Reframing Taurus: Respecting the Wisdom of the Body.

Does Taurus even need to be reframed?  I felt this preemptive question tickle up my spine as I sat down to write this piece. Behind it my own assumption that Taurus, of all the signs, is the least vexing, the least due for a paradigm shift or critical thought. Taurus hates a shift and has no appetite for a critical anything.  But it is this grasp for simplicity, a Taurus virtue, that has perhaps relegated this sign to the nosebleeds of my life, of all our lives. Taurus grasps for what is uncomplicated, and in our tortured existence, with all our striving and trying and therapizing—uncomplicated is a herculean feat. If you’ve ever sat down to meditate, you know this. Being silent and still is hard. Before you know it, a moment of stillness turns into a cacophony of thought. Isn’t claiming a little simplicity, a little peace, the most vexing of all? Almost antithetical to our increasingly frenetic human race? Taurus energy is what watches us all contort ourselves into this performance we call life, waiting for us to remember that a rose blooms without interference. That we all could bloom with a little less interference. Taurus is the part of you that remembers, however briefly, that you are not a human doing, but a human being.

Taurus is a fixed Earth sign, unmovable, reliable. Lunar cousins with Cancer, sharing the compulsion to take care and nurture. Where Cancer moves like bodies of water, Taurus is the Earth upon which those bodies stretch, bend, expand, dry up, and flood over. Taurus is what holds together, the structure that supports experience and emotion. Taurus takes the burst of life that is Aries and gives it shape, it settles ash into grass. The Moon is an exalted guest in Taurus, telling us that the emotional body is a body. That if you want to feel supported through your own experience and emotion, your own life, you need to listen to that body. Our bodies are finely tuned machines, flashing at us like dashboard indicators, relaying key information. And Taurus is the part of us that listens.

Taurus energy pulls us closer to ourselves—the gravity of what is gratifying. Comparing Taurus to the Earth is hardly novel—Earth in all its resolute roundness, the most there a thing can be. Earth is nothing without the nature that animates it and the animals that call it home. Earth is nothing without the persistence of life. Enters the word instinct, or how we fix ourselves to a set of patterns and behaviors that provide reward. In spiritual circles, it may be called intuition—or how we bypass the complications of conscious reasoning and land immediately on the answer. Don’t go down that dark alley. That low drone sounds like a lion, run. Break up with him, he’s cheating. These conclusions conclude themselves, no mental interference needed. The reward is a saved life, saved time, cutting through the B.S. Intuition is simple. Animal instinct is simple. We make following it hard. We are suspicious, chronically alert, in our heads, scheming ourselves out of the present moment.  We are trapped by our own intellect, our beliefs, our ego…what if-ing and romanticizing. We put distortions of the mind over Taurus matter, and then wonder why we feel so anxious all the time. Meanwhile, your body knew the answer the moment you posed the question. That is your animal instinct. Listen to it, and you’re in the realm of Taurus. Listen to it often, and you persist.

Here's an experiment. Where is your body right now and what is it doing? What is it wearing and what does it feel like? Chances are, these are strange questions. You’re here but you’re not really here are you? You’re thinking about what someone said yesterday or trying to sail a sea of tomorrows. Take a deep breath, feel your belly rise and recede, be here now. Any relief? Then you’ve experienced the wisdom of Taurus.

In meme Astrology, Taurus is boring, lazy and predictable. Other times, materialistic, stubborn and selfish. Taurus sleeps too much, eats too much, shops too much. But what if these behaviors, these Taurus instincts, represent an automatic and natural attunement to what one needs to survive? What if it’s not too much, but just that you have denied yourself? Taurus eats when it is hungry. Taurus sleeps when it is sleepy. Taurus masturbates when it is horny. Taurus replenishes when it is empty---whether lack of creature comfort, lack of support, lack of money, lack of calories, or lack of orgasms. Taurus keeps reserves, like squirrels that bury nuts to prepare for winter. Answering the call of this animal wisdom, what the body needs—that is not lazy or indulgent. It is wise. It fits you for survival. It soothes a life that is anything but. It positions you as well-rested and nourished, calm, and the squirrel as fed.  We deny ourselves, our bodies, our desires. We ignore calls to stop, to moderate and to slow down. We curtail, make excuses, ask for bottom shelf. Taurus doesn’t. Taurus understands that we are embodied, dense, married to the physical plane—so why not care for it? Why not demand exquisiteness from it? 

