And what would happen if you unwrapped an Egyptian mummy and I wonder if I could make a shrunken head like the Jivaro Indians and why did people paint pictures on cave walls thousands of years ago? These were the issues which preoccupied me for years.
No-one knew about them except my maternal grandfather. He had spent time taming wild horses alone in the middle of Argentina before World War 1, and in later life was the only Church of Scotland missionary to visit ill or injured foreign sailors of all religions in the local island hospital, despite the disapproval of the Free Church.
He died when I was eleven, after which I spoke to no-one until I grew up and left home about anything which really mattered. As Pluto squared 12th house Venus, Moon and Sun, then crossed the IC conjunct South Node from , what was left of my family of origin fell apart in a particularly painful and tragic way. I had to make choices in order to protect myself from the destructive urges of other family members which involved separation from loved ones which is probably permanent.
The major decision I made during those years was that the blood tie does not give others the right to destroy your life. I was indeed fortunate in having an astrological framework, which helped to provide a meaningful context for the pain. As part of trying to process what was happening, I decided to compile a family history, returning to my native island to collect some oral material from old people who knew my family back a couple of generations.
The day I sat down to write it up, transiting Pluto was exactly conjunct the South Node, within half a degree of the IC. During the same week, I looked back through some old writings of my own, finding two unpublished pieces. The first was written in July , six months after the start of Neptune transiting the IC.
I had no knowledge of astrology then……. We took a curving route through the town, then via an outlying district overlooking the navigation beacon. This landmark had winked its electric eye reassuringly at the mouth of the harbour for as long as I could remember. Approaching the district cemetery, my sister walked on by, but I slowed down, never having passed through its gates.
Only men attended funerals in the Outer Hebrides when I was growing up. The graveyard, beautifully tended, sloped gently down to within a few hundred yards of the sea. He was well and truly caught; apart from a period of war service he remained in the Outer Isles for the rest of his long life. His death devastated my grandmother.
They had been married for fifty two years. Up to then I had never known the desolation of not being able to console another human being — or that old people ever cried. Live on she did, doggedly, for nine years, lightened only by a late addition to the family. I was fifteen when my brother was born. Granny was eighty two, and half way senile. The child was called Frederick, after Granddad; as the novelty wore off Granny slipped into senility, a querulous fractious husk, and finally just a husk, and a medical miracle, carried off at eighty six with her fourth bout of pneumonia.
She was standing about twenty yards away; I hurried to the spot. It was a plain, simple grave. A low railing ran round it. The headstone was in sandstone, with only the facts of their births and deaths etched on it in gold lettering. Without any warning, for I had felt quiet and composed, there was a rush and a roar in a deep silent centre of my being; a torrent of desolation and grief swept through me.
I wept and wept and wept, quite uncontrolled. There they were, half my being. Where had it all gone: the passion of their early love; the conception of their children; her sweat and blood and pain as she thrust my father into the world; their quarrels, silences, love, laughter, loneliness and grief; their shared and separate lives? And this was it. On a hot beautiful day with the sea lapping on the shore and the seabirds wheeling and diving, a few bits of cloth and bone under the earth, an iron railing and a stone above. I was not weeping just for them. The second piece, however, written in the autumn of , at the end of the Neptune transit to the IC, whilst Neptune was 0 Sagittarius, shows that something else was now emerging from the underworld which would offer me inspiration and support :.
Discussing Jung's Studies in Astrology by Liz Greene
Peter called just after seven; he was going out to practice some pibroch. Would I like to come along? It was a rare time of balance — in the weather, in the satisfaction of work which was still new enough to be stimulating, in the fact that Peter and I were falling in love. Peter drove several miles out of town, winding slowly up deserted country roads to a hill above a small village.
Questioning Liz Greene
Taking out the pipes he began to blow them up, and after much tinkering began to play. To avoid distracting him, I strolled slowly down the road. Peter was standing on a bank of grass at the top of the hill; on his left was a little wood. On the other side of the road was a ditch thick with whin bushes. Beyond the ditch was a rusty, sagging fence; on the far side of the fence, smooth, mossy moorland dotted with whins, their vivid yellow colour fading into the deepening dusk. Venus Rising.
A myriad of stars, taking their lead from Venus, was growing bright with increasing intensity. A mellow harvest moon was slowly rising, casting a glow on the hills. The air held a hint of cold. I could feel the melancholy music of the bagpipes flowing through me like a magical current. Reaching the foot of the hill, surrendering myself completely to the intensity of the moment, I lay down in the middle of the road. Spreading out my arms, I gazed up at the stars.
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A gentle breeze blew over my body, soughing through the reedy grass. Drifting with the music through the night sky, slipping away from awareness of myself or the present, I was a timeless spirit of the air, travelling the vastness of space on the notes of the pibroch. An unobtrusive rhythm, a pulse, began to beat; growing more and more steady, it became a whispering message in my mind :. An image of my lying dead, under the earth, came to me. Such images, occurring at other times, had filled me with panic and disgust.
Now, there was none of that. I could gladly have died at that moment; my flesh would return to the earth and nourish it, my spirit would soar to infinity. The pulse continued, flooding me with its light :. Such a moment might have lasted a second, an hour, or a hundred thousand years; but the music ceased, and the chill which was gradually taking over my body drew me back gently into the present…….
All very appropriate symbolism for the timing of the Uranus IC transit! When Pluto was still transiting the IC, but from Sagittarius, I applied and was accepted for a major astrological study course. The very day that Pluto was exactly on the South Node and about to cross the IC for the last time saw me beginning the first year of study. I felt a powerful sense of standing on firm inner ground after the turbulence and trauma of the last few years — of being in the right place at the right time, of having done what I could, for now, with my family inheritance — of being ready to move on to the next growth cycle.
Nor do I need any longer to make bargains with the shadowy figures who emerge when the light of day is dimming…. This article was most recently published on Astrodienst in What does Chiron mean to you? Have you experienced his symbolic energy as healing? Does he simply not register as any kind of recognisable influence in your life or those around you?
Or have you simply not given him much thought as you work with your horoscope in relation to your life? Lots of questions. However, his return cycle is a steady 50 years: we all have a Chiron Return at that age. A cycle is completing at the present time, and the shift from Pisces the last sign of the zodiac to Aries the first is always more radical than any other — and fierier, more disruptive and far-reaching at a collective level. This is a major step forward in the preparation process.