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Venus
suggests flowing robes, laughter like music, and a sensuous
ease with life. She's feminine receptivity, beauty and grace,
unless you're talking to an astrologer, for whom Venus the
planet is primarily a symbol of love and money. But are these
associations accurate? What is our real experience of the
Venus archetype? And how does this correlate with her position
in our charts? This wondering inspired a two-year research
project (see part one of "Venus Revisited" last
issue), in which I compared Venus placements of 426 individuals
against their responses to an in-depth questionnaire probing
into all facets of the Venus experience-love, relationship,
aesthetic tastes, creativity, finances, sex, sorrows, and
happiness. In survey after survey, it was apparent that along
with the harmonious, loving and sensuous Venus, there was
another one, who was edgier, more conflicted, even divisive.
It is this other Venus, as in the old Flip Wilson joke, "The
devil made me do it," who inspires our more questionable
choices, ones that evoke pain and confusion, even as they
irrevocably alter our lives. She is the darker angel of our
nature, full of desire, craving excitement over peace, urging
us to fling ourselves off the precipice of the status quo.
If this other Venus were a romance novel heroine, her story
might begin with the following paragraph (written by a 5th
house Venus in Pisces):
 Something
indescribable has taken over her senses. With pain running
deep in her heart, the warmth from the hearth is inappropriate-too
warm and cozy. Outside the howling wind churns the ocean waves
from a soft waltz to a passionate aggressive tango. The urge
to be violently caressed by the wind overtakes her. She grabs
her thickest shawl and heads for the edge of the cliff, where
the wind is at full intensity. The waves are reaching for
her, spraying her face with salt water. The wind tugs at her
clothing and hair-in turmoil-just like her heart. Still, there
is so much beauty to be seen, even now.
Astrologers don't need to search among the asteroids or at
the far reaches of the solar system to locate this more tumultuous
goddess. As feminine receptivity, Venus signifies our capacity
to open to life. This brings delight, but also vulnerability,
penetration and pain, and even that, by Venus standards can
be beautiful. The goddess who craves pleasure and passion
loves variety and intensity, which can be exhilarating. It's
also disruptive, inspiring choices that shame or humiliate
us, sending us to lovers who aren't good for us, into orgies
of consumption we later regret, stimulating jealousy, inadequacy,
and fear of loss. As an archetype, Venus maps our route to
happiness. But she refuses to take only safe, well-lit roads.
By her very nature, she keeps turning us into the dark.
Ancient
sky-watching cultures understood this, observing her cycle
with a mixture of reverence, awe, and fear. Being our closest
and brightest star, her influence was undeniable. To the Mayans,
Sumerians, Babylonians, and many indigenous cultures, her
cycle demonstrated shamanic initiation and change, as she
transformed from morning star to evening star and back again,
disappearing into the underworld in between.1 The modern view
of Venus as promising constant joy reveals our disconnection
from the sky's demonstration of process.
The
two most frequent complaints people make about their Venus
is that she hasn't brought them everlasting love or piles
of money. But these are astrologer promises. I've never read
a Venus/Aphrodite myth that shows the goddess counting piles
of money or declaring her fidelity to one true love. She is
sexy and creative, also clever, curious, and promiscuous.
When we want only "happy Venus," we tend to re-enact
Pandora's myth. As Hesiod tells it, Pandora was the first
woman. She was commissioned by Zeus as a punishment for Prometheus'
thievery. Shaped by Hephaestus from water and earth, and blessed
with gifts from every deity, including desire and grace from
Aphrodite, Pandora arrived with a jar she'd been told not
to open. Curiosity got the better of her and she peered under
the lid, letting all the evils of the world pour out. We may
get a similar surprise, when we expect to steal only goodies
from Venus. We inevitably release her shadow.
 The
misogyny in Hesiod's tale is unmistakable. Feminists see it
as one more parry in the patriarchy's war against the feminine.
