Let me begin by saying this section is not for the faint of heart. It’s intensive work and it may be something you want to return to overtime. Take your time to understand the basics, and then this section may be more useful and instructive.
There is something rather appealing about the idea that you can engrave the image of Venus onto a piece of copper, prepare it under favorable astrological conditions, and carry the goddess of love around in your pocket. Given the spectacularly poor romantic judgment displayed by some of her most devoted followers, one might reasonably wonder whether Aphrodite should be permitted anywhere near the dating process. Nevertheless, people have been approaching the planetary gods for assistance with their earthly affairs for centuries, and love remains one of the more popular reasons for seeking divine intervention.
Imagine someone who has spent the better part of two years attempting to recover from a difficult relationship. They’ve tried dating other people, made occasional declarations about finally moving on, and assured their friends that the past is firmly behind them. Unfortunately, those assurances become considerably less convincing whenever their former partner sends a message. A perfectly ordinary Tuesday can suddenly turn into an evening devoted to deciphering three sentences and a strategically placed emoji.
Eventually, they decide to approach Venus. Perhaps they’ve studied planetary magic long enough to understand the traditional correspondences, or they’ve commissioned a talisman from someone experienced in astrological elections. The object is made from copper, associated with Venus, and prepared at a time selected for its suitability to the intended working. Depending upon the tradition, it may bear a planetary image, sacred names, or other inscriptions, and its preparation may include prayers or ritual consecration. The practitioner has given the matter considerable thought, and the talisman has been created with a clear purpose: to attract a loving relationship.
At first, nothing particularly extraordinary happens. They carry the talisman, occasionally touch it while thinking about their desire, and continue going about their life. Then an interesting possibility emerges. Someone expresses genuine affection for them, appears emotionally available, and seems interested in developing the kind of relationship they claimed to want. For reasons they cannot quite explain, however, the attention makes them uncomfortable. They find themselves questioning the person’s sincerity, losing interest, or becoming preoccupied once again with the former partner who has never offered anything resembling a stable relationship.
The practitioner approached Venus hoping to attract love, yet their experience has brought them into contact with an uncomfortable question about their ability to receive it. They may discover that longing for an unavailable person feels safer than accepting affection from someone who might actually expect a relationship. Perhaps the idealized romance they’ve been pursuing has allowed them to avoid the ordinary vulnerability involved in loving another human being.
None of this establishes that the talisman caused these developments. People encounter opportunities, disappointments, and uncomfortable realizations without ever performing magic. Nor should we assume that Venus has arranged an elaborate psychological intervention because someone engraved her image onto copper. Still, within the practitioner’s experience, the object may acquire a significance that extends beyond the original request. What began as a magical attempt to influence external circumstances has become associated with a question they may not have been prepared to ask themselves.
That possibility interests me because planetary talismans occupy a distinctive position within the history of astrological magic. Unlike a candle that eventually burns away, a talisman is generally intended to remain with the practitioner or continue serving its purpose over time. It may be worn, carried, placed in a particular location, or maintained according to the requirements of the tradition through which it was prepared. The relationship with the object can therefore continue long after the elected moment has passed.
To understand why this matters, we first need to examine what makes an object a planetary talisman in the traditional sense.
Freezing an Astrological Moment in Time
The central principle of astrological talismanic magic is that a carefully selected moment can be captured, or frozen, within a physical object. The practitioner chooses an election when the appropriate planetary influence is favorably situated for the intended purpose, then creates or consecrates the object according to the methods of the magical tradition being followed.
Consider how this differs from the planetary candle workings explored earlier in Astro Magic 101. When performing candle magic, we can select a suitable planetary day or hour, prepare our petition, approach the deity, and complete the working as the candle burns. The ritual occupies a relatively limited period, although the magical petition may concern circumstances that develop over weeks, months, or even years.
A traditional astrological talisman involves a different relationship with time. The practitioner attempts to preserve the virtue of a particular celestial configuration so that the object can continue serving its magical purpose after the planets have moved elsewhere in the zodiac.
