Where is home for you?
What do you consider to be essential for a place, perhaps a thing, or even a person to have for you to feel at home there, with it, with them…
How would you finish this sentence – Home is where……..
Is it where the heart is, wherever you lay your hat, where family is, where you feel safe, wherever you can get Wifi because your phone, your computer, the internet is your home, where the the buffalo roam, where you keep all your favourite things…
In astrology the concept and experience of home, family, roots is represented by the 4th house…
And the 4th house in your natal chart, the zodiac sign on its cusp, and any other sign within its boundaries, any planets therein, or aspects to the IC (imum coeli) which is the threshold of the 4th house, may show how you answer the question – Where are you from?
I’ve always had difficulty answering that question, dread it when I suspect it’s going to be on the list of questions someone is going to ask me, break out into a nervous sweat if I have to answer it… even if I know the person asking it doesn’t give a toot about my answer, probably won’t listen as they’re just doing it to be polite, by rote, and what they really want to do is talk about themselves or be anywhere but here making meaningless conversation with me…
Why do I have such difficulty with something which should be simple and easy?
a) that’s just me being me, being an upturned soul whose brain is a bit scrambled (for more on who me is see the first 3 houses which describe the me of us).
b) I always expect the Spanish Inquisition! (I grew up on regular doses of Monty Python and they helped to nurture my view of the world and the meaning of life, where you sing always look on the bright side of life while nailed to a cross)
c) this particular question – Where are you from? – requires that I be more specific than planet Earth as my answer (and for a long time I wasn’t really convinced that I was ‘from’ planet Earth because I felt like a Janet from another planet. Earth did not feel like home.) and saying planet Earth as your answer to someone politely asking you where you’re from = you’re being a sarcastic arse even though it’s a logical truth based on fact (as factual as anything can get especially in human world).
let me try to answer the question of where I’m from right here and now since it pertains to matters of the 4th house…
please be aware that in my natal chart I have Neptune – that planet which blurs and confuses everything even what it means in astrology – loosely (which is tight for Neptune) conjunct my IC – my roots, home, family, culture, history, etc – and in opposition to my MC – status, social standing, place in the human hierarchy, etc.
my chart (yes, again, only I’m sharing a different version of it – the one connected to the very useful and helpful interactive Astro Click Portrait offered for free on Astrodienst in the Free Horoscopes section):
and I have Sagittarius on the cusp of the 4th which means I’m a vagabond, a gypsy without one of those gorgeous and colourful gypsy caravans or a gypsy tribe to which I belong (because I ran away from them as they were… like the residents of Camelot in Monty Python’s Holy Grail), a wanderer, an archer who shoots an arrow and wherever it lands that’s… that’s wherever it lands, doesn’t mean I’m going there or from there or from where I was standing when I shot it…
although sometimes to make things simple I do answer – Where are you from? – with wherever I’m living in that moment, but this can cause confusion and a whole host of new questions to answer which means my attempt to keep things simple just made evrything more complicated and failed.
Even my accent doesn’t help. Places people have guessed as being where I’m from based on my accent include – Australia, New Zealand, America, Canada, the UK, Sweden, Denmark, Holland… and that’s if I’m talking in English.
The Italians tend to assume I’m from Northern Italy (unless I’ve been watching a TV series like Gomorra and have absorbed that accent and style of speech – my tendency to absorb the way those I’m hearing are speaking doesn’t help matters) even if I tell them I’m not.
The French… they just tend to be impressed that I can speak French (want to make a ‘rude’ French person suddenly become ultra polite – talk French even if you do it badly, they’ll approve of the gesture and effort and will bend over backwards for you because you’re being respectful so you’ve earned their respect… although a French friend of mine told me that I sound permanently sarcastic when I’m talking in French, maybe that’s because I am regularly talking the language of sarcasm) when I look like I’m not a French speaking person.
