling out of sorts in your local environment. However, the worst of the square should have been ameliorated by the Sun-Neptune trine.

Tonight (at least on the East Coast), with the Moon in late Pisces, would be a great night to watch a movie, attend a concert, work on a creative project, take a swim or a long bath...or get to sleep early in order to face the The Last Quarter Moon in Aries (exact 7:48 a.m. EDT) fresh.

The Astrology of Valentine's Day

This year, Valentine's Day coincides with the Chinese New Year. It's the Year of the Tiger: Will you be a wildcat or a pussy cat? Or perhaps a pink panther?

We are approaching the New Moon in Aquarius, but most of Valentine's Day occurs with the Moon in Pisces (the ingress happens at 7:23 a.m. EST). This Piscean feeling is strengthened by the Sun/Neptune conjunction. It's an auspicious day to be emotional and downright mushy with both friends and lovers.

If you're not sure what to do with your sweetie tomorrow (other than the obvious), you might consider taking in a movie or three, having a photography or video session (use your imagination), sharing and perhaps indulging in a fantasy, a champagne-soaked brunch, liquor-filled bonbons, or evening wining and dining. However, be careful not to indulge too much in alcohol or any other substances that may affect your ability to stay conscious.

If you don't have a sweetie, but do have a crush, tomorrow is an optimal day to declare your feelings, as long as your crush is actually available to be amenable! Seriously, with elements of fantasy running so high, you should ask yourself before declaring yourself if you are infatuated with the actual person, or with the idea of him/her.

As I mentioned earlier, this is also a wonderful V-Day to spend with close friends. In fact, it is entirely possible that platonic feelings between friends may turn more, well, Plutonic. Again, as long as you don't let the fantasy aspect (it's pretty romantic to fall in love with a friend) and too much to drink overwhelm what's truly going on here, a wonderful time could be had.

Whatever your situation, Happy Valentine's Day!