Suppose we’re preparing a talisman associated with Jupiter. An astrologer might look for a period when Jupiter occupies a position considered favorable for the desired operation, taking into account its essential dignity, house placement, aspects, and other relevant conditions. The Moon’s condition may also be important, depending upon the electional rules being followed. The selected moment becomes part of the talisman’s construction, with the object intended to retain the planetary influence associated with that election.
Of course, the planets don’t actually stop moving when someone engraves a piece of metal. Jupiter will continue along its orbit, Venus will eventually change signs, and Saturn will remain entirely indifferent to anyone’s impatience. Within the traditional magical understanding, however, the talisman is intended to preserve something of the celestial virtue available when it was prepared.
This is what I want beginners to understand. A necklace bearing a planetary glyph can be a meaningful devotional object, and someone may certainly use it as a focus for magical intention. But engraving the symbol of Jupiter onto a pendant doesn’t automatically mean you’ve created an elected Jupiter talisman. The election itself is fundamental to the particular form of astrological magic we’re discussing, and you can hire a seasoned electional astrologer to assist with this. In fact, there are many talented people that specialize in electional work.
The idea belongs to a much older understanding of the relationship between the heavens and earthly matter. Medieval and Renaissance practitioners inherited philosophical traditions in which celestial influences were thought to operate throughout the natural world. Certain materials were considered especially receptive to particular planets, while images and ritual actions were used to establish the intended relationship between an object and the power being invoked.
From that perspective, the talisman was meant to do something beyond reminding its owner of an intention. It was created to participate in the celestial influence selected by the magician.
Whether such influence operates as those practitioners believed is a different question. But if we’re going to discuss traditional talismanic magic seriously, we should first understand what its practitioners thought they were accomplishing rather than immediately translating everything into modern psychological terminology.
The Election: Giving the Object Its Astrological Purpose
Electional astrology is the technical foundation of this form of talisman-making. Instead of examining a chart to understand something that has already occurred, the astrologer searches for a favorable moment to begin a particular activity.
The principle should already be familiar to readers of our article on planetary days and hours, although talismanic elections generally require more detailed consideration than selecting Thursday for a Jupiter candle working.
A practitioner might examine whether the desired planet occupies one of its traditional dignities, whether it is strengthened or weakened by its position in the horoscope, and how it relates to the other planets. The Ascendant and its ruler may be important, along with the Moon and the aspects she is forming. Some traditions also give particular attention to planetary days and hours, although these aren’t necessarily the deciding factors in every method.
The difficulty is that historical talismanic instructions aren’t always organized according to one convenient set of rules.
The Picatrix, a medieval Arabic work of astral magic known in Latin translation, contains numerous instructions involving celestial images, materials, and elections. Marsilio Ficino’s Three Books on Life approaches celestial influences through a Renaissance philosophical framework concerned in part with health, temperament, and the relationship between the human being and the heavens. Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s Three Books of Occult Philosophy brings together an extensive body of magical, philosophical, numerical, and religious correspondences.
These authors belong to overlapping intellectual traditions, but they shouldn’t be treated as though they collaborated on a single ceremonial instruction manual.
A talisman constructed according to one historical procedure may therefore differ considerably from an object prepared under another. The imagery, materials, astrological requirements, and ritual preparations depend upon the particular operation and source being followed.
This is significant because modern correspondence books sometimes present talisman-making as a standardized process. Find a dignified planet, choose its traditional metal, engrave the appropriate seal, burn some incense, and congratulations, you’ve apparently manufactured a celestial battery.
The historical material is considerably more complicated.
Some operations emphasize particular planetary images and the astrological circumstances under which they are produced. Others involve names, prayers, fumigations, or numerical designs associated with a celestial power. Even where similar philosophical assumptions are involved, the precise requirements can vary.
An experienced practitioner needs to understand the method being used and why its particular electional conditions are important. Choosing an impressive-looking chart and adding whatever ceremonial accessories happen to be available doesn’t necessarily reproduce a historical talismanic procedure.
