A musing on Uranus in Aries and Taurus

Saturn calls...

Bum...bum...bum...bum... One...two...three...four...

One foot in front of the other..

He moves forward, and so do we.

But from Saturn's toils, his requirements and restraint, we must remember also to lift our eyes skywards. And I would be remiss were I to proceed further without preaching my practice.
I sing to thee, O Reader, of a god so mighty he may stand before thee,
in all grandeur, yet absent mind nothing would ye see.
I sing not of bright Phoebus nor his sister Dian, plain as day and subtle as night,
yet with unfailing arrows to announce.
Nor do I sing Stormcloud Zeus of the thunderbolt, broad-chested and farseeing;
though he spans as far as the eye may find, there is one greater I have in mind.
Not Plouton the soultaker, Poseidon the earthshaker, nor even great Kronos the time-maker.
Look to the stars and perchance,
ye may find his robes on which the planetas dance.
The Titan masters not merely space but time.
Boundless he extends, such that five sons need must avenge his crime.

Ouranos! Ye who sees all and hovers outside dimension,
Bringer of sudden consciousness, dispenser of convention.
Bless my endeavor, O puppetmaster of synchronicity.
Your fingertips dot starry light through life, for those with eyes to see.

I shall remember you, in this and another song as well.
Now, I shall regale of a bird and a bug, of a day whose energies uncannily resembled that from a recent Saturday.

A smidge over 5 years ago I had a run-in with Ouranos. Or Ouranos had a run-in with me. The omens had been settling in. The weekend prior I had dropped and shattered my first coffee mug, a thick white clay with rainbow hearts bit of joy from Target. While a long-time independent adult by that point, I hadn't yet gone through the loss of a precious something all my own brought about by the trials and errors of time, so it had cast a pall over the week. I was also going through some ups and downs with the bf at the time.

The day itself had a kind of rabid energy. It was the weekend before Labor Day and the air was charged but dead, packed with a kind of mad rush. The sky was overcast, but the late August sun radiated so if you looked up at the clouds you were met by the swirling flash of cells and mitochondria in your eyes. Half-assed drizzle spotted here and there like the clouds were stoned and dehydrated. It's not the sort of behavior you'd want in your sky gods.

And me? It started as a typical Saturday: a slow wake-up and late breakfast after yet another week under the office fluorescents. The bf had me on the clock, per usual: a morning check-in call followed by an afternoon on-track call then another I'd make when ready to drive an hour/hour and a half down to Jersey. He'd be napping while I'd try to fit in my laundry and other chores, so it was a constant game of time-awareness on my part. Naturally, while I was traipsing down to the basement to do laundry, that's when the wrinkles appeared.

The laundry itself went fine, don't get me wrong. But near the back-stair outside there's a small gardening shed attached to the house, and I saw a little bird flapping at the shed's window from the inside. T'was a little lady house finch; you don't typically find them on their own much, their mates are never far-off. Yet there she was, mistaking the glass window for the way out, despite the shed door I'd opened broadly on an earlier pass. It took me maybe an hour of coaxing, broom-scooching, and finally a more direct approach to catch her in my hands and get her out the door (so light! She couldn't have weighed more than a paperclip..). And I couldn't help but feel that ineffable moment speak to me, the way my broken mug had. Something was ending. But that was just superstition, right? Or at least it was ambiguous.

With that good, magic deed done, I climbed back up to the third floor and went to the kitchen. I could hear a stir of Aphrodite's darlings (all little birds belong to her) out by the fire escape. The roof gutter is broad and served as an impromptu gathering place where I could throw some seed and have some peace by the door. It was still very summery, so I must have kept it open to the screen door. Normally the birds will fuss over breakfast but by afternoon they tend to get mellow. But this was a flurry of activity I don't think I've seen since, and I didn't realize how much of the day's energy they were channeling.

There were the regular sparrows, mourning doves, cardinals, titmice, starlings, etc. And one bird I'd never seen before, sitting calmly on the metal railing, looking right at me, while all the other birds agitated around. I think new bird was saying "Hello, is this ok? This seemed the place to be." And it effectively hovered, a weight in space as I tried to take in its patterning. The color seemed mourning dove? But that bill, nowhere near as delicate, and the bird notably larger. And those black markings dribbling down its back ontop of buff...I'd seen those.. I know you..

Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren [CC BY 2.0]

But then I was distracted. Bf to check-in with, garments to pack, shower to take, the few items bf had left at my place to be packed into a shoebox for return, frustrations to be carefully-worded, on and on with barely a moment to process the unnature I'd just beheld, haunt my mind though it did. Besides, with the turning of the day the clouds would become a little more free with the precipitation and the roads a bit more treacherous.

Later on I tracked her down. Her bill? Perfect for poking holes in trees. Those black ripples down her back? Change the black to white and the buff to black: yea verily, a woodpecker! Her name? Northern Flicker.

(did you just hear a mourning dove take off too?)

What was with this day, to have such rare interactions with birds? But nevermind, I had to get hustling.
Just...would that I knew how to speak Northern Flicker beforehand.

And I apologize dear reader, because the search algorithms have apparently changed in the past 5 years, and sites and bulletin boards shift and fade away. What I read on Flickers and close correspondent cousins, the Woodpecker, confirmed my experience, but I'm left with mere dribs of reference (not that it helps that most references cite the same one or two books that aim for the most airy, positive interpretations possible). Granted, for my state at the time of checking on these bird omens, mere words appeared heightened.

