Weekly Transmission: February 17-23

This past week, the Sun departed the third decan of Aquarius for the deep, illusory waters of Pisces I. Just before this ingress, I watched Babygirl (spoilers ahead) for the first time with my husband, and was instantly tickled when I realized one of the images for Aquarius III is a knot. How appropriately kinky, I thought.

I also read Existential Kink last month, and realized immediately this thought practice spelled out in Dr. Elliott's work was a practice I had been doing, in one form or another, since I was a child. When I would repeatedly do something “bad,” get caught, and suffer the consequences, I sometimes would ask myself, What do I like about this cycle of getting caught? Because if I truly didn’t want to get caught, I would’ve been more diligent about covering my tracks. Maybe a part of me enjoys getting caught, I thought. Capricorn children truly have too much time to think.

One time, in the middle of a heated argument with my boyfriend when I was 21, he and I both noticed an uncontrollable smirk forming on my face, one side of my mouth lifting, seemingly of its own accord. My boyfriend did not like this, naturally; he got more mad and asked me what I thought was so funny, and I genuinely didn’t know. But my body did. I couldn’t ignore what we both witnessed, which was my body’s admission’s of pleasure in that moment. What the fuck was that about? I asked my conscious mind.

But subconsciously, tucked away in the 12th-housey corners of my mind, I knew exactly what was going on: I was enjoying the theatre of it all, as both performer and audience member. A deep inner Knowing in me acknowledged this relationship was doomed from the start, and we were just waiting for the catalyzing event that would bring it to its end.

Acknowledging this on the outside, bringing it to my conscious mind, wouldn't be wise; it would destabilize me during a time when I was fighting tooth and nail for stability. We had moved to Portland together less than a year prior to that argument, after spending six months living in my Toyota Tacoma together (yes, that one). Rent in 2015 was downright cheap compared to rent in 2025, but at the time, my context was much different, and I was stringing together multiple jobs at a time to keep afloat. In many ways, I felt trapped in that relationship, and simultaneously incredibly free. Maybe a part of me enjoys feeling trapped, I thought.

There's not even a need for a "maybe" on that sentence, really, because I've always enjoyed bondage, and particularly rope bondage. I find a robust knowledge in tying different knots to be an incredibly sexy attribute in a person. I've never really felt the need to probe into the psychological foundations of this kink for myself, but I imagine it has at least something to do with the way bondage forces you to be present in your body, for better or for worse, which is something I've struggled with my entire life. The paradox of kink is that this type of presence can also be an exquisite temporary escape from reality.

There's also the unending allure of having someone else make all the decisions for a while, especially as someone who is constantly making decisions with varying levels of stakes--much like a CEO, or someone living below the poverty line.

In Babygirl, Nicole Kidman's character is a CEO who admits that her kink is (at least in part) derived from the need to put something at risk with her choices. Very real stakes in this case, because she risks the very fabric of her family and her position at the head of her own company just for the sensation of relinquishing control of her vessel to her intern in their kinky affair.

The third decan of Aquarius correlates to the Seven of Swords, and as Coppock writes in 36 Faces, the knot "signifies departure from a situation," yet this departure is "not a simple severance." There is consideration with regard to what's being taken along and what's being left behind, but we don't know if these considerations are of a moral, ethical, financial, emotional, or logical nature. We don't always know where our kinks come from, and sometimes that in itself is enough to rattle you, if your relationship to shame is unmoored.

Since I was very little, since I can remember even, I’ve always had these specific thoughts... I have no idea where they come from, who planted them in my brain. I would give anything to erase them.

Coppock goes on to say the process of uneasy discernment displayed on the Seven of Swords is a display of the "slowly growing disgust and frustration with the state of things," and the entire span of Aquarius III "represents disenchantment with the fabric of everyday life and its petty terrors." To me, this describes my experience of feeling trapped by my external circumstances without my prior consent. Kink, in its healthiest form, is about intentional entrapment. The ropes are tied because you want them to be. The submission is freely given, which is what makes it so thrilling. Under capitalism, under patriarchy, under all these external structures, we are bound by forces we never consented to.

I have my natal Saturn, final boss of my entire chart, in the third decan of Aquarius, and thus have grown intimately familiar with the uneasy, ongoing compromise between leaving and staying, between obligation and liberation, between dedication and exploration. The beauty of kink and engaging in healthy kink practices is that you can have your cake and eat it, too; leaving the realm of your obligations and commitments to explore and liberate can even be a demonstration of your dedication, or a way to strengthen it. There is an inherent seduction in being held, in being restrained—not just in a physical sense but in the way we are bound to circumstances, roles, and identities.

This week, I've really been loving Goldie Boutilier's 2022 EP, Cowboy Gangster Politician, especially the track "K-Town," which gives me the imagery of someone circling the drain of their own life, aware that they’re stuck in a loop, but also, maybe getting a little something out of it.

Cause I've been through a ring of fire
Been so lonesome I could die
I'm the daughter of a coal miner's daughter
And if I had the chance, I know I'd do it twice

The way the song lingers in a restless, dissatisfied space reminds me of that cycle I experienced as a kid--doing something "bad," getting caught, and then sitting with the question: Do I actually like this? Because sometimes we don’t really want freedom; we want to feel the contours of our cage. We want to know where the edges are, how much we can lean into them before they break. We also do this type of boundary-testing in our intimate relationships, to varying degrees, with or without kink.

Kink is just a ritual of transformation; it lets you practice escape, practice surrender, practice inhabiting different versions of yourself without actually burning everything to the ground (unless you want to). The beauty is that you can always untie the knot--but you don't. Yet.

Romy wasn't just risking her marriage or her career, she was risking the version of herself that was built for survival. It's really the thrill of becoming something else, even if just for a moment, and nobody understands that thrill better than I do. The knot of Aquarius III isn't about being trapped at all, but about the pleasure of tension: knowing you could leave, but you don't. Yet.