Eye of the Beast
about eclipses
The Evil Eye
All nebulae or stars that are actually tiny clusters of stars are classically associated with eyesight. Oftentimes, they were used by archers to test their sight, an extension of their weapon, but these stars were also said to portend blindness as well as a host of other afflictions such as accidents, exiles and decapitation. One of these stars is called Facies, the eye of the centaur, located in the Sagittarius constellation. It has traditionally been considered one of the most ruthless stars in the sky. Bernadette Brady connects it with “a penetration of action that has no regard for others, and can therefore make a great leader or a dictator”. But she also sees the potential for the opposite: “the individual who may be the victim of the archer's stare”. Sight can be powerful. Sight can be dangerous.
A few months ago, I learned that you could cast the evil eye without meaning to. A friend, Shuly, told me that in many Middle Eastern and Hispanic traditions, simply focusing your gaze too intently on someone or something can impart bad luck through the malocchio. My friend then described to me the difference between a “wet” and “dry” gaze; the former is more diffuse, soft, and casts a wide net. It takes in the whole scene. A dry gaze, on the other hand, is searching and sharp. It focuses on a certain piece of the scene, tuning out the rest. While the wet gaze unites the field, the dry gaze separates. The latter gaze employed too liberally confers the evil eye.
You can see this with Facies, as mentioned above, and, I would argue, any fixed star that is also a nebula. Ptolemy assigned each fixed star a planetary duad that somehow described their nature. Virtually all of these clusters— the Pleaides, Acumen & Aculeus, Praesape, and Capulus, to name a few— are of the nature of Mars, often with a luminary. The Pleaides, Aculeus, Acumen and Praesape are all of the nature of Mars and the Moon. Facies is of Mars and the Sun, the two hottest planets.
All of these stars can teach us about the power and perils of a fixed inner gaze. As fellow astrolater Sasha Ravitch pointed out in her work on the stinger stars of Scorpio, physical ailments, such as blindness, are often symbolic of an occult ability; in the case of blindness, there’s an inner clarity and focus that can often show up as prophecy. Facies is such a star, whose inner vision can help propel the native into action with terrifying purpose. Pleiades, a cluster of nymphs that rise at the start of sailing season, pertain to a sharp inner knowing that cuts right through the surface to the final destination.
Of the stars I consider particularly mystical, the Pleiades stands out for its martial nature. Most of the other stars that portend inner sight and creative connection to the divine are of the nature of Mercury and Venus; chatty and flowing. But whereas a Pisces star like Fomalhaut asks of a more wet gaze, a drifting, not knowing where you’ll end up, stars like the Pleiades require a purpose, a dry gaze.
Not of Planet Earth
I’ve been thinking about the difference ever since seeing Jordan Peele’s latest movie “Nope”. On its face, this is a movie about a brother and sister (Daniel Kaluuya and Keke Palmer) trying to save their family’s horse ranch on the edge of LA by taking a photo of a UFO that has been hovering above their property. At its core, this movie is about how we deal with and “triumph” over uncontrollable forces. Emerald and OJ have dedicated their lives to rangling wild animals for movies. They are beholden to the whims of Hollywood, just like their neighbor Jupe, a former child star who now owns a struggling theme park but is trying to regain the popularity of his youth.
After watching this movie, I began thinking about the role of the beastly. In the movie, Daniel Kaluuya’s OJ takes one of the horses to a commercial shoot. People flock around the animal, shoving lights and hands in its face and OJ warns them not to surprise it or look it in the eye — don’t use a dry gaze. They don’t and it bucks the actor off its back. Similarly, they cannot make the UFO follow their schedule— to get the perfect shot, they have to sit and wait it out to figure out what will make it pass by their ranch again. On the other hand, another character saves his own life by not looking a violent animal right in the eyes; a gauzy tablecloth stands between them, leaving his gaze wet and unthreatening.