Hesiod likely revised an earlier goddess myth, in which the
first woman arrived bearing a jar that held not evil, but
the feminine mysteries, powers associated with intuition,
dream, and prophecy, as well as the unconscious and the fertile
unknown. Early fertility goddesses were the matrix from which
all life sprang. But in patriarchal pantheons, they were stripped
of their fullness and splintered into multiple goddesses with
lesser powers. To understand how Venus operates in our charts,
we must reconnect her to her matriarchal lineage. We must
see her as a force of nature. She's a scented flower enticing
lovers and bees-also an earthquake or hurricane. She's not
always safe. Her fertility can inspire artistic creativity,
a sexual union producing a child, or an experience that shocks
and forces us to grow. As feminine receptivity, Venus takes
us to our edge, the brink of growth; the pain she brings is
generative. As psychologist and author Ginette Paris writes,
Aphrodite "…is not just a source of joy, but a path
of inner knowledge."2 In other words, she
brings more than love and money. She immerses us in life.
Technical
Interlude
Which dark roads a person's Venus might travel can be suggested
by her sign or house. But the most articulate placements are
often the aspects to Venus-the conjunctions, squares, oppositions,
trines and sextiles from other planets. I'll share some quotes
and stories, but first I must confess my method. If you have
little concern for technical precision, skip ahead. I've always
been persnickety about tight orbs, having been trained by
my teacher to dial charts down into minor aspects, harmonics,
and midpoints. Most days I even sniff in disapproval at the
"alphabet" system that draws equivalents between
signs, houses, and planets.3 I started my Venus
research with elaborate worksheets to calibrate each chart's
technical features. This would have been fine if I'd gotten
the 30-50 participants I'd expected, but with 426, it became
overwhelming. I had no choice but to shift toward intuitive
techniques (which of course are more Venusian).
Working
intuitively means listening. I read respondent questionnaires
and listened for patterns, then observed how the words did
or didn't match the charts. I gathered all the Sagittarian
Venuses, or the 8th house Venus group, and listened for similarities
among them. Important too was what people didn't say. Indeed
more than one astrology chestnut dissolved this way. One of
the first to go was "jealousy is a Venus Scorpio affliction"
(or an 8th house/Pluto influence). When over half my respondents
admitted to problems with jealousy, it confirmed this was
a generic Venusian trait; it's not only silly, but inaccurate
to limit it to just one sign. Most exciting was hearing that
there were indeed similarities that bound each Venus group
and made them different from the others. The Venuses in Aquarius
related similar aspirations for love, unlike what the Venuses
in Cancer shared. Even after twenty years of practicing astrology,
I'm always thrilled and a little surprised that astrology
works!
Yet
reading the questionnaires also brought significant moments
of confusion, when I would hear the unmistakable note of a
planet that was not connected to the Venus  tree.
A Venus conjunct Mars would complain more than once of despair
or low self esteem and I'd expect to see Saturn waving his
gloomy hand over Venus or Mars, but it wasn't there. Even
though my questions were focused on Venus matters, there was
nothing to prevent the Sun or Moon or anything else from responding.
And sometimes that's where the Saturn aspect would be hiding.
But anything important in a chart is said at least three times.
As I raised my eyes and brought them into softer focus, a
whole new network of Venusian relationships came into view.
Often enough, a planet would influence Venus through an aspect
whose orb was just over ten degrees or even wider.
Sometimes
an outer planet whose only connection with Venus was occupying
the same sign, twenty degrees away, would still figure in
that person's Venus story. These wide and sloppy aspects often
spoke louder than the tight minor ones, like quintiles or
biquintiles with a one degree orb.
I've
met astrologers who interpret aspects by sign rather than
orb (as in reading any Taurus planet in square to any Aquarius
planet, no matter their degrees). This practice used to make
me roll my eyes. I did not expect that studying so many charts
in this focused way would relax my astrological precision,
but it has. Perhaps it's just the technician's fantasy that
gods stay within discrete numerical boundaries. Real lives
are messy. Archetypal edges mix and blur. I'm now more comfortable
with the alphabet system. I've seen how vigorously it works.
A 9th house Venus can indeed be like a Venus in Sagittarius
or in aspect to Jupiter. I've also found that the particular
nature of an aspect-whether it's a square, trine, or sesquiquadrate-can
have less significance than is usually given it. In real life
experience, a square may not be so different from an inconjunct.
What matters is that the planets are connected. Among respondents
whose Venus aspected the Moon, I heard similar themes, whether
the planets were bound by conjunction, trine, or opposition.
How well the planets worked seemed more to do with a person's
background and willingness to grow-a mystery which often trumps
the math.
