On the Third House

I wanted to write about the third house, but I am not exactly sure why. Which isn’t the truth, but I can’t explain it in any other way except that I am thinking all of the time: ‘Wouldn’t it be the greatest if I never had to write down any of my thoughts, feelings, anything at all, but if I looked on the paper there they would be?’

In a faraway Galactica age, this is probable — a nightmarish streamlining. Yet I am haunted by my desire for this quick solution to writing, in that, what is it that would be lost by losing the moment of writing? What is the purpose of the moment of writing, of taking thoughts that bounce so loosely, languidly — or, in inspiration, fast and with great urgency— and fastening them to words? 

[I think I have always allowed my thoughts to exist in my head without taking them to writing, as I take delight in the perversion that they remain more precious, secret to all but myself, with the freedom to contort and push back on themselves, growing and devolving in varying speeds.] 

In astrology, the third house is the area in the chart that, in general regard, holds the area around your home, your siblings, your early education, quick trips, and so on. It is, by all accounts, one of the houses still plagued with the association of ‘12 signs to 12 houses’ logic — lending it to Gemini, a sign of twins and communication and that is quick, mimicking all along the way. We know now that any such house associations with signs ‘ruling’ them are but an accident of synchronicity, lining up in attractive ways that breed ease of thought and identification, yet simultaneously evade pinpointing accuracy and nuance (or: the stuff of being seen, which so many of us dance around or reject outright). 

Instead, it is generally accepted among astrologers to look to the planetary joys of the houses, as given by ancient astrologers like Valens and Maternus. The moon, also given to be one of (if not the) most important planet in astrology, has its joy in the third house. This, for me, was a great surprise when I learned this years ago — if the moon be so important, what is it doing in a ‘nothing’ house like the third? In its general understanding, the third house comes across as utterly mundane — receiving a letter, taking a walk about the neighborhood — in comparison to houses I found far more intriguing: the passions of the fifth, the projection and self-identification with partners in the seventh. And the moon takes its seat among those close to home, those early lessons of childhood? My own biases remember only the alienation of childhood education, despite my love of learning, and a seeming rejection of all that I grew up around. 

[It is not lost on me that my own prioritization of romantic relationships, seen clearly in the fifth and seventh houses, as the righteous space for the emotionally sublime comes as a symptom of a heteronormative culture that, in fact, cordons off the true expression of feeling into these relationships. We are told, romantic love over work, over health, over family, over friends, (romantic) love makes you feel right and that everything is in the right place, a love that can only be found with a soulmate. And yet, how many of us know this to be incorrect and eagerly worship at a mistaken altar anyway?]

Here, again, I am resisting and resentful of this moment of writing. I am reminded of reading about Aleister Crowley and other magical traditions that, only after proving oneself worthy of induction, are the spells and rites shared with the practitioner. For much of time, these magical secrets were not written down, as committing these sacred practices and incantation to paper was believed to lessen their power. (I am often only compelled to write about lovers if only to defang them. You must imagine me crouched, wrist-deep in the lion’s jaw, thumbing out the sharpest teeth until I am satisfied with my own safety.) 

Too, I am reminded of Crowley’s Thelemic The Book of the Law, telling us for those practitioners ‘love is the law.’ No, not love in its romantic sense, but love in the way that care, attention, and investment is given. The moon and magic are, harkening back to the ancient magical traditions, remarkably intertwined. The Greek Magical Papyri give instructions to take action only during certain phases of the moon; in a book for my master’s program, I remember reading about how the moon was considered alchemical, that its own disappearing and changing phases within the sky gave such indication that it watched over the processes of transformation. [Unfortunately, I am writing this with haste and without great efforts to look for the original sources; I am only giving this the time I can afford, which is admittedly not much. One day I’ll return with sources; today I am merely satisfied with remembering any thought I’ve ever had in the first place.]

Yes, this is it: the moon as the process of alchemy, of the transformation of matter. This is why it sits in the third house, why it is associated with communication, writing, learning. Why can’t I just have my thoughts appear on paper? To write, or even communicate in the first place, is to alchemize: it is to take those emotions and understandings which often escape our own reasoning and give them new form. It is, of course, not without effort. Learning these processes is its own wild task that takes up much of our young life. How does a baby’s cry turn into their ability to ask for food, a blanket? In our age, socialization and schooling follow not long after. 

In terms of learning, we can also think about the moon as the mother of discrete data: its phases and positions, changing nightly, take on a pattern around which people began to keep track of time. The sun’s changing position throughout the year gives similar data, yet it is only by the moon’s constant change that we are given our bearings within these patterns.