I would also caution beginners against assuming that the most elaborate possible election is always the most appropriate. The election should correspond to the intended operation, and finding it may require patience. When creating something intended to serve a purpose over an extended period, I think that patience is generally a reasonable investment.
You are, after all, attempting to preserve an astrological moment within an object. It seems worth spending some time deciding which moment you actually want to preserve.
Metals, Images, and the Language of the Planets
Once the election has been established, the practitioner must consider the physical object itself.
Traditional planetary correspondences associate the seven classical planets with particular metals: gold with the Sun, silver with the Moon, quicksilver with Mercury, copper with Venus, iron with Mars, tin with Jupiter, and lead with Saturn. These relationships form part of the broader symbolic system we’ve already explored in my article on planetary correspondences.
For talismanic work, the selected material can carry particular importance because the object is intended to embody the planetary influence associated with the election.
A Venus talisman made from copper draws upon a longstanding association between the metal and the goddess. A solar talisman prepared in gold reflects the relationship between the Sun and the metal’s brilliance and perceived nobility. Within the traditional worldview, these were not merely decorative preferences. Materials were understood to possess qualities that made them appropriate to particular celestial operations.
Yet the material is only part of the construction.
Historical magical traditions also employed images designed to express the powers or activities of the planets. An image intended for a particular operation might contain recognizable planetary figures or other symbolic elements, depending upon the source. In some traditions, the object could also bear sacred names, planetary characters, or other inscriptions.
Agrippa’s discussion of planetary magic squares is especially interesting because it illustrates how numerical relationships became part of magical symbolism. His system associates the classical planets with tables of numbers and corresponding characters or seals. The numerical arrangements and their derived designs belong to a particular magical framework, rather than representing universal requirements for every planetary talisman.
This is also where we need to distinguish talismans from sigils.
A sigil is generally a symbolic design associated with a particular power, name, or intention. Some are constructed through planetary magic squares, while others arise from quite different magical methods. A sigil may appear upon a talisman, but the presence of a sigil doesn’t automatically establish that the object has been created according to a traditional astrological election.
I mention this because contemporary occult terminology has become rather casual. You’ll occasionally encounter objects advertised as ancient planetary talismans that appear to consist of an attractive pendant, a planetary glyph, and a marketing department with an unusually enthusiastic imagination.
There is nothing wrong with wearing symbolic jewelry or using personally meaningful objects in magical practice. But understanding what you’re purchasing or creating is rather important, particularly when the object is being represented as the product of a specific historical procedure.
The safety of the materials also deserves consideration. Mercury and lead possess established associations within traditional planetary magic, but both present significant toxicological concerns. Their historical significance doesn’t justify casual handling or attempts to reproduce hazardous operations. Modern practitioners should use verified safe materials and distinguish contemporary adaptations from the original procedures rather than assuming that every substitution preserves the historical method.
A talisman created using a safer alternative may still have meaning within an adapted magical practice. Whether that alternative fulfills the requirements of a particular traditional operation is a question that deserves separate examination.
Consecration and the Relationship with the Planetary Power
Once the physical object has been prepared, some talismanic traditions incorporate prayers, invocations, offerings, or other ceremonies intended to establish its relationship with the planetary influence.
Consecration can involve substantial differences among traditions. Certain methods prescribe particular fumigations, names, images, or prayers, while others emphasize different forms of preparation. There isn’t one ceremonial sequence that applies equally to the Picatrix, Ficino, Agrippa, and every later practitioner who drew upon their work.
Within the traditional magical worldview, these acts could serve purposes extending beyond the mental concentration of the magician. Celestial intelligences, spirits, and other forms of spiritual agency occupy important places in several historical systems. The ritual could be understood as engaging those powers through the methods considered appropriate to the operation.
I think we need to allow that understanding to stand on its own terms.
Someone approaching Jupiter through a traditional invocation may genuinely believe they’re communicating with a spiritual intelligence associated with the planet. Another practitioner may understand the same ritual through a philosophical model of celestial influence. A contemporary astrologer might also recognize symbolic and psychological dimensions in the experience.