****
I've
had sensual desires even before knowing what sex was. When
I was only four, my mother took me to the beach. Once she
was settled she noticed that my attention had gone to an
incredibly handsome man who was sunbathing close to us.
I suddenly got up and walked straight to this
man, kneeled beside him, stroked him gently from his upper
thigh to his knee and said, "Hmmm, you smell like a
man." My mother was horrified. I've always had boys
on my mind, but funnily enough "sex" scared me.
I was a virgin until the age of 19. … My relationships
have been a disaster. As I have been on my own since the
age of 16, I think I have confused love and security, settling
for second best because I did not feel I could do better.
… I feel very self-conscious about my body, not keen
on being naked. I don't want to feel shame, but I do; however,
when aroused and during sex, this disappears. I no longer
fear not being perfect. My inner goddess takes over and
it feels wonderful to be unclothed. (Venus square the Moon)
The dark side of the Moon/Venus aspect goes all the way back
to Mount Olympus, where the divided Feminine began quarrelling
with itself. Competition between Hera, queen of heaven, and
sex goddess Aphrodite sparked not only the Trojan War, but
an unconscious friction between nurture and sex, or the security
of relationships and their lusty pleasure. We can understand
a mother's horror at her daughter's early sexual awakening,
but the reaction may inspire a child to turn against herself,
feeling guilty for sexual feelings or learning to compromise
desire for safe commitments. Many with this aspect battle
against their bodies: "It's not perfect," "It's
disgusting," or "It reminds me of my mother's."
They tell stories of feeling criticized by their mother or
embarrassed by their mother's own flirtatiousness. They are
on the front lines of what is a larger cultural dilemma, where
the divided feminine flares as eating disorders, the inability
of women to share power with other women, or men confusing
wives with mothers who they must sneak out on with their mistresses.
 Many
with Moon/Venus feel a sweet connection with their mothers,
even if the relationship is sometimes fractious. A positive
feminine influence-a mother, aunt, or grandmother who's able
to contain both Hera and Aphrodite with ease-can help to give
this aspect a beautiful expression: confident, creative, sensitive,
sensuous, and nurturing. The soul assignment of Venus/Moon
is to reunite the Feminine into its original fullness. Loving
the body and reclaiming its sacredness can be a significant
step toward integrating these two feminine potencies. This
was an important discovery for one Moon/Venus square in my
study:
I
learned a valuable lesson while on a summer vacation in
Brazil when I was 17. In Rio they walk practically naked
on the streets. Men wear those tiny Speedo bathing suits
and women of all shapes, ages, and sizes wear bikinis or
2-piece tangas, and no one takes a second look at them.
They feel so free with their bodies. I reflected on that.
After the initial shock, something clicked inside about
the beauty of the human body and the different shapes it
takes. If someone else doesn't like it, he or she can just
look the other way.
Venus
awakens in the body naturally, sometimes before the culturally
accepted age, but when she's in aspect to Pluto, there may
be an unwanted initiation. It would be irresponsible and incorrect
to say that every Venus/Pluto connection indicates sexual
abuse. Yet much like Pluto abducting Persephone into the underworld,
there may be a premature and unwanted awareness of sex, too
big for innocence to fully process. This is another aspect
that can carry shame with the body, or a sense of being damaged
in some way. With Venus/Pluto, it's almost as if a layer of
protection is missing, intensifying the vulnerability and
raising the voltage of emotions. There is great strength with
this aspect, but initially its sensitivity can inspire extremes
of either shutting Venus down or throwing her to the wolves.
What
did I learn about love before I was five? That I was unlovable,
unwanted. Somehow sex was tangled up with that, but I don't
fully understand how. I was
sexually abused at nine, but I just know it wasn't the first
time and I have strange fragments of memories. I learned
that sex could buy me an illusion of love. Love is still
very difficult to trust even after years of therapy. Once,
despite my better judgment, I got involved with a chilling
man (intensely possessive and very dishonest) quite quickly
after I parted with my ex-husband. Our sexual relationship
was both passionate and sometimes dark (involving S&M)
which was both exciting, disturbing, and at times, towards
the end, frightening. I was the masochist in the relationship
in lots of ways, including sexually. After the relationship
ended (which was intensely painful, because I had grown
to "love"/need him?) I decided to get my head
sorted out! (Venus opposite Pluto)
When one journeys in the underworld, it helps to have a guide.
