At Sagittarius 7° Cupid Knocks At The Door Of A Human Heart, stirring up individual longings for romantic love. This oracle is aptly ruled by Libra in a twelve-fold sequence. Libra is ruled by Venus on the etheric astral plane (winged Cupid may signify winged thought, principles, abstracts) and indeed we are dealing here with an ideal love which is always, rather ironically, subjective, despite what might be perceived as an objectivity inherent in principles and ideals. Yes, we might collectively espouse certain beautiful ideas, such as harmony or democracy (both under the larger umbrella of “union” which is the centrifugal energy of Venus which rules Libra) or other such Venusian-Apollonian-Libran attributes; but when we are speaking about the individual heart, there is no consensus. Love is blind, as “seers” often are, in mythology, like Tierisias (who lived as both male and female) a prime archetype of Sagittarius which is third-eye beyond the duality of its so-called opposite sign of Gemini. I hope that wasn’t a lot to throw at you all at once. But Sagittarius is always hinged on looking “at life from both sides, now” and acting accordingly. The human heart, however is not an ordered thing.
Though the love that comes a knocking might be ideal, thus, a theoretical universal; the initiation will be as unique as any given individual. Unlike the cricket match in the previous symbol, we are not looking at some common goal or social value. The heart wants what it wants or, rather, given this image, the heart is stirred to want what it wants, without rhyme or reason. In a sense, all love is narcissistic, based on individual tastes and unconscious motivations. We love what complements each of us as lover. The “ideal” does not exist except in our projection. And why is love knocking not a mellow thing? It seems to breed some sort of emotional chaos. I think “stirring” is an understatement. To boot, nothing like falling in love to make you quit your cricket team. Too many of us chuck our boon companions and activities when love walks in the room. With a game of cricket there are many (ridiculous) rules; it makes quidditch look like dodge ball. (I can still feel the imprint of that bouncy red ball on my face, can you?) But in love, all rules are suspended—bets are off. The “intensity of feeling”, says Dane Rudhyar, is something “no group can arouse.” Apparently he’s never been to Provincetown.
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