My sister and I enjoy chuckling over pictures from our childhood, which invariably feature me looking up at the sky, distracted, as if awaiting the return of my mother ship. Who knows, maybe I was; born with Sagittarius, the sign of the foreigner, on the Ascendant of my chart (and its ruling planet, Jupiter, in Aquarius), part of me has always felt that I was born in the wrong place, the wrong century, perhaps even in the wrong solar system.
From an early age, even my taste in men spanned multiple time zones. While my sister’s tastes in Tiger Beat magazine teen idols ran along the decidedly American lines of Bobby Sherman and Donny Osmond, I strongly preferred wispy English boys with cute accents. Years later, I spent a good deal of my twenties in a thoroughly impractical and ultimately doomed relationship with a much-older Scotsman; I suspect that his fetching brogue was responsible for 80% of my attraction.
So it came as a surprise to absolutely no one close to me when the man I eventually decided to marry turned out to be from a different country. It makes complete sense that my closest relationship is with someone whose green card thrillingly classifies him as a “Permanent Resident Alien.”
Yes…I married an alien! My husband hails not from Mars but from New Zealand, a smallish country in the South Pacific renowned for its magical scenery, abundant sheep, and Hobbits. Not that I knew anything about it when I met him—and that, of course, was a huge point in his favor. As far as I knew, he came from an entirely different world, and that was interesting to me. Fortunately, after almost exactly three decades together, it still is.
Which is a bit surprising, since—despite a Sagittarius rising sign and a lot of planets in the 9th house of “Long Journeys Over Water”—there is nothing exotic about me whatsoever. I’m from Indiana, possibly the least exotic place on earth. I pretty much hang out in the kinds of places, with the sorts of people, and doing the types of stuff that would seem completely unsurprising to anyone who met me. I have visited a few foreign countries, but I’m actually not that fond of long distance travel. I am wary of unfamiliar foods and am mildly afraid of visiting a country where English is not the native tongue.
But within each of us, a stealth Sagittarian cell seeks the kind of experiences that expand the tiny parameters of our realities. It’s my Stealth Sagittarian who enjoyed sampling a couple of foreign languages in college, whose favorite film of all time is in German, and who married a guy from the other side of the world.
Your Stealth Sagittarius demands the freedom to create a life that’s uniquely yours. It is the part of you that is unsatisfied with having only a tiny bit of the world, and is greedy for a huge slice of it. No one, not even the most confirmed hermit, is exempt from this Sagittarian lust for a life that is more, that is bigger and freer. (In fact, Jupiter’s traditional exaltation in Cancer reminds us that a nourishing home base is best used not as a hiding place, but as a springboard to growth, exploration, and self-sufficiency.)
Like a summer road trip, the Sagittarius Full Moon carries a soupçon of joyful rebelliousness and a rowdy spirit of adventure. It invites you to survey your life for signs that any part of it has grown cramped or cluttered, or any hint that your freedom to express yourself has been denied. (For clues, look to the Sagittarius house(s) or planets in your chart. This blog post might help.) In those cramped quarters where your life has grown too small, or where you’re asking too little of yourself, you should be feeling good and restless about now.
So, shake things up. Open your mind, and challenge your comfort zone. Reach out for something new, something more. Dream bigger. Raise your eyes skyward at this Full Moon, and keep careful watch. Something exciting could be headed your way—maybe even an alien of your very own!
Writing and images © 2014-23 by April Elliott Kent
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