This movie made me think of Menkar, too, the primary star in the Cetus or sea monster constellation. If you are my fixed star client and have this star in your parans, you have surely heard me wax poetic about the connection I see between “Nope” and this star. Menkar is said to be unfortunate because the monstrosity of its image is impossible for humans to control. Brady connects this star to “the human unconscious or the collective unconscious which, like a beast from the deep, can erupt with moments of great collective in sight, or bring chaos and mayhem”. When you are dealing with a star like Menkar, just like when dealing with a wild animal or something as unruly and blood-thirsty as the fame monster, you cannot be in control. As an unintentional evil eye giver, I can say that the dry gaze is often about control; assessing the world around you for useful information and threats, then acting accordingly. But trying to assert dominance over something wild and more powerful than you is a fool’s errand. The better way is wet— flowing, not threatening it, but mastering it by learning its rules.
Or, simply follow the advice of this Manilius passage on the monstrous constellation:
"Moreover, such men [those astrologically influenced by Cetus] will be able to fill great salt-pans, to evaporate the sea, and to extract the sea’s venom [salt], they prepare a wide expanse of hardened ground and surround it with firm walls, next conduct therein waters channeled from the nearby sea and then deny them exit by closing sluice-gates, so the floor holds in the waves and begins to glisten as the water is drained off by the sun. When the sea’s dry element has collected, Ocean’s white locks (salt) are shorn for use at table, and huge mounds are made of the solid foam; and the poison of the deep, which prevents the use of sea-water, vitiating it with a taste, they commute to life-giving salt and render a source of health" (emphasis mine).
Astronomica, p.355
That last line especially really gets me. We can’t turn the whole ocean into pure water but we can take bits we can hold and turn poison to medicine.
I don’t want to spoil the rest of the movie, but if you watch it, you will get an even fuller picture of this message. Ultimately the movie gives us some form of agency when dealing with large forces, whether that be the thrust of spirit, inner skeletons and collective messages; or wild animals. We can master the ebbs and flows of the wild forces rather than be bowled over by their seeming caprice. It reminds me of the unusual placement of large animals in the 12th house. Both represent forces larger than us that we must treat with respect and caution. There’s a way to work through but perhaps not on your terms alone. And sometimes, even when well-prepared, we lose. That is the nature of Menkar, wild horses, the collective unconscious: victory is not solely up to us. Our control often exceeds its capacity. And yet we keep going.
Facing the Dragon
Every six months, we are all treated to an astrological event created by monsters. When the dragon’s head and the dragon’s tail align with the Sun and Moon, our luminaries take turns blocking each other’s light. As the most dramatic thing our Sun and Moon can do, it makes sense that the ancients portended doom when eclipses occurred.
The eclipses, like much of what I’ve been talking about in this newsletter, have everything to do with sight. In addition to occulting our light-bringers, the ancients told us to avoid being seen by the so-called “baleful rays” of the eclipse, some even resorting to laying at the bottom of river beds and breathing straws made of reeds to do so.
They also have to do with monsters. The dragon’s head and tail, also known as the north and south node, are not actual bodies but calculated points that indicate where in the zodiac this shadowing will happen. But you can also literally think of them as the two halves of a monster. The dragon’s head is a place of never-ending hunger, like the Buddhist “hungry ghost” figure, a being with a giant stomach and a mouth the size of a pinhole. The tail is a place of continual shedding and lack. It is indifferent to earthly accumulation and releases what it touches.
The power of this monster is great: eclipses were seen as events that often led to the killing of kings, the bringing of great storms and other events of force majeure.
So, in the aftereffects of two eclipses in the past two weeks, I recommend trying a soft gaze. towards the sky. towards your life and any of its shifts. The monster can’t be tamed by us. But maybe someday, we can learn to ride.
So for now, I leave you with this beautiful beast;
Until next week,
love,
Chloe 🧿
ahhh this was spot on for a series of (not necessarily unfortunate) events these eclipses brought into focus for me. wild horses were a key symbol! i will def be softening that focus going forward 🍃🐎 deeply appreciative of your reflections and writing 💐
Especially loved this piece!