I was thinking how Sinéad reminded me of another scapegoated, outspoken Dubliner – Oscar Wilde, particularly his sad story, The Nightingale and the Rose. Because she is that Nightingale. I had to compare their charts (see bottom of page), the two geniuses actually have much synchronicity. To start with, they have the same lunar nodes, North in Taurus, South in Scorpio. Her Mercury and Neptune (words/art/music) are conjunct his South node, his Uranus (future/genius) is conjunct her North node. She has Saturn conjunct Chiron, the ‘wounded healer’ (2 deg) in Pisces (sign of martyrdom) and he has Jupiter conjunct Chiron (3 deg) in Capricorn (sign of the scapegoat). She has Venus and Sun conjunct by degree and sign in Sagittarius, he Sun and Venus conjunct by sign in Libra. She has Mars at 2 Libra, he has Mars at 3 Sagittarius (each other’s Sun/Venus signs – remember both their lunar nodes are ruled by Venus and Mars).
Addendum: I also just looked at the death chart of Oscar Wilde, and it’s pretty mind-boggling to note that transiting North node, Sun, Uranus, Jupiter and Chiron were ALL in SAGITTARIUS at the time. As well, Chiron was in a wide conjunction with Saturn (Sinéad has them conjunct), Mercury the psychopomp was in Scorpio (as is Sinéad’s).
I have to look into it more thoroughly, but I wonder whether this might be a case of reincarnation…there’s no way to be certain, of course. I know, there is nothing in physical resemblance whatsoever, and there needn’t be, but…she does kind of resemble his long suffering wife, Constance Lloyd. Constance, a journalist, was a political activist and feminist, who fought for and spoke out on women’s rights, education for girls, dress reform (for women to wear comfortable clothing) and the ‘Irish Question’ (of home rule). She also may have died from botched fibroid surgery (a result of undiagnosed MS, it’s thought). Considering they would have had a soul contract and he was a Libra (partnership sign), might there have been some cross-over here?
Wilde himself, after being sentenced to two years hard labour for his homosexuality, wrote about the abhorrent conditions for inmates, calling for change. Like Sinéad booed on stage, he was jeered and spat on by crowds during his transfer to Reading Gaol Prison.
At the same time, charts can be so clinical. Poetry and song gets to the heart of things, especially since we are talking about people who were devoted to it. This is where the soul reveals itself best, and evolutionary astrology is about the soul’s travels.
“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.”
“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?”
So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.
But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.”
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
~ from The Nightingale and the Rose, by Oscar Wilde
The Singing Bird, yet another of her Irish ballads that makes my heart burst.
Thank you Sinéad, beautiful soul, for all your healing, celestial voice and utterly fantastic songs. And thank you Oscar Wilde for your brilliant writing that inspired so many other great artists.
All written content, except poem excerpt is copyright ©Roxanna Bikadoroff. Charts are from astroseek.com, great site. Please share via LINK only. It helps bring traffic here.