The way I look doesn’t clarify where I’m from either even though I have red hair and freckles (freckles frigging everywhere – yes, even there and there – if freckles were stars my skin is what the night sky would look like without light pollution), and red hair and freckles tend to be considered location markers, but… my eyes are dark brown (can be green if you shine a light right into them) and so are my eyebrows (a strong light won’t make those look green) and those really don’t go with the stereotypical freckled redhead and thus I’m not really one of them (maybe I’m dying my hair and painting those freckles on… painstakingly every day all over me because I’m that dedicated to it)… someone once asked me if I was Japanese… what others see when they look at me baffles me as much as what I look like doesn’t narrow down where I’m from).
Why is my accent and my physical appearance so confusing? Am I doing it on purpose to confound those who want to pin me to a race, place and whatnot? If I could do it on purpose for that reason I… so totally would!
according to Astrotheme’s chart for Steve Jobs, he had Sagittarius on the cusp of the 4th house.
Especially if someone was trying to recruit me for a round of – Us versus Them.
I’m not even going to get on board the whole what feminism isn’t about bandwagon. I may be female, and do appreciate what feminism has done for my gender (the kitchen is somewhere you don’t want me to be in particularly if I’m cooking and you’re expecting it to taste ‘normal’), but I am not going to be told by other women how to be a woman (and I’m not going to go around bashing men to prove that I belong to the strong women’s association).
As a child I was regularly mistaken for a boy, and online I sometimes still get mistaken for a man even if I’m using the profile pic I use on my blog and elsewhere on social media (which I think shows I’m female but… what is female, what is male, does it matter?) – the online confusion is often due to the way I express myself in words rather than due to my profile pic (as you can’t trust a profile pic to tell you anything much about the user behind it, maybe the face I use isn’t even mine (it is… can you trust me about that?) – for visual people this can be very confusing or not… your choice of profile pic may reveal more about you than you know or want to know, sometimes the more you hide the more you show. If you’re not using your own face… a lot can be read into it, such as a fear of facing others).
You can thank my father for some of that, for the way I express myself and how I may come across as male rather than female (if we’re using stereotypical parameters of how males and females express themselves), he was an a-hole in many ways and maybe one of those ways was in teaching his daughter that it was okay to fight back when your father (the guy who often sets his daughter up for her future relationships with men) was being an a-hole with you – I once kicked him in the face because he was teasing me relentlessly, I was small he was big, my little foot fit perfectly on his big face, he was weirdly proud of me for doing that even though he was also angry because it hurt. He taught me not to fear men, and not to fear men when they were angry… as often they were angry because they were hurt (after you kicked them in the face)… it was a primal reflex which is totally logical – ouch argh! Scream that pain out! – and this would pass almost as soon as it came on because men are stoic like that. They suck pain up and try to deal with it without too much drama.
I was going to use an Arthur Janov (the creator of Primal Scream Therapy) quote here but while searching I came across this…
My mother, on the other hand, wanted me to fear men and hate men because you as a woman feared them. She mostly hated men because when she was a child at the mercy of a nanny, as mommy and daddy were too important to deal with their children (children were to be seen dressed in frocks and smiling sweetly and never heard screaming and throwing a tantrum), her brother got away with things while she was punished for those same things and her nanny also said that this was because he was a boy and she was a girl – her words and explanation. There’s more to her story – all very 4th house stuff but I’m not reading her chart (even if it may be relevant to mine and my 4th house – 4th house also sometimes represents ‘mother’).
Frankly she was more successful at making me fear women, especially angry women, repressed, suppressed, bitter and twisted angry women like her who were all sugary sweet on the outside but burning infernos on the inside. Women who are hurt should be avoided at all costs (which was problematic if you were their child and depended on them for your survival…) because they often express that rage indirectly, through ‘niceness’ – that kind of niceness is as toxic as polonium. My mother often bragged about how she ‘killed people with kindness’… her pride came before falls all the time and she’d get furious if the intended victim of her kindness didn’t die and instead benefited from her potion of ‘nice’ and ‘kind’ poison.