Those interpretations aren’t necessarily identical, and we gain very little by pretending they are. At the end of the day, they are what they are.
This is especially important when introducing depth psychology. If someone believes they’ve encountered a planetary deity through ritual, we don’t need to announce that the experience was merely a psychological projection. Psychology can offer an interpretation of the person’s experience without establishing the ultimate nature of the being they believe they’ve encountered.
Personally, I’ve always found the relationship with the gods to be one of the more interesting aspects of planetary magic. After more than twenty-five years of practice, I don’t approach the planets as impersonal mechanisms that exist simply to deliver whatever happens to be written on my latest petition. Their mythology, traditional powers, and the experiences I’ve associated with working with them have contributed to relationships that have developed over time.
A talisman may become part of that relationship, particularly when it remains in someone’s possession for many years. The object continues to represent the original magical intention, but the person carrying it may develop a considerably more complicated understanding of the planetary power involved.
And that brings us back to Venus.
When the Talisman Becomes a Living Symbol
Carl Jung made an important distinction between a sign and a symbol. A sign refers to something whose meaning is already understood. A symbol, in the fuller psychological sense Jung developed, expresses something that cannot yet be adequately explained through familiar concepts.
That difference becomes interesting when we consider someone’s ongoing relationship with a planetary talisman.
A copper pendant engraved with a Venusian image may initially represent a clearly defined magical objective. The practitioner wants to attract love, and the object has been prepared according to a particular method to support that intention. Its meaning appears straightforward because the person knows exactly why it was created.
But suppose the object gradually acquires another significance.
The practitioner begins noticing that their attraction to unavailable people has persisted despite repeated declarations that they want a stable relationship. They might also recognize their own discomfort when affection becomes available without the familiar drama of uncertainty and rejection. Over time, the talisman becomes associated with questions about intimacy, desire, and the emotional habits that shape their relationships.
At that point, the object may begin functioning as what Jung would call a living symbol. Its significance has expanded beyond the meaning the practitioner originally assigned to it, and the person finds themselves confronting aspects of their experience that were not fully understood when the talisman was created.
This is a possibility rather than an automatic consequence of talisman-making. An engraved object doesn’t become a psychologically living symbol merely because someone has invested time and money in its construction. Nor is every talisman destined to produce an encounter with the unconscious. Some objects remain important primarily because of their religious or magical significance, while others gradually become ordinary possessions.
The distinction depends upon the relationship the person develops with the image and the meanings that emerge through that relationship.
I also think there’s a danger in romanticizing this process. People can become intensely attached to symbolic objects without developing any greater understanding of themselves. A person might carry a Venus talisman for years while continuing to pursue unavailable partners, interpreting each disappointment as evidence that the next romantic catastrophe will finally produce the relationship they’ve been waiting for.
In that situation, the object may have become deeply significant without necessarily contributing to psychological development.
Anyone familiar with Aphrodite’s mythology should recognize that desire and good judgment have not always enjoyed a particularly harmonious relationship. Remember that whole Trojan War debacle?
What Venus May Reveal About Desire
Jungian psychology offers a useful perspective on why romantic attraction can become so complicated. Through projection, people may attribute qualities to another person that belong partly to their own unconscious expectations, fantasies, or unresolved emotional experiences.
Someone may fall in love with an image of what another person represents rather than developing a meaningful relationship with who that person actually is. Their attraction may be sustained by longing, idealization, or the hope that receiving affection from this particular individual will finally resolve something they have been struggling with for years.
Naturally, the person experiencing this attraction may find the suggestion rather insulting. They’re convinced they’ve encountered the love of their life, and some astrologers have the audacity to suggest that their beloved might also be carrying a considerable amount of psychological baggage that doesn’t actually belong to them?
Yet this is exactly the kind of question that can become relevant when working with Venus.
Our hypothetical practitioner has created a talisman to attract a loving relationship. If they subsequently become aware that they’re uncomfortable with genuine affection while remaining fascinated by an unavailable partner, they may begin examining the difference between the relationship they consciously desire and the emotional patterns that continue directing their behavior.
