Saturn returning under the West Texas sky
A while back, while discussing my then upcoming birthday, a friend pointed out that I was about to enter my second Saturn Return. I do not claim to be an expert in astrology, like a lot of people I simply enjoy reading my horoscope, especially when it smiles upon me and forecasts great fortunate and upcoming adventures. But the concept of one’s Saturn Return has intrigued me for years.
Saturn, named for the Roman god of agriculture, is the sixth planet from the sun, and the second largest planet in our solar system. Saturn travels slowly, taking 30 years to make its circle around the sun, and thus has become associated with the passing of time. Astrologers say Saturn helps us navigate our life’s journey, learn from the past, and enables us to grow from the experience.
One’s Saturn Return happens when Saturn completes a 27-30 year cycle. During this time it travels through the zodiac and returns to the same astrological sign and degree where it was when you were born. A human can hope to experience three Saturn Returns during their lifetime, which, to me, corresponds to the idea of living a life in three acts. Apparently your first Saturn Return is the most powerful marking the transition from childhood firmly into the life of an adult. The second finds you reaping what you have sown, garnering maturity and insight. Those who do not heed life’s lessons may find themselves confused, in places they never planned nor expected, perhaps blaming Fate rather than taking responsibility. One’s final cycle hopefully brings one peace, knowing you have reached a place of wisdom and contentment.
Last month my mother turned 90. My sister and I traveled with her to the Davis Mountains in West Texas, her choice and a good one, to celebrate this milestone and what I now realize is her third Saturn Return.
Our first evening in Fort Davis we attended a Sky Party at the MacDonald Observatory. It’s a wonderful experience starting with a fascinating lecture in the outdoor amphitheater, under the amazing West Texas dark sky, a vast canvas that at times is punctuated by a shooting meteor (not to be confused with the ever-present satellites that also travel across the stratosphere). Following the lecture we all lined up behind five impressive telescopes to view star clusters, nebulae, the craters on the moon, and, that night’s main attraction, Saturn. But Saturn, along with its beautiful rings, chose to hide behind the clouds which surreptitiously moved in as the night grew late.
The planet of time, obscured from view, made me think of time itself and how we talk of how we should “fill” it, of what memories it “holds,” when time is actually and simply this very moment that we are living in. The desire to fill, define, and categorize it ironically make us miss it entirely, and we find ourselves looking backwards, living in the past, or forever planning, worrying, wondering about the future, missing the moment that time is giving us each second of the day.
Early, early the next morning I slipped out of our hotel room and walked down to the edge of the parking lot where I suddenly felt far from civilization and almost as if I had become part of the scenery—an easy thing to do when surrounded by the Davis Mountains. People who study these things tell us these mountains are 35 million years old. A good place to think about time, and aging, and reflecting back on the lessons from one’s personal life journey. The sky, still pitch black at that hour, was now completely clear of clouds, and the stars were so bright they had an almost 3D effect. And there was Saturn, no longer shy, but fully revealed. I, a Virgo, represented by a maiden carrying a sheaf of wheat, symbolic of the harvest, gave a silent promise to this god of agriculture and the Keeper of Time that I would heed life’s lessons and stop thinking of time as a receptacle to fill and instead simply live it .
The next day, hiking at the Chihuahuan Desert Research Center and Botanical Garden the three of us stopped in our tracks at the warning sound of a rattlesnake. It was the first time I had heard this “in real life,” as people say. It was a black-tailed rattlesnake and he was curled up on a rock a few feet away from the hiking trail. It was an amazing moment as all three of us stopped at the same instant without looking at each other, instinctively knowing to do so. The rattle has a much louder sound than such a small creature would seem to be able to make. It is something you can feel reverberating inside you. I truly believe I would have known to stop even if I had never heard that rattlesnakes exist. We stood there for what felt like a very long time, until, just as we had decided we should backtrack and leave the snake alone, he in turn decided to leave his sunny rock and headed off in the opposite direction. Black-tailed rattlesnakes, I have learned, have a lifespan of 27-30 years, one single Saturn Return. I have no idea how old this snake was, but I wish him well and hope he has many peaceful years ahead of him.
The cycle of time.
The cycle of life.
None of us know how many acts we get in this life’s performance; if you get three you are lucky. But what we do know is that we have Now. This day, this Moment. We know, right now, we are alive. We can blame Fate, or we can make of it whatever we decide.