Navigating a liminal space

Astrology genius Rob Hand describes Saturn as "the rules of the game" and Neptune as "maya/illusion." I've been trying to explain Saturn-Neptune energy appropriately for weeks now (it's not obvious because I publish weekly but I've had writer's block and most of what you've been reading lately was written two months ago, mainly because I've been avoiding writing this post). Saturn/"the rules of the game" is what gives your life meaning. You define things, like objectives and roles that you play in society. When that energy runs headlong into Neptune/"maya/illusion," it looks a lot like the last 20 minutes or so of Avengers: Infinity War, when Thanos can play with time and reality and disappear half the population of the planet.

I'm not saying half the population of the planet is going to disappear. But if you've worked your whole adult life toward a certain goal and the feasibility of that goal dissipates, that's incredibly fucking harsh, is it not? This might not happen to you, but chances are you'll run across someone who has something along these lines happen in the next year or so. It could be a career, or a home, or a marriage, or just a future vision that is fading away. Don't get too paranoid, just be aware that Saturn-Neptune times are a time of removal rather than a bunch of adding bells and whistles. Simplify; consolidate. Don't take stupid risks.

Who are you if you're no one? I'm watching someone I know lose a massive part of their identity at the moment, and it is not pretty. They keep making silly little power moves to prove to themselves that they're still relevant and that they matter. The main issue is that they've based most of their identity around playing a specific role for the last 25 years, and that role is going away, so they don't know what to do. That's painful! We center ourselves around the meaning we make of our roles, and so if we lose a big one, it's destabilizing. Some people feel like they're going crazy when they encounter this energy. It's kind of normal, so if you see this, give grace as much as possible (and if you can't do that, make yourself scarce).

But actually there's an unexpected freedom on the other side of identity/meaning loss. Having been through something similar myself, I remember parts of that time semi-fondly, as it consisted of me lingering in airports. I had nowhere to be, and time didn't matter, so I bought cheap plane tickets and traveled around, wandering during my layovers, mostly people-watching. The people had urgent needs and priorities and Somewhere To Be. I didn't. It helped me appreciate little things like a sunrise or body surfing in the ocean or sitting next to a fire after hiking in the cold all day. I was simultaneously jealous of people who had Meaning. I missed mine and wanted it back. This period actually taught me the danger of ascribing too much meaning to roles. It's a lesson you don't un-learn.

During a different identity-removal time (I've had a few), I took improv classes. These are actually super-helpful training for learning to exist in the moment, so active mindfulness instead of the passive meditate-y kind, but they also help you quickly adapt to whatever reality you find yourself in. Sometimes, when a cherished part of our reality vanishes, we hang out in the vicinity of that reality and hope it revives itself somehow. Others argue that the new and unwelcome reality is not really real and that we can get the past back if we think about it hard enough. You can waste a lot of time and energy doing both these things. Improv classes teach you to adapt to whatever you find yourself in (even if you don't like it much) and then they shove you on stage with an audience and force you to make something out of nothing and then also try to make that funny in under 10 minutes. If you've ever found yourself on stage with lights on you, absolutely no plan, and a drunk scene partner who's not tracking what's going on coherently, you know that you can hate that it's happening or you can think as quickly as possible about how to adapt, and that it'll end eventually. Public speaking is a common fear, so I'd imagine that public on-stage failure is probably up there on the list of undesired things to do for a lot of you, but there's also an unexpected freedom in that: once you've had people watching you in unimpressed, dead silence for many minutes on end (while you prayed for a power outage or random lightning strike inside a theater with no windows), you learn what that feels like and it's not so scary anymore.

Back to astrology genius Rob Hand: he wrote somewhere that Neptune/"maya/illusion" is a reminder that we're not as in control as we think we are. We hide behind our Saturnian "rules of the game" to give ourselves a sense of order and coherence, but when Saturn rules fail us, we have to accept that there are simply things in life we can't do anything about. We do not appreciate these reminders. This is happening now.

This is probably going to sound trite, but stick with me: if (god forbid) you get stripped of a role (a job) or a dream or a partner or a friend or something else that sucks and hurts, please understand that you still have yourself at your core. You still have your heart. You still have your essential goodness. No one and nothing can take that away. Keep that in mind, and spread that idea to the people you stumble upon who need to hear it. Saturn-Neptune takes things away but that doesn't mean that other things don't get added back later. When you learn to boil things down to essentials and improvise, you can connect back to your core self (and maybe throw spirituality in there too, if that's appealing), which will strengthen you.

The thing about understanding energy is that it's helpful to use to explain what's going on around you, but that doesn't mean you can do anything to mitigate or change the energy. In fact, as an empath, in a lot of ways it's harder, because I feel people suffering AND I know what's causing it, and I can't do anything about either one. I just have to trust that there's some amount of cosmic order at a time where it feels like there's none. But that brings me to my final warning: if you have the habit of voyeuristic outrage about what's happening to other people, either do something to help or mind your business. Don't add to an exiting tough emotional climate. Do good instead, even if it seems like it's insignificant, because a little can go a long way with this energy. If you can't do that, find a good book and read it. Quit the habit of doomscrolling: you will drive yourself insane very quickly by watching other people struggling. Emotions are contagious, so decide what you're willing to catch. Actually, let me put this a different way: as a former lifeguard, we are trained to save ourselves first and shove our floatation devices between ourselves and the people we're saving, because drowning people are panicking and will grab anything, so they can take you down on accident. My instructor told me that he once punched someone he was in the process of saving in the face to get the man to let go of him, because they'd both drown otherwise. So do not jump in after others without a flotation device, a plan, and an exit strategy.

I will be back with more compelling astrology content but I'm not willing to lie that this is an easy aspect, so it took forever to decide how I wanted to convey it. It started to line up for me in November (I bet you can guess when): "oh, THIS is what it's going to be...yeah, that tracks, I guess." Undesired reality, like I said. I can sit around not liking it, or I can improvise.