The talisman could become a focus for that examination because it remains associated with the original intention. Every time the person encounters it, they may remember the relationship they hoped to attract and compare that desire with what they’re actually experiencing.
Whether Venus has spiritually arranged these circumstances isn’t something psychology can establish. Nor does recognizing a projection require us to dismiss the possibility that a practitioner understands the planetary deity as an independent spiritual presence.
The psychological question concerns how the person relates to their experience and what they may discover through examining it.
And there is no guarantee that such discoveries will be pleasant. Someone who has spent years idealizing an unavailable partner may be deeply invested in maintaining that fantasy. Recognizing the pattern can threaten a cherished understanding of the relationship, particularly if the fantasy has become central to the person’s identity.
The practitioner may resist the insight, dismiss it, or continue pursuing the same situation despite understanding something about its emotional consequences.
Psychological awareness doesn’t automatically produce behavioral change, and acquiring a talisman certainly doesn’t relieve anyone of the difficult work involved in reconsidering their relationships.
Active Imagination and the Planetary Image
Another Jungian concept worth considering is active imagination, although it needs to be distinguished from the ordinary visualization used in many magical rituals.
When performing planetary candle magic, I generally recommend spending a few minutes imagining the result you’re hoping to accomplish before lighting the candle. The practitioner deliberately concentrates on a desired outcome, using the image to clarify and direct their intention.
Active imagination involves a different kind of psychological activity.
In Jung’s method, the individual engages with images or figures emerging from the unconscious, allowing them to develop and responding to them rather than simply controlling the experience according to a predetermined objective. This may involve dialogue, writing, drawing, or other forms of expression through which the person attempts to establish a conscious relationship with the psychological material.
Creating a talisman is therefore not automatically an example of active imagination. Engraving a planetary image, selecting an election, or performing an invocation belongs to the procedures of the particular magical practice being followed.
However, an existing talisman might become a subject of active imagination if the practitioner begins exploring the images, associations, or feelings that emerge in relation to it.
Someone working with a Saturn talisman, for example, might find themselves imagining Saturn as an elderly authority figure who refuses to grant a desired freedom. If they engage with that image psychologically, they may discover that it evokes their relationship with discipline, aging, authority, or the limitations imposed by their circumstances.
The emerging material may be unexpected. The person might initially experience Saturn as an oppressive figure only to encounter associations with protection, endurance, or the need for boundaries. Those developments could challenge the conscious attitude they brought to the exercise.
This is one way the talisman might become involved in psychological exploration, but the process shouldn’t be confused with the traditional magical operation itself.
A practitioner can also choose to approach Saturn devotionally, through prayer or ritual conversation, without treating the encounter as a Jungian exercise. The psychological interpretation remains available without becoming compulsory.
I think this is significant because modern occult discussions sometimes treat every imaginative experience as evidence of profound unconscious transformation. Having an interesting fantasy about a planetary god may be psychologically meaningful, but it doesn’t establish that someone has achieved a significant development in personality.
The value of the experience depends partly upon what the person discovers and how they subsequently relate to that discovery.
Synchronicity and the Meaning of the Elected Moment
Astrological elections raise another question that Jungian psychology can help us examine, although not necessarily answer.
Traditional talisman-making assigns particular importance to the moment in which the object is created. The astrologer examines the celestial conditions and selects a time considered favorable for the intended operation. Within the magical tradition, the elected configuration is understood to contribute to the purpose and efficacy of the resulting object.
Jung’s concept of synchronicity approaches meaningful coincidence from a different direction. He proposed that certain events might be connected through meaning without a conventional causal relationship adequately explaining their association.
It’s an interesting concept to consider alongside astrology, particularly because astrological practice has long involved interpreting the significance of moments in time. But synchronicity shouldn’t be presented as an established mechanism explaining why an astrological election works.
The existence of a meaningful experience doesn’t demonstrate that a planet transmitted an influence into a talisman, and Jung’s psychological ideas don’t provide experimental confirmation of traditional celestial magic.
