I have a confession to make: I don’t hold a very high opinion of popular culture. I prefer the gritty dramas of HBO to reality television, independent films to big-budget action movies, and Charlie Rose to Oprah. I loathe shopping malls, chain restaurants, and Starbucks. I’ve never been on the Atkins diet and stubbornly resist self-help crazes.
My name is April, and I am an elitist snob.
In my defense, Virgo was prominent at the time of my birth. There’s often an air of exclusivity about Virgo’s passions, and a faint curling of the lip aimed toward anything embraced by the masses, be it monster truck shows, Britney Spears, or Olive Garden. Virgo is the sign of discrimination, of separating the wheat from the chaff, the great from the mediocre. At its best, Virgo is the keen-eyed editor who gives your manuscript the once- and twice-over, checks your facts, and helps you tighten your prose. But when it veers over to its shadow side, Virgo is like mean-spirited judge Simon Cowell of American Idol, who relishes pointing out the inadequacies of each contestant in as insulting a manner as possible.
Born with Mars, Pluto, and the Midheaven (the career point of the chart) in Virgo, it’s far too easy for me to connect with my inner American Idol judge – though the usual target of my sneering is myself! But Virgo’s opposite sign, Pisces, hardly makes an appearance in my natal horoscope, and the acceptance, oneness, and collective culture that it symbolizes are foreign territory to me. Whenever I’ve found myself drawn to anything that is celebrated by vast numbers of people, I’ve had the uncomfortable feeling that I’ve wandered off course and betrayed my true nature.
So it’s ironic that when I finally wrote a book after eighteen years as a professional astrologer, it was not a technical handbook geared toward the astrological cognoscenti. Rather, it’s a light volume about the astrology of marriage, based on the twelve signs of the zodiac and geared toward a general audience. That’s right: The masses.
I knew that in writing such a book I risked ruining any reputation I’d earned as a “serious” astrologer and would likely meet with everything from indifference to rebuke from my colleagues. “Sun Sign” astrology (based on the twelve signs of the zodiac), such as daily horoscopes in the newspaper, is widely reviled by professional astrologers as simplistic and misleading. I’ve often stood alongside that elitist mob, lobbing hand grenades at popular and wealthy Sun Sign columnists and authors from the sidelines. So I thought long and hard about it before taking this step into popular, mainstream astrology.
And to be honest, I’m still a little conflicted about the decision. The purist in me whispers that I sold out, that I let myself down by pandering to the masses. My inner Simon Cowell jeers at the gentle little book with the girly looking cover and breathless jacket copy.
But here’s another confession: Now that the book has been published, I’ve fallen a little bit in love with it. A few days ago I even celebrated my literary offspring with a party, which was attended by a few astrological colleagues but mostly by friends with little or no knowledge of astrology. The women, nearly every one, grabbed the book, cooed and exclaimed over its cuteness, cracked it open to read a page, couldn’t put it down. Even a few of the men pulled me aside and confided that they’d read the chapter about their own marriages and that “it was as though you’d bugged our house.” And you know what? After all those months – years, really – of preparation and writing, it felt good to get that reaction. I was happy to see my little baby so warmly received.
The next day, I found myself imagining that I had instead written the book my purist, Virgo side would have preferred – analytical, carefully footnoted, and sure to win the respect of my astrological colleagues. My friends still would have come to the party, celebrated with me, and applauded my achievement; but how many would have grabbed it and squealed, or bought copies to give as wedding gifts? How many would have remarked, as a friend’s mother did, that the book made her “want to learn more about astrology”? Maybe, I thought, it’s not so bad to create something that lots of people can enjoy.
This Wednesday’s lunar eclipse in Virgo marks the end of a two-year journey of eclipses in Virgo and Pisces, concluding a voyage of awakening to the themes of purification, healing, and ultimately acceptance. For two long years, we’ve walked the tightrope that uneasily tethers Pisces’ compassionate acceptance of things as they are, to Virgo’s discernment and desire to make things better. How, our Virgo selves wondered, can we celebrate a spirit of loving connection to others – the masses – without diminishing our high standards? To which our Pisces natures rejoined: How can we connect with others with a high level of craft and artistry without crushing ourselves – and others – under the weight of our own perfectionism?
The crisis period of eclipses in these signs now gives way to an important showdown building between Saturn in Virgo and Uranus in Pisces, culminating in an opposition between the two planets on October 26, November 4, and November 14. The whole world balances precariously between old forms and new. Collective consciousness seems to be straining to find the right balance of refinement, heart, wisdom, and good judgement.
Fittingly, I haven’t yet found that balance myself. For two years, I’ve observed my Pisces friends closely, trying to understand the elusive quality that fuels their warm-hearted popularity, generosity of spirit, and love of Desperate Housewives. I’ve battled the demons of my own judgements, snobbery, and unrealistic expectations. I’ve reached toward my elitist Virgo Midheaven, and instead produced a sweet little cupcake of a book that sprang from the soulful, collective longings of my Pisces fourth house, the house of home and nurturing, the primordial birthplace of everything else in the chart. And I’m left wondering: have I failed Virgo, or made friends with Pisces? Or something in between?
How about you?
© 2008 April Elliott Kent
