Neptune Square in Capricorn and Aries: The Wizard and the Warrior

We’ve made it, friends. “Millennial” is no longer a synonym for confusing childish adult to our elders. We’re staring down the barrel of midlife, and we have finally passed the burdens of trendsetting and not being taken seriously enough on to Gen Z.

In astrological terms, we are in (or approaching) our Neptune squares, Pluto squares, and Uranus oppositions. Every generation experiences these transits, but most generations have some breathing room between these milestones. They don’t have to deal with every single one of them in their 40s.

Most of them, also, don’t have Neptune in Capricorn, which means that they don’t have Gandalf as a role model for their Neptune squares like we do, and I think that makes all the difference.

The Neptune Square: Gandalf-style

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means for us to be going through our Neptune squares in particular. I haven’t been hearing a lot about that one, and what I hear about it tends to be vaguely spiritual in a mumbly way that feels, frankly, a little insulting to Capricorn and Aries, the signs of our Neptune square.

Capricorn is a wizard, dammit, master of the four elements, the sea goat bounding up mountains and diving to the bottom of the sea at the same time. The world is ending? Fine. Capricorn is already up in her tower searching her library for that level 100 spell she stumbled on last Tuesday that will deal with all of this.

Aries is the warrior and the explorer. Like Capricorn, they approach problems head on (literally, sometimes) trusting the body’s reflexive self-defense instincts to keep them alive.

If you’re anything like me, these qualities are aspirational more than descriptive. I want to be that wizard, but in real life, my desk is surrounded by books I rarely have time to read. I want to be a brave adventurer. I watch documentaries about people living in far-north Canada right before bed, so I can fall asleep imagining the barking of sled dogs, but then I wake up and look longingly out the window at mountains owned by timber companies that I will never climb, and I go down stairs to sit at a desk and stare at a screen until my brain is too full of fog to think.

I want to know—and this is an honest question, not just a sad attempt to be relatably rhetorical—what are these longings for? What do I do with the desire to be an adventurous wizard? What do we do, since I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way?

One answer that I keep coming back to: Get crabby.

Yes, “these longings are meant to make us crabby” is an actual theory, and it brings us back to Gandalf, who I name-dropped earlier and immediately abandoned. Gandalf is one of the crabbiest characters in literature.

All I have to say is, “Fool of a Took!” and you know exactly who I’m talking about.

I don’t think Gandalf’s crabbiness is a little bit of character-building-food-coloring. I think it’s an essential part of how a person with Gandalf’s power and capability responds to the type of situation that he found himself in. When he found the ring, he didn’t smile and tap dance and pretend everything was fine. He grumbled. A lot. And drafted the nearest person who was oblivious enough to put the ring in his pocket and leave the Shire Because He Said So, and then he rode like mad to the nearest library with books occult enough to explain what the hell was going on.

Gandalf’s demeanor wasn’t pleasant, but his character is a perfect example of Aries and Capricorn working together in a constructive way. Capricorn works hard. He trains so that when the proverbial ring needs to be tossed into the volcano, he doesn’t need to think too hard about what needs to be done. He can rely on Aries’s tendency to leap audaciously into danger and Capricorn’s wise muscle memory to get him through.

Saving the world: muscly guys with swords need not apply

Millennials get a lot of crap for believing that we were born to save the world. (We can talk about why we have that belief and where we got it from, but that’s a conversation for another time.) We’re old enough now that we know better than to let anyone see that we’re still carrying our trusty old savior complex around with us, but we all know that it’s still there.

Again, I return to the question why? Were we waiting for a moment like this? When the world is threatening to end in runaway forest fires and iceberg-melting floods?

If Tolkien were here, I suspect that he would be nodding, “Yes,” but I don’t think it’s because he’s imagining us charging in like Hollywood heroes.

We’re Generation Gandalf. We aren’t meant to ride in on horseback waving big swords. It’s our job to know that hero the world needs is a gardener (because Sam was the real hero, let’s be honest) and ignore the ravings of mad and senile old men sitting on thrones.

What does that mean exactly? I don't know yet, but I have the strong instinct (informed by my read of the occult scribbles) that Taurus’s simple wisdom is the hidden path forward for our generation. We’re here for pipe weed and growing things, not adrenaline and swords.

Would you like some support with your Neptune square? I’d love to discuss it with you in a Tea With An Astrologer Session.

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