I always like to bring up Taurus in relation to Scorpio, the sign that smiles back at Taurus in the mirror, in that uncanny valley way that we think we catch our reflection blink when we didn’t. The Taurus-Scorpio axis is one of survival and security, the scorpion enacting sophisticated and finely evolved mechanisms to stay alive in the desert. Shrewd, calculating, alert. Compare this to the rich, open fields of the wild bull, or the green pastures of cows—there’s a lushness, a natural harmony with one’s environment. And that is the difference between Mars (ruler of Scorpio) and Venus—the difference between fighting and receiving. The entrance of peace after war. One person’s lazy and indulgent is another person’s desire to be catered to, to attract rather than procure, to save precious energy. It is receptivity made routine, because to Taurus, why strive when what you want can simply arrive? Is that lazy? Or efficient and wise? It takes a special kind of creature to wait on desire, to be given the thing, to experience it—and so enters persistence, tenacity, the ability to make millions out of a molehill. The Taurus reticence to divert or change doesn’t make it necessarily stubborn—but perhaps tuned into a result that others cannot see or fathom or dare work towards. Taurus is patient enough to see a thing through to its natural end.

I always bring in mythology to anchor the importance of any sign I reframe. Myths get straight to the essence of a sign. For Taurus, I choose Oshun, the orisha (goddess) of water, sensuality, beauty, fertility, and love in the Yoruba religion. She is the embodiment of Venus, ruler of Taurus. In one version of the myth, Oshun was the center figure in the creation of the world—savior of humanity, restorer of balance, bringer of sweet water and nourishment. Though, Oshun’s role wasn’t deemed worthy at first. Of the 17 deities sent to populate the Earth, Oshun was the only woman. In perfunctory patriarchal fashion, they diminished her importance, her gifts, and her contributions. So, she left. She did not try to convince them of her importance, and in classic Taurus fashion, sat unbothered, admiring herself in the mirror, knowing they would fail. And they did. Earth was barren, dry, devoid of lush and life. The male deities complained of their failure to the Supreme God, Olodumare, who noticed the glaring absence in their midst. Where was Oshun?  Without her nourishing waters, the world was bereft. Life couldn’t bloom. Realizing her importance, the gods welcomed Oshun back, and the world animated with life, bounty, and beauty. In the end, Oshun told them to never dare diminish her significance again. Boom.

Oshun parallels the critical ingredients that Taurus energy brings into the world. Oshun’s story also parallels the shaft Taurus often gets in comparison to other signs. And the societal buy into masculine behaviors as superior to feminine ones (energetically). Beyond memes of naps and snacks, Taurus represents that which makes life a feast of the senses, that which silences the soul in a world that has too much volume, that which takes its time in a world hurrying us to hurry up. That which dares to enjoy. Taurus represents what just makes sense, not in our brains, but in our bones.

You Are Not Doomed: Reframing the 8th House and 12th House

Upon first learning Astrology years ago, somewhat casually, I noticed that much of the narrative around the 8th and 12th houses was negative—they were dark and scary houses, destinations one mostly wants to rush through or avoid altogether. But my life experiences never seemed to match the depths of despair that these houses purportedly drag you into (at least, not yet). Dear reader, I am not here to subvert the nasties hanging out in these houses. I am not here to convince you that the 8th house can be fun or that the 12th house is a walk in the proverbial park. The 8th forms a square to the fun-loving 5th, and the 12th doesn’t even see it (aversion). As a Capricorn 8th house stellium owner, and a Taurus 12th house Moon dweller, I owe it to you and to myself to be down to Earth or realistic around the energies of these houses. And realistic is a great word—big blogs, accounts and Astrology websites have an incentive to reach the most people possible, which, for something as personal and subjective as Astrology, can cast a wide net that one may find themselves tangled within. And that can be okay—Astrology is the art of archetypes aka symbolism and motifs that are inherently quite general. But when those generalities, like with the 8th and 12th houses, skew towards negativity, a condition that the human mind historically has a complicated relationship with, it can pollute what can actually be productive. Negativity bias is the theory that humans tend to react more strongly to and dwell on negative stimuli even when neutral or positive things are present in equal or greater amount. So, when the first 4 pages of a Google search result for “8th house Venus” or a Twitter thread about the doom of a 12th house Sun lean primarily negative, it can be hard to undo that association. It can be hard to be realistic about the 8th and 12th houses when much of the PR around them is histrionic, sometimes performatively so.