Spending time with her in her version of reality made me long for anything but that!
Capricorn Sun… totally correct! Death always seemed like the restful sleep I never got in life…
my sleep is influenced by Neptune, omg the dream I had last night (and I did have a frigging weird one last night which explained something deep about life to me… don’t worry, it’s almost forgotten) is something someone with strong Neptune in their chart says almost every day. It’s tiring to sleep and perchance to dream…
Using the Sagittarius words for my 4th house – yup ‘Wait!? I’m Dying!?!’ describes how I felt about family, they give you life, you owe them your life for them giving it to you, and then they make you pay for it bit by tiny bit… and it doesn’t matter how many times they show you that they’re trying to kill you and succeeding in small ways, you’re always still surprised because you’re so Jupiterian optimistic (or Neptunian delusional).
If I have to deal with an angry person… I’d rather the angry person was male as I’m more likely to survive that confrontation (and so are they). Men are far more forgiving than women of your personal and interpersonal fuck-ups. Men aren’t going to be bothered by anything I’ve said thus far or later on… women might be and if they are I’m going to be put on a shit-list, and they’ll remind me of my verbal crimes if they want to use emotional blackmail on me to win an argument or some favour or just to be self-righteaous dicks (can’t use the female version of that… okay I can use twat but not the other one).
I’m not doing myself any favours by saying all of this… but that’s a familiar scenario (which includes not doing myself any favours by not saying all of this – can’t win whatever you say) and the familiar is sometimes where we feel at home even if it causes strife – strife is home for those who grew up in it.
The ‘familiar’ may also be represented by the 4th house.
With Sagittarius taking up pretty much all of my 4th house… arguments are familiar territory for me (as is getting shot through the heart by stray arrows… it’s funny but this was a game I played with my father when I was very little, we’d pretend that the other person had shot us with an arrow and we’d have to enact a death scene, the longer it took to die the better…) and I may provoke one without even thinking about doing it because that stuff is blood coursing through my veins, cut me and my blood will spill out and confront you even if I’m dead (out out damned spot!).
My parents could argue over a nothing – a misplaced nothing could be a very serious issue – and could argue about it for days, weeks, years, recruiting lots of warriors to die for their side of the nothing issue. Arguments were their foreplay and pretty much the rest of it after foreplay (TMI?). While everyone else they’d recruited and stirred up were fighting… occasionally my parents would break bread together and watch the mess they’d created, and discuss how stupid everyone else was being fighting over nothing.
Speaking of shit-lists – who was more scary if you crossed them, Mickey or Mallory?
They’re the main characters from Natural Born Killers if you’re not sure of what I’m talking about…
natural born as a term could be considered the domain of the 4th house in astrology.
Mostly I got mistaken for a boy as a child because I had short hair (I apparently, according to mama, was born with ‘pink’ hair and this made my mother cringe so she cut it and kept cutting it to make it ‘normal’ coloured) and because I wore trousers (again due to dear mother’s intervention – I liked to climb things, everything, and hang upside down on a regular basis, sitting down didn’t mean I was prim or proper either as I often had legs akimbo, and in a skirt or dress that meant I was flashing my knickers to all and sundry and this was unacceptable for a ‘lady’). There wasn’t much she could do if I was running around naked or half-naked which I often did at home (because I felt safe doing that there, being natural and going au natural) but she could frighten the crap out of me by telling me tales of paedophile predators and the ‘white slave trade’ (which wasn’t and isn’t an exclusively ‘white’ club… these days it’s known by a more PC label – human trafficking).
I didn’t mind too much about the confusion of others over my identity in whatever form because… it was familiar. Listening to my mother try to explain ‘where I came from’… and she wasn’t trying to explain the birds and the bees, she was simply verbal diarhhea-ing her way through yet another different version of why I was born. My father never said much about my birth – either because he was being a stoic man or because he had no say in it. He had once, several times, had that ‘conversation’ about having children with my mother – he’d even ‘convinced’ her to get an abortion when such things were illegal everywhere on planet Earth. Which is why according to her she had to use so much subterfuge to hide my conception and gestation… her subterfuge eventually was revealed and viewed as betrayal by my father.