Lisa Lyle, quoting Animal Speak by Ted Andrews, speaks of stimulation, a focus on the head/intellect, intuition, activation, catalysts, changes. "If flicker has come into your life, it indicates a time of rapid growth and trust." (emphasis mine)

Per Avia at Whats-Your-Sign.com, Woodpecker is "an other-worldly messenger, and a prophet." "Consider the silence of a winter day cracked wide open by the echoing beat of a woodpeckers beak."

"To be sure, the woodpecker is an attention-grabber, and those who claim this amazing bird as their totem will attest to its ability to shake up awareness." (emphasis mine)

As Avia does, Sandra Kynes in Bird Magic: Wisdom of the Ancient Goddess for Pagans & Wiccans connects the Woodpecker to Mars and Aries for qualities of initiation, but also to Jupiter/Zeus. Plus, "Pan was said to have been hatched from a woodpecker's egg." Pan, as in that archaic pastoral god with the piercing scream from which we derive the word panic. She also notes "Woodpecker is a guide for travelers in the mundane world and in other realms."

I can see the Aries/Mars connections, especially for the elaboration laid-out. But these verbs and other active words, and the emphasis on awareness or as we might term consciousness. There's one god, one planet above all known for piercing, sudden events and insights. And we also know, maaaybe you don't want to run into him. Or him run into you.

You see where I'm going with this, don't you? Or rather, where I went, but then..............stopped a little too quick. Because of the car stopped in front of me in the third lane of a 4-lane highway, with maniacs passing and peeling out behind me left and right, same as the other lanes. For as crunchy as my car got, to my knowledge no one was hurt (thanks be to those watching over). And here I am to tell the tale.
(Bf came to my rescue, it bought us some added time)

I'm amazed going back to the astrology of that day, both for the event chart and the synastry with my own. For what astrology I know now, I don't think it would be unfair to say the outcome could have been much worse. But for whenever I did get my AstroVizor phone app and looked up the event, I do remember the most prominent aspect to my eyes being Venus in Leo applying to a trine with Uranus in Aries (and me in my little red coupe..). For as lovely and pleasant as she can be, Venus attracts and invites. The "benefics" are generally known for increase (bigger is better, yes?). Her contacts can be harmonious, but, well, what's she reeling-in on the other end of an aspect, especially a low-friction trine?

USFWS Mountain-Prairie [Public domain]
But, our Uranian story doesn't end there. Bien sûr, a carless woman in possession of an accruing rental bill must be in want of a replacement ride. And Venus steadily perfected her trine to Uranus.

After much late-night internet research, early the next week I found myself down at the car dealership strip on Ridge Pike after work, ready to test drive. The energy was still rather wonky. It wasn't spittin', but the clouds were moving, a storm was rolling in. And that part of Conshy isn't bad for looking up: sure, there's plenty of light-pollution, but it's not built-up past the rolling hills of the river valley, and the long stretch of road gives you a panorama.

It was perhaps the mightiest encounter with Mother Nature I've ever beheld. I had done one test drive with bolts starting to crackle on high, and was angling for a second. As the second car was pulled round, it was as though an army of Terminators were arriving, led by this vehicle.

Cloud and lightning steaming, barreling round and round towards me in purple-orange light as far as could be seen in either direction. White coils licked over the widespread dark glossy paint jobs like a Tesla sphere. James Cameron must have been directing this! This, THIS was the sort of behavior you want in your Sky Gods! Ha ha!

And I thought to myself: maybe I should start taking these omens seriously.. So I did. The second model I drove ended up being the one, if not the precise vehicle at the time. She's small, Atlantic blue, sleek but practical. Her name? Lightning. When viewed from the apartment above? Lightning Buggy. When I drove her away from the dealer, a lightning storm was just starting. Her first winter weather? Thundersnow. When it rains I like to say she's in her element.

Which brings us to present day. With Uranus now transitioned from Aries into Taurus, radical nature is the order of the era. Anything related to climate, agriculture, the environment is primed for shake-ups. Including invasive species. Hot on the hit list is the Spotted Lanternfly. While, huh, first detected in nearby Berks County, Pennsylvania 5 years ago, in 2014, it wasn't until this past summer that I saw my first bug on the door jamb.

Look familiar?

I'm gonna call Doctrine of Signatures on this, even if we're talking animals and not plants.

U.S. Department of Agriculture
Lance Cheung/Multimedia PhotoJournalist/USDA Photo
by Lance Cheung [Public domain]

And as soon as I realized, I thought to myself "OK. Move. Real. Slow." Like, maybe pay attention. Drive well in the slow lane. Avoid impetuousness. Nearly every time I left the house, I'd see three of these buggers on the porch on the way to the car, and they'd immediately pull me out of my head to be more aware of the task at hand. Not a bad thing.

If you see one of these bug-a-boos, take a moment, check your impulses. They may be good caution.
But then, per the PA Dept of Agriculture, you may wanna make like Ouranos yourself and squash the buggers back to Gaea - they're damaging millions and billions of dollars of grapes, fruit trees and hardwood.


  1. I saw two spotted lanterns on separate occasions this yr. in my back yard. I looked at them hard, but didn't have to heart to kill them (duh & too soft). BUT both, each time, lay dead where I saw them the next day! You wrote that poem right?! BEAUTIFUL. OX


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