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  • Writer's pictureMegan

Love and Independence, Leo and Aquarius

Updated: Oct 1, 2020

Insights can be inspired by unlikely sources—even pop media. When we’re in a relaxed, receptive state, as we are when watching TV, it’s easier to tap into intuition.

In indulging in one of my favorites, Supernatural, I noticed that God has made a reappearance. I had mentioned in a previous article how he is largely absent from the 14 seasons of the show, but soon after I wrote that, he became a major player.

First, he was mentioned in dialogue. In episode 17 of season 14, one of the characters explains that the reason God is absent is because he doesn’t meddle in our decisions. That led me to contemplate how creating distance could actually be a form of love. If people use their own inner resources to solve issues, then they are acting from their own distinct selves, formed from their unique disposition and collection of life experiences, rather than duplicating what others have done in the past. In stepping back, “God” is encouraging people’s personal Suns to shine.

In a later episode, the portrayal of God is much more pessimistic than that. SPOILER ALERT God is angry at Jack, who is like a son to the main characters, Sam and Dean, because Jack's powers have increased so much that he is messing with God's story line and creating chaos in reality. God kills Jack, and in reaction, Sam shoots God in the shoulder. God responds by releasing from Hell all the ghosts that Sam and Dean have been working to rid Earth of all their lives. In the next episode, Sam and Dean declare their mission to once again eliminate all ghosts, with the theory that if they accomplish that, they’ll never have to depend on God again.

Is it true that granting independence can actually be a form of love? Independence is often crucial to establish between generations where there are wide differences in lifestyles. Because of the changes in society over the years, parents don’t necessarily have the capacity to assist their young adult children, so the best answer is often to stand back and let their kids do their thing, and be there to catch them if they fall.

But what if the underlying trust isn’t there, and the love is conditional—the kids can only receive it if they succeed? That’s a common occurrence in a society that is striving for a perfection that doesn’t exist. This way of raising children is passed on unconsciously generation after generation, despite the parents’ best intentions. In this situation, the only way the children can find happiness and fulfillment is to find love in themselves. So once again, independence has served a purpose, although certainly the lesson could have been delivered less severely.

Uranus and Sun = Harmony when properly mixed

As I examine the character portrayals, I am equating “God” with love. In astrology, it shows up as fire energy, particularly as the Sun or the Leo sign. This energy is linked with the opposition, Aquarius, associated with Uranus, which is often equated with independence and freedom. In Unity astrology, opposites are essentially the same energy, manifesting dualistically.

In part inspired by my adoration of some key Aquarians in my life, I’ve been actively working on reforming my Aquarian and Leo energies, or independence verses fervent love. Since Aquarians are often jetting elsewhere, it’s sometimes easier to work with this energy by going to animals who are bound to me—my kitties.

Skater's in front. Aquarius in rear.

Not everyone in my audience is sentimental, so I feel compelled to explain first that I used to get incredibly bored whenever people started telling stories about their pets. Of course it’s easy to change perspective once I became the main person responsible for the well-being of two animals. They are my children. But beyond that, I’ve been exploring the belief that what’s on the outside is a reflection of the inside, so I see these two cuddly critters as parts of myself that have come to the surface to be reformed. Animals, like all beings in our lives, provide incredibly helpful lessons.


First to arrive on the scene was Skater Bear (who was found in a skate park as a kitten). He was born August 2013, and he is a Leo through and through. When he was just two months old and I was deciding if I should adopt him, he won me over by crawling up on my lap without any invitation. I eventually took him home and placed him in the bathroom to sleep for a few hours as he acclimated to his new house. The first thing he did when he groggily walked out into the living room was crawl up beside me on the couch, snuggling with me nonchalantly as if he’d done it zillions of times.

The day Skater Bear recruited me to be his Mom. I was an easy sell.

When I’m working on the computer, he is typically sprawled across my lap. I’m often so intensely focused on what I’m writing that I barely notice he’s there, but when I do, and I stroke his belly, his body stretches out long, his face and meows theatrically expressing pleasure.

Or he’ll massage my belly. I’m so used to it now, that the gentle kneading of his front paws hardly even registers until his hind paw nails dig into my forearm as he tries to keep his balance. Ouch!

