Hostage to emotion
11 March 2012 13 Comments
My natal Moon in Capricorn wants to rant.
Every now and then I get sick of being told how closed off to emotion I am, and I accuse all those astrology textbooks describing people with Cap Moons as cold, brittle, harsh, and ambitious as being part of the conspiracy!
Speaking for my own Cap Moon, it frequently feels under siege by more feeling types who privilege the immediacy of their intuition and sensory knowledge over those of us who take longer to get there. It has become politically incorrect to make quick judgements about people who are slow with reading and writing; but it seems perfectly acceptable still to consider people slower to access their emotions as having none.
I’m sick of it.
Just because I don’t always express my emotions clearly doesn’t mean I don’t have them. It doesn’t mean anyone has the right to hurt me by insinuating I’m incomplete, damaged, or worst of all, dishonest. Sometimes it takes me two days before I even realise I’ve been hurt, and then they think I’m crazy for bringing it up two days after the event. I’m sick of it!
My emotions are there — trust me, they are, or I wouldn’t be ranting now — but it takes me a longer time to get in touch with them. Usually I have to go through my head first, and slowly and painstakingly dismantle the defences I have constructed to protect those same fragile emotions I’m accused of not having. It may be true that some Cap Moons never want to see past those defences, but some of us do, and have been trying.
Let me try and articulate, in the space of this blog, what feeling feels like to my Cap Moon. It feels like I don’t want to go there. It’s a scary place, yet always in the periphery of my consciousness. I know it’s there but I don’t allow myself to feel too much because I’m afraid of how deep I’ll fall when I do. And I have no means of getting out again. That’s the difference between my Cap Moon and the feeling types — it’s not that I don’t have feelings, it’s that I have not developed a mechanism for dealing with them (I’m trying!).
Everyone has fears, it’s true. But the trouble with the Cap Moon is that it can appear so ‘together’ on the surface, which gets mistaken for aloofness, coldness, or plain snobbery. I’m willing to bet the morass that seethes beneath the surface could well rival any Scorp’s. Scorps revel in the power of those emotions, Caps wonder if they ought to have them at all. As if someone had mistakenly sent them a package meant for another address.
My favourite delineation of the Cap Moon is still Planet Waves’ Eric Francis’. His reading is more nuanced than all those textbooks and he identifies ‘the emotional and spiritual crisis’ in Cap Moons that cuts very close to the quick.
The lives of those with Capricorn moons are almost always characterized, at least for a while, by deep pain, loss and suffering, but they will be the first people to tell you that what doesn’t kill you makes you strong. Pain has turned them into survivors. When it works to the common good, they become unusually adept, practical humanitarians. When it works to everyone’s detriment, they can retreat into themselves, putting up active defenses that seem aggressive. They may pass along the notion that pain builds character, by their actions. They may even convince you they have no heart. Nothing could be further from reality: these are some of the most sensitive people alive; it’s just that they hide their pain so well. Part of how this can be done is by compartmentalizing their feelings. Cap moons are among the best feeling compartmentalizers in the business. This is one way they can avoid necessary change, or set aside their sensitivity when they need to.
I remember feeling a profound sense of relief when I first read the essay many years ago — at last, someone gets it. I even very nearly cried.
If you know someone with a Capricorn Moon, be kind and gentle and patient. Approach them with the delicacy of an expensive antique vase, and you may just be rewarded with more love and loyalty than you had thought possible with anyone.
Image from ‘Rumpelstiltskin‘, Andrew Lang’s The Blue Fairy Book, 1889. Source: Wikimedia Commons.