When Death Rises in the Chart

I went down to my astrology library and flicked through some books to see if an idea for the next subject would come. Then I came across something by Liz Greene in The Astrologer, the Counsellor and the Priest—a section that concerns death in the chart. So I thought it might be an interesting read, and I’ll look at some other takes on it too. When it comes to certain topics, I can be more forthcoming—especially with themes like this. Maybe it’s because I recently discovered that, after years of thinking I had Pluto in the 2nd house, it might actually be in the 3rd, just at the beginning.

The difference between gripping the material world (2nd house Pluto) and delving into the psychic undercurrents of language, siblings, and the mental environment (3rd house Pluto)—quite a twist.

I still can’t quite place my Moon and Mercury in the 8th with the adjustment, because I’m such a people-pleaser and sharer—they always seem to read more like 7th house placements, right at the end of that domain.

They could be on a cusp at a threshold. In the 8th, they hunger for emotional x-rays, a need to merge, to understand what’s beneath the flesh of words. But in the 7th, they’re social shapeshifters—dialogue-driven, keen to be received, to see themselves reflected in another’s eyes.

Anyway, I talk about trauma a lot. I make pretty pictures out of it. I invent little lexicons in my mind about psychological things. These are things I have been playing around with lately.

A Psychology Mascot

Here is my psychology mascot below. I love a feminine image—and especially the heart-shaped head, green eyes, and cigarette smoking (even though I don’t smoke). It just works with the look, that’s all. It looks super emotive.  I might work her into something with psychology insights on social media. I wanted something for mental health issues, to help others—even if it’s just an escape into something. I don’t know, just something kind of useful. Something I wish I had when I was younger, when Pluto was transiting nearly my whole chart from my late teens into my early twenties.

It wasn’t so much coming-of-age as rising from rubble. And now, having been through that dark alchemy, I want to leave something for others. Not to fix them—because I know I can’t but to offer warmth, wit, and the occasional psychological drag on a metaphorical ciggie.

She can be a vessel for messages like:

“Some days the psyche screams. Other days, it just smokes in silence.”

She’s a psychological femme fatale for the soul. A divine, smokey-eyed siren with a heart-shaped head and emerald eyes, puffing on a cigarette like it’s the only anchor between her and the existential abyss. She’s the kind of character who not only survives the underworld, she redecorates it—hangs a velvet curtain, lights a candle, and says, “Now, let’s talk about your mother.” This is a place, even if imaginary, where the psyche can wander without judgment, where our trauma wears lipstick and cracks jokes and says, “Yeah, it was hell. But look at me now.”

That’s the vibe I’m going for.

This is how far my trauma aesthetic—or psychological musings—has come. I’m not sure if it all vibes or clashes. I actually really do love psychology, but not in an overly academic way—more in a relatable, human kind of way. It’s fascinating. In my younger days, I probably would’ve said, “This means that, and that means this could happen to you,” even if it was a little morbid. I just thought, I’d want to know.

It’s a hard one—bringing death and astrology to a more intimate level for some people. You never really know the “right” answer in the middle of a crisis, tragedy, or death. I’m not the kind of person who looks up their transits in the critical moment. I’d probably cope with what I’m going through first, and only reflect later—look at the transits and everything after some time has passed.

There’s no “correct” response to death, crisis, or grief. There’s just the moment, and the meaning we wrap around it after the dust settles. Astrology, in those times, isn’t a cure—it’s a candle.