The Trouble Makers

Years ago, a person I used to be friends with once said “I don’t understand. Every Libra I know loves love,” in reference to my lack of enthusiasm for romantic relationships. Way back when, I too, found this confusing.

Every time I read descriptions of my sun sign, I’m bombarded with notions of needing romance and partnership that make my eyes roll out of my head. I’ve had crushes and partners, yes. But I’ve never liked the idea of sharing myself as much as I wanted a particular person. Once that person is no longer an option, I don’t want anyone — reverting to my peaceful solitary existence until the next exception pulls me out of my self and makes me crave them*.

This does not sound very Libran. Nor does my disregard for adornment. Do I like to look good? Yes. Do I want to exert anything beyond the minimal effort to do so? Fuck no.

But I can’t say I’m an anti-Libran. Even in my current misanthropic state, I’m personable. I place a high value on manners and consideration. Few things offend me more than anything I deem “tacky” (it’s a long list). And, please please talk to me nice. I have a thing about tone.

There are many quirks to my chart that can account for this “I’m a Libra, but” phenomenon. Today, I’ll zero in on one in particular:

I have a pair of very loud, unruly ladies driving my life: Venus and the Moon.

What the fuck does that mean, you ask?

Allow me demonstrate:

This is my chart. Say “Hi, Rob’s chart.”

We’re looking at four things: the two thick black lines that form a cross in the middle of the chart and the two red-circled symbols at the base of each line. Those lines are the angles of the chart. They are not bodies (like the planets), but points in the sky at the time of your birth. The point to the far left is the Ascendant. Also known as my homey the rising sign. It represents the exact moment you were born — your physical manifestation on the earth. It’s the most unabashedly you part of the chart: your appearance, your physical body, your outlook on the world, the mode with which you take action, and what motivates you.

Moving counter-clockwise, the next thick black line is the IC. It is the lowest point in the sky when you were born and it represents your roots, upbringing, family/place and of origin, and most importantly for what we’re discussing today, your home, private life, and the things you actively keep out of the public eye.

When a planet is in close proximity to an angle on your chart, its themes will have immediate effects on your life. In my case, I have Venus on my Ascendant (red circle on the far left) and the Moon on my IC (red circle in the bottom center). While the astro community is trying to get away from gendering planets, traditionally, Venus and the Moon represent feminine archetypes. Venus is frequently associated with art, beauty, and romantic love; the Moon is associated with our emotional lives, mothers, nurturing, and caretaking. So these “traditionally feminine” principles are loud in my life.

Here’s where it gets fun for me: I have both of these planets in fall, meaning they are in signs that make them extremely uncomfortable.

What might that look like?

I don’t know, a woman with Venus on her Ascendant who can’t wait to tell you how much she loathes makeup and treats romance like a hobby she sporadically dabbles in before returning to herself? Or a woman who has never felt compelled to motherhood, and in fact, doesn’t even have plants in her home because she doesn’t want the responsibility of caring for things?

I am overtly Venusian**. Even with close-cropped hair, no make-up, and wearing all black, my Venus announces herself with swaying hips, a bright smile, and an ability to put others at ease when I feel so moved. I’m vain, for sure. My Venus prefers moody, pared-down “I woke up like this” selfies in my utilitarian home over a dressed-up photo shoot. I live my life by the pleasure principle. It just so happens that pleasure is found in learning, crafting words, identifying beauty in the natural and mundane, and riveting conversation about music, art, philosophy, and ideas.

And my Moon? Well, she’s a bitch. But she’s a bitch that holds me down. She is a shrewd arbiter of my personal boundaries so I always have enough energy for myself and if she counts you as one of her people, she’ll encourage you to do the same. She says “no” — a lot and to whomever. When she says “yes,” consider it a blood oath. She’s a self-soother par excellence; a gritty survivor who has emerged from every dark night of my soul bloody, but unbowed.

Go ahead. Call her resilient — if you’re lucky enough to get an audience with her. She sits on a throne at the bottom of my chart and won’t see you a second before she’s good and goddamned ready.

These two planets are troublemakers. They don’t do what they’re supposed to and they refuse to shut the fuck up about it, no matter how much I ask them to pipe down because I don’t want to commit the cardinal sin of playing to the “not like the other girls” trope. You know, when women shit on femininity to get close to men?

Let me assure you, these chicks don’t give a single fuck about impressing men. They want me to be clear that they do this shit for themselves, thankyouverymuch.

(The “thankyouverymuch” came from Venus. My Moon says “go fuck yourself.”)


[*] That sounds real Persephone. Hades, where you at?

[**] Most of my traits that people consider “Libran” are more likely Venusian. Venus, after all, rules Libra.

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a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

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