(For some context, check out my article on the differences between the 8th and 12th houses.)

Houses are simply areas of life. Astrology is sophisticated in design, with each of the 12 houses corresponding in totality with what one experiences on this ride called life—relationships, work, pleasure, family, etc. Through aspect, the houses can inform one another as well, i.e., the trine from the 2nd house to the 6th house can connote money made through a job. Like with any other house, the 8th and the 12th houses come in to inform important parts of the human experience. There simply is no richly lived life without entering the domains of the 8th and 12th houses. They offer necessary pauses on our journey, necessary valleys upon which peaks can stand high, necessary breaks where the light comes in, necessary reflection that guides us forward. The 8th and 12th houses are domains of human intimacy—whether with the self, another, a creation, an emotion, or the timeless and shapeless wisdom of life that I call the Universe. Intimacy here means closeness, a familiarity. And while intimacy can stoke visions of cozying up with a loved one by the fireplace, in reality, intimacy is merely our proximity to things. The 8th and 12th houses offer an intimacy that acquaints us with our faults, our longings, our complexities. To be intimate with anyone, including ourselves, there is a necessary walk through and acceptance of all our ugly and tortured bits. That’s why when, for example, you share with a friend that you feel inadequate at your job, and they pull you in for a hug, the catharsis and soul affirmation is exponentially bigger in that moment than it would have been if you kept your feelings to yourself. There is a tenderness and an openness in these 8th house or 12th house encounters. They poke at our soul and remind us that we are alive, delicate, and divine. And the ability to remain pliable in a world that seeks to harden you is the very essence of human resilience.

The maligning of the 8th and 12th houses, or really, the misunderstanding of them, represents a common human folly—that pleasure and joy and contentedness and visibility are superior to depression and complexity and loss and isolation. But we all know the pedestrian maxim by now: sad times make the good times more…good. The joy you find in the 5th house, or the wisdom you accrue in the 9th house would remain hollow if not for the soul that informs it.

It is easier to deal with these houses when there are temporary transits activating them. But what if you’re like me, or I assume, you, and you have a natal vortex of energy in the 8th house or the 12th house or both? Are you doomed to a life of deep soul-searching and profound but exhausting encounters? First, thanks to savvy timing techniques, your natal 8th house and 12th house planets are not active for a lifetime. Like all things in life, there is a waning, waxing and the purgatory of plateaus. Sometimes planets are just there operating in the background while some other active planetary event kicks off. That’s why being realistic is an asset here—life simply is not 100% tragedy 100% of the time forever and ever amen. And even amid a negative experience, a simple cup of tea or call to your mom can insert some levity, for example. Doom is simply not a nuanced take. Life is mostly gray areas. So, peeling back the negative narratives and examining your life from a sobered and practical stance lessens the sting of 8th and 12th house fortunes. I used to try and fit MY life into the narrow and harrowing write-ups for the 8th and 12th houses instead of contemplating how they fit me, how they wear on MY skin and experience. Second, no one’s 8th or 12th houses are identical in manifestation. Archetypes are helpful at getting us in the ballpark, but the way the game is played is purely individual. Give yourself space to see how 8th house and 12th house things land for you. Hot take but the things that pop off in the 8th or 12th house can be benign sometimes, believe it or not. A lot of my 12th house Moon experience is just tweaking how I get the proper amount of rest. And a lot of my 8th house experience is just learning how to share. It’s still work, but not as daunting!