He thought they were on the same page… they were never on the same page about anything as they never read the same books. My mother liked Jean Plaidy’s historical romances, my father preferred Hemingway, Henry Miller, Metal Hurlant and Playboy (the latter two he had piles of them in his warehouse where he stored his unpainted canvases and I used to sneak in there and read them like I read my Caspar, Donald Duck, and Archie comics).
We’re in the season of Jimi Hendrix at the moment… he was a Sagittarius… word!
Where to begin answering this question – Where are you from?
(did you think I was already answering this… maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t…)
How would you answer it?
(a deflection tactic – if I ask you a question maybe you’ll get caught up in trying to answer it, in yourself and your own story, and you’ll forget that I’m supposed to be answering something about myself…)
Is where you’re from… your place of birth?
I was born somewhere… a place. There are stories why I was born there, several different stories with different reasons, one of which supposedly = me and my mother surviving the birth process. She almost died anyway… I now have mixed feelings about that information. Really wish I didn’t but… you had to be there afterwards for many years later to understand what I just said. You have to be me… which ain’t never going to happen so you can breathe easy. I had to live under the pall of – I almost died because of you – and was a slave to that – I owed her my life… even though I didn’t ask for this and didn’t force her, according to her she forced herself to do this, I was supposed ot be her own personal Messiah… oh… dear…
I put this place on formal forms as the place where I am from because legally I am from this place… but if someone were to read my answer on those forms and expect me to be as other people who are born there are… nope, because I spent less time there than it took to make me from embryo into human.
It’s not my home, it’s not where I’m from, it’s just where I was born because it’s where the womb which was carrying me spat me out (I was actually cut out several weeks early due to medical issues and stuff that is really TMI… but TMI was a regular feature of my childhood. My parents, especially my mother, thought that I needed to know the most intimate details even when I was too young to know WTF it all meant).
Sounds familiar… the crazies always make you the crazy one and sacrifice you to save themselves
Camille Claudel – a Sagittarius speaking about family
Is where you’re from… where you grew up?
I grew up in several places… for several reasons, one of which was due to my father wanting to pretend that he was still ‘a bachelor’. I won’t explain that as I still don’t understand the explanation myself.
Is where you’re from… who you grew up with?
Is family your home, but who do you consider as family? Is it the people who your were born to, those who adopted you, those who you met as a child and formed close bonds with, those who welcomed you to a new and strange place and took you under their wing, a group you joined…
perhaps even a cult which the rest of the world thinks is moments away from making you drink the Kool-aid but you experience them differently from how the rest of the world sees them, and the rest of the world’s attitude is… part of the reason you joined this cult. If they did ask you to drink the Kool-aid, would you?
That last question… reflects my own experience of home and family. While I didn’t grow up in a cult, my parents made family feel very much like I imagine cults to be. And if they’d asked me to drink the Kool-aid I would have been expected to glug it down – they wouldn’t have ‘asked’, they’d have simply given it to me and may not have even told me what was going to happen when I drank it.
My parents saw themselves as omnipotent (they often fought over who was more omnipotent and I often was piggy in the middle of these fights), they expected blind belief in them (even when they kept changing who they were) and whatever they believed (which was a moveable feast), complete loyalty to them (which was difficult to do when they were at loggerheads and you were expected to be loyal to both of them yet choose one side over the other or lose their love, which you lost no matter what you chose), an undying devotion to sacrifice yourself on whatever altar and god they were trying to please to get something, and an impulsive willingness to fight until the bitter end for whatever cause they were championing at any given moment (yet one minute it was ‘Save the Whales’ and the next it was ‘Kill the Whales’ and they had a good reason for both options so never question them or be prepared to be lectured into your grave).
