Love, War and the Cosmic Joke of it All
Mars in Retrograde: Relationships, Wounds and Unchecked Desire
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I’ll begin by saying I’m not an astrologer. I am a woman who positions herself within the context of the universe to better understand her place in it all. Our universe consists of galaxies, stars, planets, and even the vast empty spaces between them. It includes planet Earth—her inherent cycles, seasons, stories, and the constructs created by her people.
I’ll speak for myself when I say that there has been interesting energies afoot as of late. Especially when it comes to love, romance, relationship and desire. There has been a sort of, universal pattern to these themes. So naturally, I started looking at the astrology for an explanation.
Everything is made up of energy in the form of frequency, and the movement of the stars and planets around us affects our bodies and psyche—much like how a glass of wine is affected by a sound that can cause it to shatter in place.
Today, Mars—the planet of action—goes retrograde for the next few months. This celestial event, to slow action, occurs every couple of years. This time around, it falls in the signs of Cancer and Leo. Leo embodies stellar, yang energy (of the sun) and Cancer carries yin, lunar energy (of the moon). Leo brings about themes of ego and the inner child while Cancer is ruled by emotion and nurturing. These two opposing forces create a period of reconciliation and polarity.
It’s hard to speak of Mars without acknowledging the myth of Ares, the Greek god of war who presides over it. As the son of Zeus, king of the gods, and Hera, queen of the gods, Ares was a complex figure in Greek mythology. He was despised by the other Olympians for his impulsive nature and raw passion—a warrior and a home wrecker.
Famously, Ares was entangled in a passionate affair with none other than Aphrodite, the goddess of love and desire. Their mythological tale represents one of the most symbolic unions, entwining two powerful and opposing forces: love and war. The story captures the drama of divine relationships while offering a deeper reflection on the paradoxical forces that govern all life, especially when it comes to romance.
This retrograde brings unresolved tensions in relationships to the surface, demanding our attention and delicacy when it comes to the fragile balance between desire and responsibility. It challenges us to confront our instinctual, fiery nature and temper it with a slow hand and learned wisdom. For me, it arrives at a time when I have been holding that balance carefully, in multiple places, and many of my past relationships have risen to the surface for last looks. As if holding up a mirror, Mars’ backspin invites me into a period of reflection, presenting all the material needed to reassess the patterns and lessons still waiting to be addressed.
Last week, I moved into a new home in Ojai, a small town cradled in the valley of the Topatopa Mountains. Every evening at magic hour, the mountains glow rose-gold—a phenomenon called “the pink moment”. The climate here is Mediterranean: hot and dry in the summer, mild and wet in the winter. It’s the perfect place for citrus and olive groves. The air is laced with sagebrush, and walks often lead me under the dappled light of a Manzanita. This valley, carved by the San Andreas Fault, is full of natural wonder—massive boulders, deep rock pools, and shady corners framed by cottonwoods. We’re just 30 minutes from the ocean and about an hour and a half from Santa Monica, the place I just left behind. It feels close, but in every way that matters, it’s a world apart.
Right now, I’m moving through a personal astrological transit called “Expansion of Home,” as described by an app I use called The Pattern. This phase officially began on July 7th— the day after I decided to leave LA and begin what would be a process towards moving to Ojai.
I had just returned from a few months in Europe, and the moment my feet hit the ground in LA, I heard a familiar voice: it’s time to go. The city and I had completed our cycle together.
I subleased my place, packed up my car, and decided to spend some time camping in Yosemite and exploring California. On my way, I stopped in Ojai for a night to attend a gathering. Before the event, I pulled over at a coffee shop and ran into some friends who invited me to join them at the river.
Seven minutes out of town, we found ourselves by the water, lying naked on hot rocks with our toes in the cool stream, taking in the sun. “Maybe I should move to Ojai.” I said, with a daydreamy tone. Without missing a beat, one of my friends said, “I have a backhouse available later this month.” And I replied, “I’ll take it.”