And third, a more spiritual stance: accept and learn and lean into the natal 8th and 12th house energies you possess instead of leaning away from them or hoping for a better outcome. Actively participate in your 8th and 12th house, get messy, play around in there. Do not neglect, as what you resist persists. At the end of the day, the planets in your 8th and 12th houses are parts of YOU, not some stranger. And like a machine, when one bolt or fastener is left to rust, the entire mechanism is threatened. Your fully embodied life is jeopardized when you avoid or detest or bemoan your 8th and 12th house planets. I believe every chart has a divine curriculum chosen by your soul. Avoiding the lessons or messages of the natal 8th and 12th house planets you have is a sure-fire way to flunk out and forever repeat the same courses. Life is gracious in that it graduates and changes as we graduate and change. You can do it, you can get complex, you can get deep and vulnerable, you can cry out to the Universe and hear nothing but your own echo—and still rise. You have incarnated here to do 8th house and 12th house things—and what a waste it would be if you let a blog bully you into fearing your own purpose, for which you came fully equipped.

Your 8th house and 12th house planets make you sensitive, soulful, a vessel through which life in all its unanswered questions, hardships and intricacies can pass through, examined. And the ability to look at a thing, however grotesque and difficult, to rise to the occasion of challenge, to pull life close again and again despite how many times it has hurt you or confused you is not something to fear. It is the muscle from which magic and meaning is made.

I want to end with an ancient parable that can help you think more critically whenever something in Astrology is framed as either good or bad:

There once was a man who lived on a farm with his son and his horse.

One day, the barn door was left open and the horse ran away. When the nearby villagers heard about it, they ran to the farm to tell the farmer how sorry they felt for him.

“How will you work your farm without your horse?” they asked.

The farmer simply shrugged and said “good, bad, who’s to say?”

A few days later, the farmer’s horse  , and following it were two more horses. The villagers were so excited for the farmer’s luck, they ran to his farm and told him so.

The farmer simply shrugged and said “good, bad, who’s to say?”

The new horses were not broken in, so the farmer’s son worked hard to break them in so they could be used on the farm. While doing so, one of the new horses threw him off and his leg was broken.

The villagers again ran to the farm and expressed their deep sadness about the son’s broken leg. “Now your son can’t help you on the farm,” they said with their heads hung low.

The farmer simply shrugged and said “good, bad, who’s to say?”

As the son was healing from his broken leg, a war broke out in the countryside. All the young men were sent to fight. Many died or were seriously injured. However, since the farmer’s son had a broken leg, he was not able to go. The villagers again came to the farm, to say to the farmer how very lucky he was that his son didn’t have to go fight in the war.

Once again, the farmer shrugged his shoulders and stated, “good, bad, who’s to say?”

(This parable teaches us to simply be a witness to life’s events.  The idea being that peace is found by observing the events of life and removing all judgement; by sitting back and witnessing without trying to attach labels, and avoiding life’s dramas.)

Thanks for reading.

Reframing Aquarius: How the Cool and Detached Offer Us Love

I want to disclaim, before you jump in, that Love in this write-up and in my opinion, is not a feat of romantic heroism or distilled in ambiguous twin-flame theory. It is not a Drew Barrymore rom-com or an episode of The Bachelor. The Love I speak of here transcends the human trappings of performance, expectation, and desperation. The Love I speak of here, the Aquarius Love, is dispassionate, impersonal, and vastly encompassing. It is a validation of humanity, in all its forms. It is the simple act of non-judgement and fundamental acceptance, that allows the human spirit space to breathe and be. That is my Love.

I want to disclaim, also, that this write-up is about the archetype of Aquarius, what exists in the ether independent of human form. I write from my personal brand of Mercury conjunct Neptune magic. Therefore, this is not necessarily about your Aquarius Sun mother, or your Aquarius Venus crush, or about historical figures of Aquarian nature and lore. It is about energy. What human beings do with that energy sprouts a myriad of potential. Below is one of those potentials.

