Poets, Mavericks & Prophets

Upon my first Saturn return, aged twenty-nine, I changed everything about my life. Or, rather, everything in my life suddenly changed. Environments, relationships, contexts, contents. Where the agency of all this change rests, exactly, I still do not know, as the path I was on wouldn’t have been the one I would have consciously chosen for myself. Subconsciously, however, I think the general upheaval had to do with my overwhelming desire to witness who I am, without everything external which I believed thus far defined and hence calcified my life. This burning impulse was further outrageously enflamed by the auguries of collective circumstance.

The following few years saw me come to a blunt yet very intimate realisation that any being, human or non-human, cannot be defined without a context, that we are reflections of our environments — whether we want to accept that, or not. It became clear that there was no escaping the external markers of my selfhood, and that a negotiation of how that comes across was always at play. Who we are also adapts to who someone else is, by the nature of social necessity — or by bond of emotion. We cannot escape being marked by our environments, dented, absorbed, transformed, impoverished or enriched, accepted or cast out. This, in turn, absolutely outlines who we are, in each moment in time, a quality that shifts as we change environments and relationships — or as the environments and relationships, themselves, change. And that was a tough lesson to learn. That we are never just ourselves, always someone in relation to another, or to a place, and even — to a time.

Especially, to a time.

What we term our individuality is a collage, and if there is an essence to us (and I believe there is) — a unique floral note, of sorts, it is as rare to encounter as a Blue Moon at noon (although not, strictly, impossible).

Aiming, for a prolonged period of time, and on a daily basis, to escape the confines of a what I viewed as geographical destiny, to be allowed to just be (as well as survive), I found myself even more a subject to this fatum, no matter that I was in complete discrepancy with the frame I had been assigned with simply by the happenstance of my heritage. One, which, at various points in my life, had nothing to do with the lands I was raised in, which left as strong an imprint on me as my place of birth. Even though I had an international childhood (and a cosmopolitan mindset), it was my nationality, my country of origin, which bound my life to a collective trajectory, one that was then in an accelerated free fall. I was, consequently, also in free fall. So were millions. This impacted all other structural definitions of our selfhoods in relation to our group — marriages, friendships, romances, careers, one’s social status. In many cases, as is my own, it re-routed us, permanently changing places where we would live.

Saturn, in astrology, symbolises many things — structure, time, responsibilities, boundaries, form, confinement, rules, ancestry — but what I am most in awe of, as I come from a place that had so infamously self-destructed — is its rulership of remains (not so much ashes, more graveyards, junkyards, ruins), and therefore, the selection of that which endures — our cultural heritage. The final say in what becomes of a society once enough time has passed. What stays, and what collapses. And why we, as humans, are an intrinsic part of its steely design, the proverbial brick in its walls, one element more (or less) to add or subtract, in order to construct or dismantle a society. Saturn is the consummate master builder. It has its blueprints, its rules, its tempo. It cares not of the wildness in our hearts. It treats us as its erratic materials.

There are societies that are entirely geared towards preservation — and then, there are ones that harbour within an impulse to implode. In places like my own ex country, Yugoslavia (RIP), the seed of its demise must have come from its Jupiterian largesse (a South-Slavic union) and its socialist ideological glue, shades of the Aquarian side of Saturn, the one that holds together by the power of moral construct, rather than Capricornian construction.

The Western Balkans, however, seem to be a perpetually Mars-fueled region. Warrior-orientated and quick-tempered, it never housed a structure it did not wish to tear down. Perhaps the centuries of being under constant occupation, devoured by neighbouring empires, had taken their toll. Maybe it had always been a natural fault line, a place in-between, a crossroads of cultures and mores — liminal, tribal, potent, mixing and separating, shredding its inhabitants to their cores — catapulting them, as shards, across the globe, while enveloping within, in eternal remembrance, the DNA of a cataclysm.

And wherever humans land, we become, metaphorically, Saturn’s re-cycled materials, part of a new structure which we are obliged to adhere to, to reflect, and absorb, or else be discarded, left out — ostracised and marginalised (another Saturnian theme). But, we bring the remains of the material we are made of to the quality of the new storyline we are part of. If we are lucky, alchemy ensues.

It is this inevitability of being a part of something larger that oneself, either as an element — or a discarded fragment, that is the often painful reality everyone in the world deals with, no matter their heritage, or the independence from geographical destiny (gained). Whether it be love bonds, family bonds, cultural bonds, national bonds, ideological bonds, or bonds of identity, it’s the binding that is the aim, it is what holds structures together, and that, in principle, is why Saturn is such a malefic influence on singular humans.

Individually, it could not care less about us. Collectively, it’s where its entire stakes are.

If one wants to approach Saturn in one’s chart, I found that it is always the place where we feel at the mercy of a plan that is decidedly not our own. How we fit in, is how we get along. Some are so much better at that than others. Some positively relish in it, and would have it no other way. The more rebellious or eccentric ones find themselves quickly taken down in a Saturnian environment. Saturn is a counterbalance to our Solar yearnings. It is, in a way, an anti-Sun. Some say, it once was the Sun. Allegorically, this makes sense. Its disdain towards the individual’s need to shine looks to be, quite frequently, decidedly jealous and vindictive. And, at the same time, its underlying impulse is transcending the phase of compulsion towards the Self. From this vantage point, it is a far cooler cucumber than the rest of the planetary crowd gathering below the Solar rays.

It is Saturn’s glue which holds all our personal histories together, constructing a pattern known only to Saturn. It is patriarchal, but also matriarchal — in fact, it is hierarchy, itself.

It was in this latter parallel I found the key to finding a less difficult and rigid way of approaching this relentless force grinding us all down, within my own life. A hack, for a planet that hates hacks, or better — a smoother road, especially for someone as un-Saturnine, as myself, yet with Saturn culminating in my natal.

Societies have shapes, it is the structures that give them shape, and we are the building blocks of society, chiselled and sculpted according to this grand-scaled design. As living things, this is an exceptionally painful experience. When I think of Saturn as the cruel lord it so often is, the archon extraordinaire, I envision it conveniently forgetting that what it is building needs to be and remain a structure supporting a living universe.

Otherwise Saturn is not building a society — rather, it is en-tombing it.

But, if I envision Saturn as a wise grandfather of the Solar system, strict but fair, patriarchal, yet also deeply kind, it never loses the awareness of the aliveness of the materials he is constructing with. Even more so, when I think of Saturn as a feminine presence, a grandmother, an ur-mother, forming civilisations in her ancient womb, being responsible for their right birth, nurturing them, discipling them, directing them, I can understand why form is of such importance to Saturn’s realms, why this discernment must be maintained, and why it is important to learn how to adapt to its dictates.

Saturn is exalted in the Venusian sign of Libra, the Scales. It has a love of quality, balance, composition, and strangely — of beauty. Because, without it, there would be no civilisations to revere.

Here, I have a sneaking suspicion, is where Saturn’s soft spot for wilderness lies. Where it is safe to approach it. And ask for some clemency for one’s most heartfelt beautiful desires.

However, use this awareness only when necessary, and even then, tempered with caution.

AUTHOR: ©Milana Vujkov

*Prompted by Mountain Astrologer’s Facebook post, Frank C Clifford’s question regarding the lessons of our first Saturn return — and my own surprise at what came up in my answer.