Venus Retrograde – 25° – 11° Capricorn, Dec 19 – Jan 29 2022
Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, is a yin, earth sign. At first, it appears yang but it’s actually yin, which makes you think that the sign has been distorted or appropriated to some extent. It has lost some of its dark, slow, earthy, downward-seeking nature and instead, has become so associated with what is harsh, hard, structural and upward-seeking, all yang aspects.
Ruler of the 10th house of career, status, authority and rules, Capricorn has taken on some contexts and meanings attributed to it through patriarchal distortion in my humble opinion. Saturn represents your time and space reality, your orientation and understanding of your three-dimensional world based on your house and sign location in your natal chart. And depending on how Saturn currently transits and what planet(s) transit Capricorn, we can understand how our time and space orientation will personally and collectively be affected.
There are so many things a Venus in Capricorn transit reminds me of, especially one that is retrograde within Capricorn, i.e. systems, structures and limits. One can harshly feel the head-butting between the two. How can Venus, as ruler of Libra, representing harmony, balance and justice, possibly achieve its’ aims here?
I recently had my left ovary and fallopian tube taken out. They were frozen to the left of my pelvis and my doctor spent 2.5 hours removing them and all the endometrial growths grown in my pelvic area. He said it was really bad. And then had the medical students watching my procedure reiterate the same while I was still in a daze of anesthesia in the hospital. As I left and sat in the car, I could see my father’s eyes were slightly watery and worried. And relieved. In the big scheme of things, losing an ovary and tube is not a big deal. Countless others have lost worse. I can still function (to a certain point). But there’s grief around it.
I love my doctor. He’s semi-retired and white and I actually wouldn’t trade him for a woman. He is kind, sensitive and gives big hugs. I am lucky in this respect.
I remember one summer in India as a teenager. I was staying with my aunt, Nani and same-aged cousin who I had stayed with before many times but this time my mother had gone to the south on a business trip. She left us for two weeks and I couldn’t have been happier. Afternoons spent inside the house apart from the outside heat playing Contra and Tetris for hours on end obsessively trying to get to the next level and being up to all sorts of mischief with my sister and cousin was the best time of my life. We were good kids overall, very good as the Indian community at large will attest to, but something was nagging at me that summer.
I don’t know whether it was the normal teenage angst of a 13 year old but I was feeling limited to say the least. I was feeling constrained and frustrated and unfortunately decided to test those limits one careless summer afternoon against my better judgment. Actually my teenage mind contained no better judgment and only that I would gain some sort of reward out of what I was going to do next. This is an infamous story within the family.
I went to the backyard and walked up to my cousin’s bike, which always lay against the wall at an angle. I had learned from him how to step on the seat and climb up the wall and walk on the wall like a trapeze but this time I grabbed the bike, wheeled it through the house quickly, and started biking my way onto the street and around the sector. I cycled fast so no one I knew would catch me. This was the first time I was by myself without anyone I knew by my side outside of the house in India. It was exhilarating. There was no mom to tell you what to do or what the rules were, no uncles to tell you how far you couldn’t go, no pre-plans or instructions or familiar eyes looking at you for whatever reason. It was just me, the bike and the road. I told myself as I started riding that I was going to ride all over the city, through so many sectors, and then boast about it later on.
The problem is is that although everything looked familiar, I had trouble getting out of the sector we lived in due to nervousness being on the main road, like the really main road, and lack of know-how. I realized I wasn’t going to be able to traverse the entire city in just a couple hours. Yes that’s how long I was gone without telling anyone. As I looked at the familiar signs, buildings, temples and people going about their daily business, I felt one with it all but was also terribly focused on controlling the bike. I didn’t want to fall or hit anything. Sadly one of these things occurred.
I actually ran into a little boy, something I feel guilty about to this day. I was stupidly staring at a temple to the right, my eyes away from the road, and hit his leg. He was insistent that he was not hurt but I offered to take him to the doctor or at the very least pay for his medical fees.
I also had a nineteen year old celebrity look alike who lived down the street and who supposedly was an aspiring actor stalk me. In India, guys do really weird things like stare at you with their friends behind bushes while you’re walking down the street. Or send recorded music on tapes to you through their middle man. It’s frightening and hilarious at the same time. So on this excursion, the look alike ended up finding me cycling on the road despite my inner hope that I would not come across this person.
And of course on a residential street I was not often on, I felt headbutted as he rode up unexpectedly next to me asking me what my name was. I wasn’t terrified but I was too scared to give my real name so I came up with ‘Seema,’ a common name. Any coincidence that Carrie’s new Indian friend on ‘And Just Like That’ right now is also Seema? Yes actually that is probably a coincidence. I was shocked by this guy riding up next to me with no warning and with lots of questions.
Needless to say, my family was not happy with me. My cousin was infuriated I took his bike and worried him and received angry talks from my aunt and mother on the phone. My grandmother was not happy but she was generous. Why oh why did I do that?! A teenager on the loose and in a country she doesn’t know that well. Blasphemous isn’t even the word.
Was it only the year before that I had failed a sex-ed test because I would do my math homework during class and not listen to the lectures? I didn’t care to know the technical definitions involving the nether regions. I just knew that I had to finish the math homework before it was due. Thankfully I got to retake the test and was shocked to learn of some things. Why is that we are only allowed to retake sex-ed tests? And of course there was dissatisfaction learning about Alexander the Great’s approach and my increasing fear of cactus plants. I couldn’t help but be aware on some level that I was a female, even if just thirteen. My Venetian brain wanted to test the limits, the authority, as a human and a female. She didn’t think twice about it, her hormones led her on.
And disturbing thoughts come up in the present day, 27 years later. Not all Venetian thoughts are necessarily beautiful especially since they are colored by the ‘constellations’ they transit. Equality takes on a different nature. Maybe a testicle should be taken out in exchange for an ovary? And also crushed in a lemon juicer so the pain felt is equal. Maybe this is what systemic equality should look like. I would like to know how many testicles are currently being taken out worldwide cause I assure you a hell of a lot more ovaries are taken out. Let us somehow harmonize this necessity.
I have shed a lot of tears these last couple months but still probably not as much as a true Cancerian heart would. The sheer anger and depression, and felt so physically, is enough to have wanted me to fucking kill something. But thankfully, my saving grace in life is some talent around art, around Venus. If I didn’t have this ability to process the gunk and grime in my psyche then I would be a drug addict. I have no judgment against drug addicts, I love them so much because they are me, I see that truly and they are also my mother, who had her hysterectomy years ago. My fond memory around that is sitting in the hospital cafeteria and basically having a Thanksgiving dinner. Boy was that delicious.
Related post: The Little Ovary That Could