Like Capricorn and Christmas, Aquarius and Valentine’s Day seem to be fundamentally at odds. Where the serious Saturn-ruled earth sign seems incongruous to merrymaking, so does the Saturn-ruled air sign seem an out-of-place home for one of the more romantic days of the year. If pop Astrology had its way, Aquarius would remain inextricably associated with stereotypes of distance and detachment. While those descriptors are certainly relevant, they are not the end of the story.  You may find Taurus or Libra more fitting for Valentine’s Day, where the planet of love and romance is home. Or Pisces, where the planet of love and romance is exalted. Perhaps even Leo, where bouquets of red and pink balloons and Leo-ruled heart-shaped boxes of candy proudly boast and roar: love!  But in removing the superficial layers that surround the misunderstood Aquarius, we can come to understand why Cupid’s foray through this cerebral sign is no accident, and rather points us towards a more fitting, yet shocking, conclusion: that the Aquarius love is deep and endless, that the Aquarian heart throbs with an alien passion. If this shocks you, good. Aquarius can enjoy a revolution, a subversion, a brain-fuck. And so may this revolution set Aquarius free from misinformation, and set ablaze a different way of thinking. If you choose to want to think it, that is—Aquarius doesn’t care!

Where Taurus makes love physical, Libra makes love delightful and Pisces makes love dreamy or transcendent—Aquarius makes love ideal. In any working definition of the word romance, “idealized love” makes a literal or alluded appearance. It could be said, then, that from Aquarius, the idea of love is born, even if not practiced. And from ideas, all things sprout. This isn’t altogether odd. Aquarius deals with intellect and logic. And ruled by Saturn, striving towards lasting standards of excellence and fairness, signposts of anything ideal, lines up with what we know about the archetype. In potentializing love to an ideal place, the Aquarius Love comes with a bigger heart and bigger mission. As a human sign, Aquarius is not particular about love— who deserves it, who is giving it, why it went away, when it’ll come, how it looks, etc. With the power of scope and objectivity, Aquarius Love transcends physical limitations and instead becomes a universal concept under which all of humankind can shelter. And what could be more loving than the unrelenting acceptance Aquarius offers? And so where things aren’t sensual or material or comfortable enough for Taurus, where things aren’t refined or classic enough for Libra, or magical and hypnotizing enough for Pisces—Aquarius asks no price of admission, for love to them remains priceless, a public good to be doled out and shared not on pretense, but on brotherhood. It is Aquarius’s diligent eye on humankind and fraternity that expands the concept of love: come one, come all, and come as you are.

Saint Valentine of Rome, whose written account has come to serve as an historical template for the inception of Valentine’s Day, acted out these Aquarian ideals. He performed weddings for those forbidden to marry and when sent to jail, healed his jailer’s daughter of blindness. Afterwards and right before he was due to be executed, he sent a letter to the jailer’s daughter, and signed it, your Valentine. Saint Valentine of Rome was also said to give out paper hearts while ministering to people about God’s love (an impersonal Aquarius resonance, equality under an all-seeing eye), and a direct line can be drawn from this action to the Valentine’s Day decorations we see today. In this brief recounting, we meet two Aquarian archetypes, the former more recognizable than the latter: rebellion and compassion. A human thing to do despite the laws of the time, Saint Valentine, though perhaps not an Aquarius himself, extolled all of the best, yet often ignored tenets of the sign—the push towards equality, that all deserve to have their love legitimized and recognized, endless openness to the human condition, and the Love with a capital L that drives one to such measures. Questionable religious ideology aside, Valentine lived and died on one principal: that love, in all its myriad of incarnated forms, in all of its ceremonials, is for all. That the Sun was travailing through Aquarius as the framework for our modern conception of Valentine’s Day was underway can be no coincidence. All of Astrology bears correspondence to human events, even if they remain obscured or misunderstood for a time.

