The Jupiter Saturn Square Moves Us Fully Into the Aquarian Mindset (And Myth)
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“Hope” is the thing with feathers… —Emily Dickinson
THIS YEAR’S CHRISTMAS is strange, with Jupiter in Gemini squaring Saturn in Pisces. Hope and depression are circling each other, ping-ponging us between “I see the light” and “God, this is fucked up.” Squares set in mutable signs are associated with confusion and garbled communication—elements that might make up a ‘theater of the absurd’ condition.
However, tension like this is how opposites (finally) resolve into a third objective or unrecognized solution. This is difficult to endure if we stay locked in a bipolar mindset. Look around you; the missing ingredient is waiting for in your environment. And stop bitching about the discomfort; you gotta have skin in the game to throw a spotlight on the next chapter—to find the missing key to your car.
Aspects in astrology are never disconnected from the sequence that begins with the conjunction of two or more planets or lights. A conjunction is followed by a square and then a trine and then an opposition, and on and on until the next conjunction. Each geometric angle brings a new facet of the conjunction’s seed-promise to life. Viewed cyclically, the current Jupiter Saturn square opens the lid further on the ‘gift’ that appeared during the culture-defining “Great Conjunction” of Jupiter and Saturn in Aquarius in December 2020. What of this gift? (Oh, brother).
Aquarius is associated with the myth of Prometheus. But with Prometheus comes a complicated part of the narrative, namely, his brother Epimetheus, who decided to accept Pandora (along with her box) after Zeus tried to pawn his beautiful goddess creation (and her trick box) off on Prometheus (who said ‘no thanks’) as another part of Prometheus’s punishment for bestowing fire to mortals.
So yes, the Aquarian-Promethian gifts of progress, technology, and robots (which we hope will become our version of god-like creations) are thrilling. But, oh, that fucking box. Pandora’s trunk was loaded with all sorts of horrors—discord and pandemonium. And plagues. It’s always fascinated me that we slipped into a global pandemic right after the Solstice conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn in Aquarius in 2020. This marriage of myths and astrology is freakish.
As astrologer Liz Greene points out, the word myth is linked to the Greek word mythos, which has two meanings. First, as an untrue story. Secondly, as a plan or scheme. Astrology is the tallykeeper that oversees the cosmic chessboard upon which these plans and schemes unfold. Myths arise from a nameless, mist-shrouded part of human history. They existed before language, waiting for us to discover and play out their narratives.
The 2020 conjunction shifted us out of a long 200-year cycle that ran through the earth element (which coincided with the fallout from the Industrial Revolution and the radical remaking of cultures across the globe.) The 2020 Aquarian conjunction starts us off in a new 200-year cycle in the air element. This lifts us off the earth, so to speak, and into the air element’s realm of ideologies and how the execution (or destruction) of laws will impact lives for generations to come.
Despite the homey Make America Great Again slogan, we must acknowledge that, well, honey, that ship sailed long ago. America is simply one cog in the machine that makes up and defines the shift from earth-based tribal consciousness (states, nations, etc.) into planetary consciousness. This is what the air element is all about. In that sense, Donald Trump, with his Geminian merger with co-twin-president Elon Musk, is a perfect emblem of this rocky phase of the Aquarian conjunction from 2020. As well as the dramaturgy of the Aquarian myth.
Trump’s disruptive Uranus-Sun conjunction covers one aspect of the arrangement. At the same time, Musk could potentially play out the more hellish part of the equation—that of Epimetheus and his girlfriend Pandora with her cursed dowery. If bird flu continues to mutate and gain traction globally, we might live through another Trump administration overseeing a new plague. Imagine the possibilities if vaccine-skeptic Robert F. Kennedy Jr. heads the Department of Health and Human Services. The mind boggles.
Oh, well, none of us will be around 200 years from now. But it is sort of an honor to be here at the start of this geopolitical-reshaping, era-defining new cycle through the air signs. It’s on us, struggling with our allotment of Olympian fire, to strike the right note or clarion call. Remember, buried beneath all of the ghouls and spooks that exited Pandora’s box was a little goddess called Hope. So, there’s that. However, as my dad used to tell me as a kid when I said I was ‘hopeful’ about something: “Hope was a ship that carried sick people—and sank.” You had to love his dark Germanic sense of humor.
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Opening image: Olga Fröbe-Kapteyn, Polarity, c. 1926–1934. © Eranos Foundation, Ascona.
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It was remembering this aspect pattern that kept me from falling overboard in the most Dickensonian Christmas I've ever experienced: Worked yesterday, into the evening, at the Cathedral, the first part of the experience was archetypally Jupiterian -- well-fed happy people arriving for the first of two high Christmas services -- cherubic children in their Episcopalian choir garb processing ahead of ethnically/sexually integrated clergy swinging gorgeous censors down the nave amidst exquisite Christmas trees and flowers, etc. As Silent Night swelled to a harmonic crescendo I saw a child put their arm around his mother's waist in an idyllic expression of familial love and comfort.
Ten minutes later the security guards called me up to the front gate, saying they needed my help (which is technically beyond my pay grade but I was flattered and have done that kind of thing a few times since I started there.) They had a homeless guy who came up the steps, looking for aid -- all his stuff was stolen from the shelter where he was staying, and he had no idea what to do. I was essentially powerless at the time since our food pantry was closed and no pastoral care was available -- I did the best I could, however, and one of the security guards gave the guy a twenty. AGONIZING! My eyes filled with tears cuz that security guard is a fucking rock star, and the contrast was so profound.
I was still haunted on the way home, and my glasses slipped out of my pocket on the subway - I hoped I'd get them back, as am on a restrictive budget at the moment. My phone number was written in the inside of the case, and I did get a call soon upon arriving home, and when I saw the voicemail it was a guy who found them. GREAT! I called the number immediately but it was a public kiosk and couldn't take incoming calls. Turned out to be another homeless guy, who was familiar with the food pantry at the Cathedral but thought he needed ID to qualify... I'm sure he was hoping I was wealthy but at least I can hook him up with some services, and asked him to meet me at work tomorrow.... From one pole to the other within thirty minutes; and this T square does impact my own Pisces Moon, and remembering the sky absolutely helped me from succumbing to my Saturn transit entirely. Sometimes this shit is so literal it's just insane.
Love you, Sir Frederick.
You are brilliant and fine
The Prometheus tie-in that you illuminate, as it applies to Trump and Musk, is fascinating. What an informative post.
And your dad is as much a character as your mom. When will you start telling some stories about HIM?
Merry Christmas, Fred!