He is especially attentive when I have an ache in my abdomen. It’s like he feels it’s his daily duty to take care of me. He doesn’t even like to be petted when he’s working. He’s in full concentration.

Sometimes he just sits next to me on the armrest, and I can feel heat rise on the back of my neck and arms, as if our energies are somehow interacting despite my focus on my work. It’s distracting, but in a good way. He’s saying, “Come back to your body, and pay attention to me. Be present in what’s around you, not what’s in your head.”

Skater particularly loves InnerSynastry sound sessions. When I offer them in person rather than video, he occasionally climbs up on clients’ laps or sits next to them, purring.

He instantly makes friends with anyone who walks through the door. Before I got him a brother to play with, I felt like I needed to invite over friends just so he’d feel properly satiated socially. Skater particularly had a foot fetish. He’d lay on anyone’s flip-flops that had been discarded on the doormat, and rub his face on them. If my visitors weren’t watching him carefully and were immersed in conversation, he’d nip at their bare toes.

Partly because of this tendency, I decided that he needed another animal in his life. In the cat world, biting is just play, so I couldn’t explain to him that it’s painful to humans. In Skater’s mind, he was just expressing his love.

But bringing another kitty into our household wasn’t an overnight thing. We both needed time to adjust to the idea. Plus, just when I made the decision, a large business opportunity dropped in my lap, so I had to redirect my resources elsewhere.

So for a year, Skater and I discussed it. I knew he understood my words because whenever I brought up the idea of a brother, he would cling to me more tightly than usual. I interpreted that as, he’s not ready to share me with another cat. I would remind him that he would have someone to roughhouse with, and assured him this would be his cat—he would help decide when or if we got him.


Even a year before I met the new kitty, I was calling him “Aquarius.” Around that time, I was beginning to receive the insights that would lead to Unity Astrology and InnerSynastry. I hypothesized that if I found Skater’s opposite, an Aquarian, it would balance out Skater’s abundant love and constant need for affection.

The perfect opportunity came that summer when my niece, 12 years old at the time, stayed with me for a week. Picking out a new cat would be a fun activity for us.

That week, Skater acted much differently than usual. Even though my family was visiting, he uncharacteristically remained in the basement, not even greeting them to beg for pets. He sulked in the safety of his cat bed. I had a feeling that he was already adjusting to the energy of a new member of the household, soon to enter.

It just so happens that it was the same week as a lunar eclipse in Aquarius. (Leo-Aquarius eclipse cycles only happen every 10 years or so.) Sure enough, when my niece and I found the perfect furball at the local shelter, he was six months old, so that means he was born on the Capricorn-Aquarius cusp.

When I placed him and the cat carrier onto the shelter's countertop as I checked out, I had the thought, "Your plan very well may not work out—you may have two crazy kitties who despise each other rather than balance each other. Are you really ready to be a parent of another animal?" And the answer came back resoundingly, "Yes." In less than a day, this little guy had won my full love. I already felt like his Mama.

It didn’t take long interacting with him to realize he exhibited some of the typical Aquarian qualities. Sweet, yet choosing to love in his own way in his own time (typically at 4 a.m.). Curious and inquisitive, bordering on ornery at times. And of course independent, sleeping long hours in the back of the closet.

At first he seemed to have an understanding for rules, exhibiting his Capricorn side, but as he became more comfortable at his new house, he quickly learned which rules to break to get my attention—the Aquarian appearing.

As customary when introducing two cats, I separated them for the first week so they could get used to each other’s smells. The only interaction they had was playing footsie in the crack under the door.

At nighttime, I attempted a different parenting style for Aquarius than I had with Skater. For the first year of his life, I had put Skater downstairs each night. (He didn’t seem to mind too much—it’s a pleasant place for a cat). At that time, I struggled with getting a full night’s rest, and given the rambunctiousness of kittens, I decided the solution was to train him to sleep alone. While the strategy worked—to this day Skater is fairly respectful of my sleep time—I worried that the forced independence contributed to his neediness. The nightly separation may have been a perfect introduction to his lesson of balancing Leo with its opposite (which I had no idea about at the time), but I wanted my kitty to know he’s always safe and loved.