In Ancient Greece, Aquarius season coincided with Gamelion, the month of marriage. Two festivals occurred then, roughly translated to Sacred Wedding and Divine Wedding. These festivals celebrated the union of Zeus and Hera. In Roman texts, Hera was known as Juno, the goddess of marriage. If Juno sounds familiar, it is because an asteroid was named after her and has come to represent what is looked for in marriage and commitment. Modern natal chart calculators can show where Juno is in the sky for an individual, and can points towards the characteristics of a most suitable long-term partner. So what is it about Aquarius that corresponds to this cultivation of lasting love and marriage? Look to the element and modality: fixed air. Like any fixed sign, Aquarius holds on tight and when best expressed can exalt the virtues of fidelity. Of course, any ideal marriage or partnership needs this brand of loyalty and perseverance. Though much is said about the Aquarius need for space, even the Aquarius need for isolation, it cannot be overlooked that when in intimate partnership, Aquarius is one of the more steadfast partners, seeking not for frivolous union, but for deep connection. But the elemental nature of Aquarius sets it apart from the rest of the fixed family. It can be said that inherent to Aquarius symbolism are two life-sustaining elements: air, and water, as Aquarius is the water-bearer, often mistaken by novices as a water sign. Let me poetically pontificate: no living being can do without air or water. And so the Aquarian love is life-sustaining, from which all bounty and blessings grow, from which all beings benefit. It is the grandeur of this concept that gives Aquarius its aloof quality—their Love is so universal and welcoming that to the casual observer, it appears impersonal. But it is precisely the scope of Aquarius Love that makes it so palpable, an equally matched breadth and depth. Where fixed Taurus can become materialistic, fixed Leo can become self-aggrandizing, and fixed Scorpio can brood and become paranoid, no more fixed is Aquarius than the air it represents: ubiquitous, self-sustaining, stretched over distance yet deeply intimate, as oxygen and the connectivity of breath is shared by all. Co-dependency has long reigned as a romantic model of love, clinginess and self-dissolution perversely used as measures of affection. Psychology has now caught up and identified this proclivity as self-sabotaging and maladaptive. The Aquarius model of live and let live in relationship can appear threatening to the osmosis some wish to experience, or expect to experience. But it offers us a great chance at healthy love—as when air is squelched out of the equation, breathing becomes labored, and the life of the relationship is threatened. When inserted in mutually consented amounts, air allows for space, wherein two individuals (or more, *wink*) can fully stretch out into their identity, their lived experience, always feeling supported, but never entrapped. That is what Aquarius can offer—a Love given the air to float, fly, and flex.

In a sense, and as alluded to above, Aquarius love can be cerebral. But all things start first with thought. The belief of a thing creates the experience of a thing. So for Aquarius to hold you in their minds with love and affection is to tap into a potent creative energy, one that serves as the basis for all emotion and action. And because these ideas are fixed, good luck changing the Aquarian mind. Once loved, always loved. For Aquarius, the idea of love for a person, up close or from afar, is to render that love timeless and shapeless, graduated out the physical dimensions of gift-giving, face-time and attention, and into an ethereal experience. Aquarius is associated with personal freedom and independence. Aquarius gives Love the freedom to expand, to individuate, untethered by expectation or precedent.

Aquarius is traditionally ruled by Saturn. There is, then, a resonance with Aquarius and Saturn’s sign of exaltation—Libra. They trine one another, and share a common Saturnian DNA. Libra, in some ways, is the sign of marriage, one-on-one partnership, diplomacy, and fairness. Therefore, there is an invisible but what I find a personally noteworthy through-line and resonance connecting the idea of peaceful partnership to the Aquarius archetype. With this link, Saturn, and by virtue, Aquarius, can delight when relationships become stable and enduring, planting fertile ground for love to blossom perennially, even after the cold and dry winters.

In sum, I invite you to reconsider what you’ve heard about Aquarius. Leave room for the wondrous ways in which this sign offers us love, and hold space for a history that can corroborate it symbolically. Remember that as the water bearer, Aquarius has within it wells of untapped emotional capacity. Only, unlike any other sign, Aquarius shoulders these emotional conditions with impenetrable strength and understanding, turning them into nutrient, tilling human soil, watering it with compassion. In this alchemical process, all human experience, the sordid and splendid, meet their highest resolution in the arms of Aquarius. It is this level of belonging, of feeling seen and heard, that allows unbridled love to flow. It could be that the Aquarius tendency for distance and austerity is merely erected as a means of protection. That the love they feel for others must somehow be contained behind a wall, less it completely overwhelm them, less their waters drown the world. But do not be mistaken—beyond the ideas of coldness and detachment lies a soft, loving center. A sweetness disguised, but always alive.

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

-William Shakespeare

The Astrology of Weight Loss ft. Adele

This post has nothing to do with my opinions on her weight loss, or her weight at all. No value judgments. Just objective observations ft. astrology.