I spent all night speaking to one person at the party. In the morning, I drove out of Los Padres Forest and up the 99 toward Yosemite, and that person and I started texting. Over the next few days, I sat with the Giant Sequoias, walked with the deer, and swam in the Merced River. He and I talked—a lot—way more than I normally would communicate, especially on a solo-trip. There was an immediate sense of safety and trust between us, this innate feeling of home.
I spent ten days alone, yet I was sharing my stories and solitude with him. When I returned to my little sublet in Meiners Oaks, we dove in—hesitantly at first, then courageously—into a deeper intimacy. It was a connection that eventually took us back up the same highway, into the mountains, and all the way to Oregon on a trip I can only describe as a cosmic camping love bubble.
This is our story, not mine to tell. But it ended abruptly, for many reasons. My subletters left, I had a spiritual retreat in North Carolina, followed by an extended trip overseas. Grandfather time exhaled on our bubble, and it popped.
Last Saturday, there was another gathering at the same property where we had first met. Five months later, there we were, sitting under the same mammoth oak tree, no longer strangers as we had been on that first night, and now, I live here. There is a small history of vulnerability and intimacy that has been learned between us, causing us to fumble as we step into the dance of reorienting in a new dynamic.
Here’s where the astrology gets interesting: my transit, ‘Expansion of Home,’ that started when we met, isn’t complete until Mars stations direct on February 23rd. I can’t help but wonder, with all this interplay of love and healing that has been taking place within this story and others, that perhaps this "expansion of home" has less to do with my physical move and more to do with an expansion within my heart?
Since July 7th I’ve experienced heart openings, reframes of romantic partners to platonic protectors and even free falling, deeply, into something that couldn’t be mine, not unrequited, but fated timing. There has been a lot of desire, and a huge amount of restraint put forward to mitigate its more damaging side effects. A whole canon of love stories, ready to be reviewed over the next few months of Mars retrograde, and my perfectly coinciding personal transit of ‘expansion of home’. These two transits feel designed to be together, guiding me through the process that will finally allow me to heal the wounds that have kept me, at 35 years old, from fully desiring committed partnership.
This retrograde can be seen as the great balancer, urging us to act on what truly matters (our Venusian values). When I look at the relationships around me, I see many friends asking themselves: Is the struggle we're currently facing worth fighting for? Or, what new structures do we need to create for healthy interdependence? The collective is witnessing the crumbling of foundations that once provided stability, and the ensuing chaos is leading to a lot of questions.
Here’s the good news: this period of inquiry is supported by nature—and it’s time to lean in.
For me, any door that has been left ajar in my hallway of relationships is allowing the wind to whistle through so I know that it’s open. My heart has hit its most tenderized formation, having experienced a full spectrum of love and ways of loving. The pattern that I am aware of is the attraction of unavailability, to mirror that of my own. If I’m being truly honest, this transit feels like the penultimate chapter of my fiercely independent era, bringing all of my unresolved shit up for a final reckoning.
As an Aries sun (ruled by Mars) and a Leo moon (which Mars is currently transiting) — this is the perfect time to shed limiting beliefs, old wounds, and egoic desires—an opportunity to reconcile my holding patterns and choose to lead from an unprotected heart.
My friend,
reminded me of this quote yesterday:“The times are urgent, let’s slow down.” —Bayo Akomolafe
From now until February 23rd is not a time to act on impulsive desire or start something new, it will feel like you’re swimming upstream. Now is a time for introspection, reflection and strategy towards all of our relationships, both external and with Self.
Contemplate these questions:
What do I truly want?
Have I designed the life that I want to live?
What parts of myself are still asking to be seen?
The cosmic joke of it all, is just how apparent these themes are in my life and the lives of those around me. I’m curious—does this resonate with you too?
If so, let’s roll up our sleeves and hold the polarities of love and war in either hand. This is an opportunity to heal conflict and learn from what remains unresolved. It’s an opening to nurture ourselves and move slowly—to respond rather than react. The planets are doing their thing by dialing up the volume on the aspects of ourselves that are out of alignment or ready to be heard.
Our only job is to listen.
Mars retrograde will be transiting Leo from December 6th - January 6th and Cancer from January 6th - February 23rd.
Standby for Part II on how it all unfolds, releasing in March.