Aquarius has different lessons, according to my method of astrology. He is balancing his independence by learning love, so spending the first few weeks sleeping in my room getting undivided attention might help that. Again, the strategy seemed to work. He’d curl up beside me, usually right on top of the book I was trying to read. As long as my petting remained light and unneedy, he’d allow it.

To this day, he acts more comfortable here than anywhere else in the house. He expresses his love most readily when I’m in my bedroom, even if I’m just folding laundry.

He makes biscuits on the bed and rubs against me, purring and meowing. When he kneads, he lifts his feet fully off the bed as if he is marching, in contrast to the precise skilled steps of massage therapist Skater.

We still had to figure out a way for Mom to get a full night’s sleep with a nocturnal kitten around. I would start out the night with him in my bedroom, and then when he woke me up at 4 a.m. meowing, I would place him in his own room downstairs. The room has two doors, which I would shut so that Skater wouldn’t attack him, as they still hadn’t met.

One early morning after placing Aquarius in his room, I kept on having nightmares that he had gotten out and was in trouble. But every time I would wake up, my senses told me that everything was okay, so I would go back to sleep.

When I finally did get out of bed, I walked into the kitchen, and sure enough, Aquarius was there. (Apparently, when I had placed him downstairs in the dark, I hadn’t shut both doors to his room.) Aquarius turned the kitchen corner to where Skater was eating out of his bowl beside the basement door. I thought, “Oh, shit.” But then they kissed noses! I have no idea what happened while I was sleeping, but apparently everything was okay.

We spent the next hour in the basement as Skater chased Aquarius all over the place, up and down and around boxes and other storage. Skater kept on looking up at me, meowing and brushing up against me as if to say, “Is he really mine?”

Skater on the rug. Aquarius in the box.

Aquarius was able to tell Skater in cat language when he was being too rough. At the same time, I got the feeling that learning to be animalistic was good for Aquarius. He wasn’t the typical animal. He seemed to be from a pure place, landing here to learn our primal ways.

For the first three months, Skater continually pushed the boundaries of roughhousing. While they would occasionally hang out in the same space, Skater would act annoyed if Aquarius took his place near Mommy on the couch. But they got along well enough.

Then one day, I walked into the kitchen to find my two cats on the table—and Skater was giving Aquarius a bath. Aquarius lay patiently as his brother thoroughly licked his upper neck. “Victory,” I thought, with tears in my eyes. Skater’s not only tolerating him, but he has an outlet for his abundant love.

A year has passed, and I don’t see this spa treatment super frequently. They’re much more likely to express their love through play. But every once awhile I’ll catch them kissing noses. Or Skater will walk up to Aquarius while he’s sleeping on the couch and gently lick his feet. Before taking a nip.


When Aquarius sits next to me, I am tuned into sweetness and purity. He doesn’t love because he needs love. He just loves. There’s no pulling or yearning. There’s just presence. He prefers light touches, so that our energetic bodies feel separate, while Skater wants all up in my energy. The only exception is when I’m getting ready to leave, and Aquarius gets a taste of his own medicine— separation and independence. Before heading out the door, I make sure to take that time to give him the attention he’s asking for. It’s important to me that he receives love when he asks for it.

Aquarius in front.

An Aquarian learning to love is a beautiful thing. To me, Aquarian love is a balanced expression that we should all strive for. Aquarians might be most comfortable in expressing love by reforming systems or creating networks for the greater good, but when they learn to land that love in their bodies, and sit still, they are grounding peace, purity and freedom onto Earth.

My experiment of getting a cat for Skater basically worked. Skater is satiated to the point that he hardly ever bites people any longer. He’s not perfect, but usually only acts on his impulses when Aquarius has disappeared for long periods, hiding in his sleeping spot.

We’re now in a new phase that I’m just starting to negotiate. Aquarius’ early morning wake up calls have turned into loud meows and scratches at the wall as soon as I start to drift off to sleep at bedtime. Even though I really want to reserve nighttime as an opportunity for him to snuggle, I have had no choice but to bribe him with treats to go downstairs. Since I don’t want him be alone, I often bribe Skater to follow him, even though I know he’d rather sleep upstairs.