A painful Venus/Pluto experience can be the catalyst for seeking
counseling, joining support groups, or attending workshops
leading to greater insight into self and others, identifying
deeper motivations and unconscious patterns. Some of the most
dramatically painful stories of loss, abuse, and betrayal
were told by the Venus/Plutos in my study, yet they also showed
a survivor's strength and keen self-awareness. It is helpful
to remember that in the myth, Persephone becomes a Queen.
We could say she learns to protect her treasures carefully,
revealing them to only those worthy of her trust. With mastery,
she inspires others with her emotional authenticity, her readiness
to meet the unknown, her skill in clearing the past, releasing
relationships that no longer serve.
***
Astrology books raise high expectations for Venus/Jupiter
aspects. The conjunction is considered the most fortunate
of all planetary combinations, bringing abundance,  luck,
and popularity. The dark side of this and other Venus/Jupiter
combinations is usually reported as over-indulgence-too much
eating, drinking, or spending-or overbearing judgment and
hypocrisy. Among the Venus/Jupiters in my study and even those
I've known, I've not often seen these high or low extremes.
Philandering Zeus and promiscuous Aphrodite did have reputations
for indulgence. But in other myths, they were father and daughter,
with Zeus raising Aphrodite to deity status, alternately protecting
her or reigning her in. It was this "raising up"
quality that I most consistently heard in the Venus/Jupiters
in my study. There was an aspiration for journeying, geographical
and spiritual, and delight in experiences that brought freedom,
new perspectives, and a connection to truth. There was often
good fortune through teachers. In the following story from
a woman with Venus trine Jupiter, one can almost see Zeus
looking out for his daughter, calling her to journey to his
own wife's temple. Maybe it was Zeus masquerading as the guard
who allowed her in to receive an important message.
Years
ago I took a trip to Greece and was drawn to see the Heraion,
a temple dedicated to the Goddess Hera. This is a desolate
site on the Argive plane. I could not understand why I was
driven to see it. The day was scorching hot but I had to
go. Nothing would stop me. When I got to the site, the guard,
who said he seldom got visitors, was so happy to see me
that he let me in for free. I climbed onto the temple wall
and sat on it, staring out at the mountains in the distance.
Insects buzzed in the dry grasses and the sun beat down,
but I was oblivious to everything, mesmerized by the heat
and the quiet. Suddenly, a very clear, decisive, imperious
statement entered my consciousness. "How long to you
think you can live a lie?" it asked. It shocked me.
This was nothing like my inner voice. The question was repeated
and I knew immediately what it was about. I had been living
in a very difficult and unhappy marriage for many years.
The experience was killing my spirit. I began to cry softly,
then the tears came with great heaving sobs. I finally pulled
myself together and returned to my hotel. When I realized
what had happened I was overwhelmed. The archetype of the
great goddess had come to life, there in the Heraion. When
I returned to the US, I asked for a divorce and moved to
live and work in Greece. (Venus trine Jupiter)
Whatever the planetary aspect, if we see our difficult Venus
experiences as our unique path to growth, we too are raised
up, no longer victims or screw-ups. People can be quite judgmental
about their own love failures. Perhaps it is Venus who journeys
through us, to reach the fullness of her bliss again and again.
When she takes us through the underworld, if we do not fall
into unconsciousness or remain there, if we keep our traveling,
we may have moments when we know what the gods know.
 I
had always experienced my Venus opposite Neptune as heartbreak,
falling in love with all the wrong men-longing for a deeper
connection I could never find with the men I was attracted
to, loving men who didn't love me back or had other women
in their lives. The "horoscope of heartbreak"
I used to call it, until I hit 48 years old. I met an artist
who connected with me instantly. We've been together 3 years.
As a portrait artist, he has painted both of my daughters,
and a nude of me which is now hanging in an art gallery.
How's that for Venus at work!
Article
originally appeared in The Mountain Astrologer magazine.
1
See Daniel Giamario's excellent article about the Venus cycle
in the Feb/Mar 1997 issue of TMA, "A Shamanic Investigation
of Venus and Mars."
2 Ginette Paris, Pagan Meditations (Spring
Publications, 1986), p. 60.
3 In "alphabet" astrology, Mars, for
example, is considered equivalent to Aries and the 1st house,
Moon is equal to Cancer and the 4th house, etc.
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