1. Some predispositions for indulgence/weight issues for Adele: Sun conj Jupiter in Taurus (Lizzo has this as well, and so does food-loving comedian Jim Gaffigan), and Moon in Sag. Much is said of the Taurus appetite, but Jupiter is the planet of true indulgence, going overboard, etc. Now put all that in Taurus... Her Moon in Sag (Jupiter again) is also in her 6th house of diet. Her 2nd house (which rules over material possession and sustenance i.e. food) is Leo, ruled over by this Sun. So there is a theme of using food to feel secure, deriving confidence from 2nd house themes. Jupiter/Sun also opposes Pluto, so eating for a sense of control.

2. Adele started her weight loss journey during her Saturn Return, as all big changes tend to happen during this period! Her natal chart, rated B (so more than likely reliable), has her Saturn in Cap in the 7th sitting in a direct opposition to her ASC in Cancer. So anything that happens to Saturn invariably affects her appearance as well. Adele also celebrated a divorce during this period, freeing her up to work on herself. Saturn is the planet of restriction, and its transits have a lot to do with weight loss. Thin and grim planet.

3. Adele was in a 6th house profection year when she started her weight loss journey, finished a 7th and 8th house year, and is now in a 9th house year, having celebrated her 32nd bday a few days ago. The 6th house year is where we can establish new health routines. Her ruler of the 6th, Jupiter conj. her Sun, and her Moon, in Sag, were all planets at play. The Moon being comfort, Sun being identity, and Jupiter being excess--perhaps Adele had a realization about her health and weight and her relationship to food. The Sun in the mix, very visible in the 11th, means, of course, opinions from the public at large about her. Her weight loss is very much an identity overhaul, for better and worse.

Everyone undergoing their Saturn Return experiences a 6th house year. That is why Saturn Returns often become about getting better, healthier, and establishing productive habits. That is why Saturn Returns are also often about responsibility and duty--themes of the 6th. Planets and rulers of the 6th very by chart, as do the flavors of the SR.

3 cont'd) Adele's 7th house year was a compounding activation of Saturn. She was in her SR, in a Capricorn 7th year, with Saturn in Capricorn. With Mars in Aquarius, Mars was also activated because Saturn rules Aquarius. Mars adds in the willpower component,. It also trines her Venus, so the pursuits of Mars aid in feeling beautiful for her. And then when she entered her 8th house year, Mars was activated again, ruling over her 5th house Scorpio (remember her Pluto Jupe opposition above), and her 10th house Aries. Her 8th house year, 2019, is when she would show off her results, posting sporadically to Instagram. That's a 10th house activation. Maybe the 5th house activation is that she was always photographed at parties, at the beach, and just having hella fun.

4) Adele has Venus in Gemini opposite her Moon in Sag. That's kind of an obvious indicator that her relationship to food and her sense of beauty and esteem are always at odds. She's stated that she's felt very insecure about her weight. Venus in the 12th can also be why her love life is often very private, but also why she chose to undergo this transformation privately. Some celebrities opt for the all-in show n tell approach.

5) She lost weight with the Sirtfood Diet. This is just so hilarious to me. This diet allows red wine, dark chocolate, olive oil, and other very rich foods. DO NOT TAKE AWAY WINE AND CHOCOLATE FROM A TAURUS!!! These are all foods that contain the protein sirtuin. Sirtuins work on the body's inflammation response (Jupiter Venus tings). Its reportedly "inspired by nature" and also includes foods such as kale, walnuts, barely, coffee--aka things that grow from earth. Very Taurus.

6) The Nodes. The North Node in Cancer was transiting her 1st house, while the SN in Capricorn was transiting her 7th. The clear manifestation of this was her divorce. But NN playing in the 1st is a growing sense of confidence. The Cancer seeps in with care and nurturing of yourself, which can be done through food and activity and health, but also an intangible self-love. Cancer is also a vulnerable place, so her posting pictures of herself was an act of bravery, especially for a celebrity. Putting more emphasis on who you are as in individual versus who you are in a relationship. SN in Capricorn for her could also mean retreat from public life, as Capricorn can be where we accomplish and do business things.

All the best to her xx