Jim Morrison – Sagittarian fire lit and eternally burning
Neither of my parents were Sun sign Sagittarius, and neither of them have a tenanted Sagittarius (as in planets in the sign)… although my father could have Moon in Sagittarius but I don’t know his birth time (don’t know my mother’s birth time either… one of them could have Sag rising but I doubt it) and Moon in Capricorn suits him better (he was cold emotionally even when being all super emotional Italian). I also have an untenanted Saigittarius… unless I add asteroids and then it’s quite busy but… I’m still not really sure about asteroids (they add,,, complications to reading a chart even if they can simplify it once you pass through their complicated).
However our family life had a very Sagittarian vibe… at least my experience of it did. You could never settle down, rest in place, consider yourself to be living here or there or anywhere, or a part of any group, culture, country… move, keep moving, don’t stop or you’ll turn to stone!
I longed to have roots, a ‘real’ home (if you consider suitcases home then…), a place which was mine and in which I could become a part of the ground underfoot and the world around me…
I wanted my own room and space… my childhood rooms somehow always were connected to my mother’s clothes, either because my room had once been her walk-in closet and still pretty much was, or because her clothes were stored in a room that you could only access by going through my bedroom (my teenage nightmare while living and going to school in Paris). No, she didn’t need all those clothes and rarely wore them but they certainly gave her an excuse to invade my space whenever she wanted to (which was often because I often tried to keep her out).
Did a quick search for – Zen and the art of archery – and got this result in images. I once read that book… or did I? Can’t recall but I was very into other ways of processing the experience of life, especially those about the ‘roots’ of your personal life philosophy, so I probably read it or something like it.
Sagittarius is the archer… so something like the above excerpt can help with Sagittarian related issues.
I recently bought a house – first time buyer and, yes, I know that first time buyers look like ripe grapes to be picked and squeezed into wine or juice or eaten as is by sellers and agents of sellers. I probably paid too much for this place… I paid what I had to pay to get it and get it with minimal drama. I have my own accounting system and sometimes you pay more for less… hassle and time spent dealing with the shenanigans of greedy needy humans.
Is this where I’m from… now?
No, because I’m living here as though I was a squatter – which is typical of me. Albeit a tidy and conscientious squatter who will take care of the place whether anyone else cares about it or not.
I bought it because the moment I stepped foot in it I felt… at home, and safe – illogically safe which is worth far more than all the gold in the world particularly if like me you rarely feel safe anywhere, or with anyone (sometimes including yourself).
I felt something similar when I met my partner… soon we’ll be celebrating two decades together (and most of those two decades we’ve been at very close quarters, spending most of a daily 24 in each others company).
I feel something similar about this blog… it’s a weird blog, it’s not conventional and I’m probably as surprised as you are that it exists, that I’m here doing this, and that… shit… I’ve been doing this for years and I still feel like I only started yesterday (which is partly why it’s such a mess… one day I will tidy it up – hahahahahaha….)
excerpt via The Dark Pixie Astrology – 4th house – gotta love a dark pixie! But is this interpretation true, correct, whatever?
You’re my family, my home… run!
I’m ‘it’ and I’m chasing you, I’m your mama blue, your papa loves mambo, your eccentric aunt, your creepy uncle who keeps making inappropriate remarks he calls ‘jokes’, I’m your sister who is obsessed with you because you’ve got bits she hasn’t got yet, your annoying brother who loves to tease, your cousin who is condescending because they’re half a year older and that makes a big difference, I’m your grandmother with big teeth all the better to eat you with, and your grandfather who ‘lost’ you in the woods…
SHOUT and let it all out… just be warned and wary, I have been known to kick people in the face (and daddy said this was okay).
In my home you’re allowed, encouraged and supported to be you as you are… all of you is welcome, the plethora, panoply and pan’s labyrinth of you…
this applies to me too (so… think before you… about it).
If there be mistakes… so be it!