Admittedly, I’ve spent much of this pandemic year in the third house, so to speak: I am helping children whose school does not meet regularly in person, and the process of learning is on display, as much as it can be. Astrologically, we sometimes talk about the moon as hidden — likely due to the literal notion that it is only visible in phases, and only the side of it that is tilting towards us at any given moment. [People are often the same way.] Learning is similarly alchemical and hidden: we are given information, and somewhere along the way, away from the view of others and often times ourselves, we grasp the concepts and it becomes a matter known to us.

Now, all this sounds a bit too sleek for the process I’ve come to see firsthand. In the place of splitting open a mind and seeing its pieces work together for the result of ‘yes, I understand!’, I have the great fortune of seeing emotions on display from a wide variety of children who are currently caught within third house machinations. Frustration, outright anger, despondency, and rejection color much of the material that has yet to fully transform in their brains; these same children swing to joy, laughter, and a breeziness that I am even enviable of when something is understood or they are proud of their efforts. (Instead of the hidden processes which the moon speaks of, we see the emotions, to which astrologers also hand over to this planet.) And isn’t this a magic of its own right? Who else can remember the joy of finally understanding something in school and, the sheer drama that was the failure in certain tasks? 

Though love and joy creep around every corner, I am often taking on the position of task-master: we must get back to work; no, it must be done this way; have you finished your writing for the day, the way your teacher has asked? In both school and socialization, it is hard to talk about the learning process without speaking of the rules that define them. Let’s look to the third house’s relationship with Saturn, who takes joy in the 12th house — forming a square, an aspect that speaks of challenge and tension, but with energy that leads to action. Saturn, the master of standards and limits, has its joy in a house that squares the Moon’s joy in the third. The great frustration and depression in response to different phases of the learning process become illuminated: the standards that Saturn creates, if not for the shared benefit of us being able to communicate and share in the same logical way, are an incredible emotional challenge to wrestle with. Not only is this clear in the failed recitation of times tables, but also in the way we teach children to socialize. There are accepted ways of interacting with others, and there are ways that are not accepted — and to act outside of the standard risks the isolation that the 12th house represents. Who and what defines these rules is often, again, a symptom of the culture we live within; these rules are applied unevenly, with marginalized communities and identities held to higher standards than those with power and privilege.

This early socialization often comes by way of the other children we are around growing up —we see siblings here in this third house, but also neighborhood friends. As children, we learn these rules in sideways interactions, sometimes in feelings of conflict or alienation (speaking again to this Saturn square.) As children are still in their own process of learning how to communicate, some of these lessons and rules that are imparted take on a harsher blow than intended. Saturn in this square also speaks to children learning to deal with authority, with older figures in their lives: they seem mightier and as if they hold the rules in all of their hands. To speak again of the moon as hidden, here we learn not only the standards of socialization and communication, but what parts of ourselves are best hidden, best isolated, best kept away in order to seek what we see as an agreeable standard for interaction with others. I would be remiss in not mentioning Alice Sparkly Kat’s ‘Reparenting the Moon’ series, which speaks to this in great and inspiring detail for each of the signs.

And, finally, to return to this notion of love I mentioned in early on a seeming tangent: sure, the brimming emotions and feelings of acknowledgment that the moon can offer are, of course, found in romantic love. Here, we see the third house in sextile to the fifth and in trine to the seventh houses, mentioned briefly earlier: emotions can be expressed and supported in these contexts, though there is much more nuance here that I can save for another rambling. There is more here, but I have only come here to say a little bit of it. What I want to say that love, in its expression of care and compassion, is not limited to these contexts. The moon itself speaks of emotion, yes, but also of nourishment and care. Its third house joy is also representative of the area around our houses, our community. The astrological moon is also representative of ‘the people,’ if you will, or, the public — a nameless way to speak of what is a collection of individuals, sharing in much as well as that our Saturn (law-makers), sit in square with us, defining our reality in certain ways. [Again, to avoid being so Pollyanna in my delineation, we again must remember that though we live beneath the same Saturn, how lawmakers and other ‘upholders of standard’ define one’s reality is dependent upon the power and privileges one possesses.]

Saturn, considered the ‘great malefic’ does not conjure images of full belly and heart in the way that the moon does. What instead we see, or can continue to see if we are steadfast in our efforts, is the sharing with others around us, community care in times we are told there is nothing to give the people. It is the sharing of food, it is the opening of doors, it is giving to our neighbors in the efforts that we can all feel the sort of love we are told we cannot have. (Love is the law.) Love is the walking home from the train — it knocks from beneath the pavement and reminds you it is still there. It is the sound of trumpets and drums when you think there should be silence; it is the generosity of a child placing an orange slice in my hand. It is the love that exists in mundane seams. Thank you, thank you, thank you — I am grateful.