Surviving the Mars–Uranus Square: A Descent with Medusa

I’m writing to you from Mexico’s Pacific coast — the place where the ocean initiates.

Yesterday, I had a brutal encounter with the ocean. One toe in the water, and the tide took me in, a wave pulling me out as the sand dragged me downward. Caught between two opposing forces, I was suspended in a moment between panic and surrender.

And yet… I’d been warned. A large sign was planted in the sand, clearly stating what to do in case of a rip current: “Don’t fight it. Float.” Like a dummies' guide to living... ! And the most surreal part? The sign was in French. Here, in this remote part of Mexico where no one speaks French, the universe had chosen to speak to me in my mother tongue. A synchronicity so strange it felt like a cosmic joke — as if it had all been written out, literally.

Panneau à la plage de Lo de Marcos, Mexique

Barely recovered from nearly drowning, my first instinct was to check the astrology. And of course: an exact square between Mars and Uranus. But that wasn’t all. Looking deeper, I realised the transit was forming a near-perfect Grand Cross in my chart:

• Mars in Leo (transiting)

• Uranus in Taurus (transiting)

• My natal Mars in Aquarius

• My natal Uranus in Scorpio

A full Grand Cross in fixed signs, in all its glory. A cosmic cross stretched across four directions — fire, earth, air, and water — pushing my body, my heart, and my nervous system to their edge.

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MARS SQUARE URANUS — LIGHTNING IN THE BODY

This square between Mars (the fire of action) and Uranus (the lightning of change) is one of the most volatile, unpredictable transits of the year.

It carries the tension between:

• Mars in Leo — the drive to act, to assert, to shine on one’s own stage

• Uranus in Taurus — a seismic shock to what’s embodied and secure; a revolution in our relationship to the body and the material world

When this aspect peaks, we might experience:

• sudden breakdowns or breakthroughs — both literal and symbolic

• emotional eruptions — anger, defiance, release

• a surge of life force demanding we shatter the form to make space for the unknown

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THE PEAK: 15 JUNE 2025 AT 28°54

The exact square occurs on June 15, 2025, at 28°54 Leo (Mars) and 28°54 Taurus (Uranus).

A crisis degree — almost 29° — the tipping point where energy becomes nearly unbearable.

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A KARMIC RECKONING

Squares in fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, and Aquarius) cut deep. Astrologer Judy Hall reminds us that such aspects often echo ancient soul patterns — wounds carried across lifetimes. When this kind of square arises collectively, it may open a rare portal: the chance to face a primordial wound and begin healing at a much deeper transpersonal level.

In the language of Internal Family Systems (IFS), Mars and Uranus trigger opposing inner parts:

• impulsive or rigid protectors (Mars in Leo or in Aquarius)

• exiles buried in the body or held in transgenerational memory (Uranus in Taurus or in Scorpio)

This kind of configuration can awaken:

• a child’s rage, never allowed to surface

• ancestral trauma of crushed rebellion or generational submission

• cellular memory of exile, betrayal, dislocation

This Grand Cross might awaken the silent phrase passed down through generations: “Don’t make waves.”

But here’s the truth: This square makes waves! And maybe… it’s through those waves that a new kind of freedom begins.

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MEDUSA — THE FROZEN RAGE

There is something brutally feminine in this square. A sacred, ancient fury bottled for too long, that now demands to be released.

I could have spoken of Lilith. But if one figure could embody this energy, it would be Medusa.

Before she became a monster, Medusa was a virgin priestess of Athena — guardian of a sacred temple. It was there she was raped by Poseidon. And it was she — not he — who was punished. Athena turned her into a Gorgon, her gaze cursed to turn anyone who met her eyes into stone. Her hair became serpents. Her body: forbidden.

In this image, we see:

• Mars as aggression — the fire that violates

• Uranus as transformation — the rupture of the human form

• The square as fracture, exile, banishment from the body

This Mars–Uranus square stirs a Medusa in all of us: the one who was violated, betrayed, punished for being too beautiful, too alive, too free, the one who freezes so she can never be hurt again, the one who holds a sacred, wild power — and was silenced for it.

This is the archetype of the woman who is “too much” — punished by men for being too much, and often punished by other women as well.

Too visible without asking. Too desired to the point of violation. Too free — simply because she learned to rely on no one but herself.

Punished for being too much, while spending her life frozen in the fear of never being enough.

In exile, Medusa becomes the reflection of all those who were turned into monsters because the world refused to hear their cries.

And sometimes, that cry doesn’t come out. It gets stuck. It descends into the body. Sometimes it settles in the chest. Sometimes it hardens… into the breast.

A breast frozen — not from fear — but from the silent rage of having given too much. Of having loved to exhaustion. Offered with no return. Carried too much for too long.

Until she no longer knows if it was love or just a desperate attempt to be enough.

 A tender thought to my sisters who have developed breast cancer — that pain where love became a burden, giving became too much, and the heart turned to stone.

There is a fine line between “too much” and “just enough.” And maybe this square is here to help us find it again.

To stop apologising for our power.

To stop shrinking in order to be accepted.

To stop offering our breast as ransom to preserve peace.

This Mars–Uranus square, for all its violence, doesn’t ask us for strength. It asks us for truth.

And sometimes, truth sounds like this: I was terrified. I was hurt. I’m tired of fighting.

It’s the moment we admit: I’m tired of being strong. I just want to be held. To be seen. To be received without having to earn it, prove it, or control it.

And maybe, it is in that very place where the energy rips through us (the solar plexus, the heart, the breast) that a new softness begins to form.

Not the kind that shrinks to survive, but the kind that offers itself whole, soft, vulnerable, and rooted in tenderness. Maybe this wave, this square, this scream… isn’t here to punish us. Maybe it’s here to bring us back to shore. Back to ourselves. To that part we thought lost in the storm, but which is returning to take its place in the body. Perhaps this is our freedom: not control, but the permission to be deep, tender, and wildly alive.

And if we return to Medusa she is not just a symbol of terror. She is the one we dare to meet face to face — the deepest wound we carry — and in that sacred confrontation, she opens the way to rebirth.

From her blood sprang Pegasus and Chrysaor: the winged vision and the hidden gold, living proof that from transmuted rage can rise a reconciled power and a new beauty.

So let us love the darkest parts of ourselves :

the ones we hide, the ones silenced long ago.

Let us offer them to the world with tenderness,

like a naked truth laid at the altar.

That is how we rise.

That is how we reclaim the gold of this world,

the gold we’ve carried all along, buried deep in the sacred wound at the heart of our being.

And maybe, in placing into the world what Medusa held in silence, that frozen rage becomes a seed of healing, for ourselves, and for all those who were cast out before us.