The Rebel
The book fair brings up some of the fondest memories I had as a kid who loved school and was raised in T.J. Maxx. Here was a shopping experience geared totally toward children, all with really great options for extending the collections of unique scholarly reminders of who we came here to be. The smell of a new book and the feel of a fresh pencil on paper continue to be portals to my creation story.
During my first year at Crestwood Elementary with our librarian, Mrs. Broyles, I picked out a poster that hung in my room for at least the remainder of my primary school years. It was a picture of a baby on its back, sucking on a bottle of milk, wearing headphones, and the heading ‘Born to be Wild’ at the top.
I had claimed Mrs. Broyle’s grandson as my first boyfriend, a label that also lasted about as long as that poster hung in my bedroom. Not sure which came first, but I’d like to think I was slyly letting her know who he had chosen upon checkout. I didn’t want the angelic toehead bow-wearing innocence to underestimate me. I had depth.
Despite being raised as a good Catholic girl who was quick to apologize for taking up space, I was born into a raging world that formed a rebellious armor of protection to keep me safe. My system was regulated by chaos; it was a familiar space, and the persona of the nun archetype in my first house was quickly followed by a revolutionary spirit that was a perceivable force behind how I showed up. It was that nod to Mrs. Broyles as I checked out my poster and her grandson at the same time.
The rebel came with me to college as I outlawed the good-girl upbringing, wearing my crucifix as a form of irony, choosing a double major in agriculture and public relations because it allowed me to stand in two worlds at the same time. I challenged authority, made my own way, and tripped over myself through most of the process. It’s almost as if consequence was missed somewhere along the way, and I continued to put myself out there, trusting I’d land in some form of grace.
Like when I was on a European trip with the Horticulture Club, my junior year at Western Kentucky University. My best friend wanted to paraglide, and while I was uneasy running off the Alps with nothing but a guide and a giant kite keeping me up, I didn’t want FOMO.
As I literally ran off the side of a mountain, I was thinking, here goes nothing! The wind caught our sail, and we lifted with a force that dropped my stomach faster than any free fall I’d experienced. I was being shot up toward the heavens, and my body responded with knowing that I’d never do that again.
While airborne, the guide behind me assured me I was fine and coached me through steering the kite by crossing my legs back and forth. As we flew over the Neuschwanstein Castle, my eyes were seeking a flat, clear area to come down.
The landing was rough. Safe, but we hit the ground with an impact I wasn’t prepared for, tumbling over one another as the kite fell around us. It was an experiment with experience that taught me where my boundaries were. No longer would I run off mountains. Also, taking a risk could mean a rough landing, and it can still be safe enough.
When I started my career, the good girl got me the job, while the rebel got me promoted. I worked for an entrepreneur who valued my sharing ideas, even though most people were afraid of how they might be perceived for speaking up.
After seven years of climbing the corporate ladder completely unintentionally, I read a consultant's business card that said, “Challenge the Status Quo”. I saw myself for the first time in this rebel sphere. I’d been playing Revolution by the Beatles as an anthem during that time of being pushed out of my current position, but only from the vantage point of my experience: a bully boss, manipulative moves out of my purview, consultants spending time with me in conversations that didn’t track.
I held onto this idea for quite a while, always thinking I was put here to disrupt the system, stick it to the man, seek justice for the victimized. I burnt bridges, left jobs with severances, and even became the man for a period, running my own business. I never took responsibility for the disruption the rebel can cause. It was so easy to think I could disrupt without becoming victimized by this scandal.
It wasn’t until I chose to sell the business I built and nurtured for nine years that my understanding of how this archetype worked came to fruition.
I was a week away from dismantling everything I’d built, including five tons of salt, because my lease was well past due and the potential buyers hadn’t signed our purchase agreement. I thought everything had been laid out, but they delivered me a non-compete that went well beyond standard considerations. My experience was my most significant asset, or so I thought, and I was ready to walk away with nothing, rather than agreeing to being bound for three years and a citywide radius.
Having been working with Caroline Myss’s sacred contracts, I understood the survival archetype, the prostitute, was absolutely present in this negotiation. What was I willing to sell myself for? She is the keeper of faith, the negotiation of the soul. I was ready to walk away with nothing when my husband reminded me it wasn’t all about me. We had three kids, and I didn’t have a job lined up, and while he had supported me through doing whatever I needed to do to take care of myself, walking away wasn’t necessary. I had no plans to build a salt business anywhere in the city; I didn’t want my expertise stifled when I was one of the few experts in the industry.
It took me casting my Chart of Origin, an archetypal map with house considerations for how these psychic influences play out, to recognize that my rebel archetype fell in my house of personal resources. This would be Taurus from an astrological viewpoint. This is the house of money, resources, and material possessions, grounded in objects that represent the energy one values. Interpersonally, it’s the house of self-esteem, inner talents, and generosity toward others.
Having the rebel fall in my house of resources allowed me to see where I’ve rebelled against the machine at my own cost. The poster bearing the message ‘Born to be Wild’ was an antidote to the discipline I received in my upbringing based on Catholic values and to the loss of the holy language from an early age. I allowed the rebel to silence my inner voice in college, when I was terrified of running off a mountain instead of simply missing out on something that could be life-threatening. I bypassed any notion of grace in my career path because the man needed to be brought down, even though it meant walking away from significant income potential. Here I was, about to do the same thing again.
The rebel's light qualities use creativity to look at challenges in new ways. It’s the higher perspective many are seeking out through psychedelic therapies, a way of solving traditional issues through revolutionary insights. The rebel challenges the status quo and is a key component of growth and development.
Understanding how the rebel shows up in my Chart of Origin allows me to see when I’m in relationship with it from trauma, and can call on faith to view it differently. When there is a risk to my security, I can trust that I don’t have to go to the lengths of starting a revolution to create the necessary change. I can be strategic - to keep doing what I’m doing and not be completely disrupted by the growth opportunity in front of me.
The opposing archetype to my rebel is the magical child in house eight, which I’ll write about in the following Chart of Origin blog series. The lesson of the child is responsibility. When I want to rebel because things are unjust or scary, there’s the option to allow magic to unfold by staying the course. This requires slowing down and moving into a higher-centered way of thinking by understanding my part in a play of other characters. Just as variables in science have multiple influences, psychic, karmic, and physical influences operate in tandem. This insight allows me to navigate transition with greater understanding, going from the outlaw biker’s rough exterior to the softness of their heart tattoo bearing the name “Mom”.