It has turned into a nightly routine, and it’s frustrating me enough that I decided to ask my intuitive friend if she could talk to them. While we didn’t come to any great solutions about Aquarius’ nighttime wake-up calls, the conversation was quite revealing.

I learned that Aquarius is supposed to learn everything he can about my life. He is here to help me work. I translate that as encouraging me to tap into Aquarian energy to assist in transformational work, which I think happens most easily at night, especially if I’m not reserving a portion of the day to write.

Aquarius (right) is here to learn everything about my life, even what I do when I'm outside.

For an Earth sign like me, Uranian/Aquarian energy used to be a bit discombobulating. I’d get intense rushes of insights, and that’d be particularly disruptive if I wasn’t getting enough sleep. Not to mention, the structure of my life continually adjusts and changes with these insights. An Earth disposition would rather just be settled into routines.

That has changed since Aquarius entered my life. I am learning to be at peace with Uranian impulses. It doesn’t have to be shocking. (As long as we can work out the sleep issue). It can be as sweet as my kitty. Especially when it’s well-blended with Leo energy.

My intuitive friend also said that Aquarius is to learn all of Skater’s “duties,” so that when Skater passes (hopefully a long time from now!), Aquarius will be fully equipped to be my righthand man.

In reflecting on the reason why I got Aquarius—to balance out the abundant Leo in my household—it made perfect sense to me that Aquarius would adopt Skater’s healing abilities in the process.

Aquarius is a fan of yoga

Soon after the conversation with my friend, I noticed Aquarius’ response to petting was less neutral. Instead, he would push up into my hand like Skater does. And he gave me his first tummy massage!

Aquarius still has quite a lot to discover about all that can be experienced as an animal. When I’m giving sound sessions, he usually hides as soon as I turn on the sound—the vibrations are a lot to take in for a sweet Aquarian! The only exception is when I’m working on clients who have abundant Air (the element of Uranus/Aquarius). He’ll hang out on the couch when they’re around. In fact, he wouldn’t let one of my Air clients out the door, asking for more and more pets as she tried to leave.

Being around Aquarius, and his sweet typically unclingy way of loving, has taught me how to find that in myself. Just like Skater has taught me to make sure that I’m not so absorbed by my inspirations and insights that I’m not remembering what it’s like to be in body. When caught up in a creative energy that feels like divinity, it’s important to remember that others suffer, what it’s like to suffer, and to help alleviate that suffering.

As my kitties and I come into balance, an archetype is being balanced, which has reverberations in the collective so that the archetype is less likely to go to extremes. Yes, independence is important, but not to the point that we forget how to love.


So why does love often become so warped?

Back to where I started—Supernatural.

In the TV show, God is a writer. He’s redrafts versions of the same story, then manifests the stories onto Earth, observing his experiment, thoroughly entertained in the process. If any versions don’t work, he discards them. Meanwhile his characters suffer, dealing with the consequences of God’s bad ideas.

The storyline kind of reminds me of the theory that we can switch timelines to alternate universes if we just change our beliefs. The question is, every time we switch, who sticks around to clean up the ghosts, or in other words, our unresolved karma?

I address that question in another article. In the meantime, linking writing and “God” is powerful, and can extend to any creative act, which is the domain of Leo.

I’ve started watching the quality of my energy as I create something new. If there’s any orneriness or bitterness or yearning present, then that energy is going to manifest in the project or article. If I am peaceful—carrying a sweet unattached love similar to what I feel when I’m around my kitty Aquarius—then I’m less likely to transmit bad karma into the world through the creative process.

If Sam and Dean are ridding all the ghosts so that they don’t have to deal with “God,” perhaps what they are doing is finding inner purity so that they don’t keep dealing with the same old bad karma that “God” keeps on producing.

Perhaps a world without God is one in which God is inside us, and we’re no longer seeking love from other sources. And when we do give and receive love, there's no hidden agendas.

Note: Underlined words with no links denote articles that are not yet posted. Check back in the near future!

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