Still, the practitioner may encounter experiences that seem unusually appropriate to the planetary symbolism involved.
Someone who creates a Mercury talisman for communication might subsequently experience a significant conversation that alters their understanding of an important relationship. A person carrying a Saturn talisman might encounter circumstances requiring them to establish boundaries they had previously avoided.
These events could be interpreted through the symbolism of the planetary working, especially when they appear closely related to the original intention. Yet similar experiences also occur in ordinary life, and a practitioner who becomes determined to identify supernatural significance in every development can quickly lose perspective.
I think the most useful approach is to pay attention to what happens without assuming that every coincidence requires an elaborate magical explanation.
Sometimes an event appears meaningful because it genuinely changes our circumstances. Other times, the significance arises through the way we interpret it. Both possibilities deserve examination, and neither requires us to abandon critical judgment.
The Transcendent Function and the Problem of Getting What You Want
One further Jungian concept can help us understand the psychological possibilities of talismanic work: the transcendent function.
Jung used this term to describe a process through which the tension between conscious attitudes and unconscious material may contribute to the emergence of a new psychological position. It isn’t simply a matter of deciding to think differently, nor does it mean that every difficult experience automatically produces growth.
Consider again the person who created a Venus talisman because they wanted a loving relationship.
Consciously, they may be convinced that they’re ready for intimacy. Yet their repeated attraction to unavailable people suggests that another set of emotional expectations continues influencing their choices. If they begin examining that conflict seriously, they may eventually develop a different understanding of what they want from love and how they’re prepared to participate in a relationship.
The new understanding might involve recognizing that they have been confusing longing with intimacy. They may become more willing to tolerate the ordinary uncertainty of reciprocal affection or less interested in maintaining relationships through endless cycles of rejection and reconciliation.
This would be a meaningful psychological development, but it wouldn’t necessarily resolve every problem in their romantic life. Nor would it establish that the talisman had magically produced the change.
The object may have played a role in organizing the person’s attention around the issue, particularly because it remained associated with their original desire. But the psychological work would still involve their willingness to examine uncomfortable experiences and make different choices.
And sometimes that willingness simply isn’t present.
A person may prefer the familiar drama of pursuing someone unavailable. They may continue performing magical operations while avoiding the decisions that would meaningfully alter their circumstances. No amount of beautifully engraved copper can force someone to surrender a fantasy they’re determined to preserve.
Venus may govern love, but I don’t believe she should be expected to compensate indefinitely for someone’s refusal to recognize the relationship they’re actually involved in.
What Happens When the Talisman Doesn’t Work?
One of the temptations of combining magic with psychology is the assumption that every unsuccessful magical operation can be reinterpreted as a successful psychological experience.
Someone creates a talisman to attract love, no relationship develops, and the practitioner is informed that the real purpose of the working was to teach them how to love themselves. Perhaps that’s a meaningful interpretation in some circumstances, but it can also become a convenient way of avoiding the possibility that the original intention wasn’t fulfilled.
I think we need to be more careful.
If a talisman was prepared for a specific magical purpose, the practitioner has every reason to examine whether circumstances developed in a manner consistent with that purpose. A psychological insight may be valuable, but it shouldn’t automatically replace the original objective simply because the desired outcome failed to materialize.
We should also acknowledge the possibility that a talisman may become an object of unhealthy attachment. Someone who is intensely invested in a particular outcome might begin treating the object as the only thing standing between them and catastrophe. They may interpret ordinary setbacks as evidence that the talisman requires additional attention, more elaborate ceremonies, or increasingly expensive interventions.
At that point, the relationship with the object deserves examination, especially if it is encouraging the practitioner to avoid difficult but necessary decisions.
None of this requires rejecting the traditional magical understanding of talismans. It simply means that practitioners should retain enough perspective to evaluate their experiences without automatically declaring every development a supernatural success.
A talisman can be approached with sincerity and respect while still being examined critically.
And I would argue that the more important the original need, the more necessary that examination becomes.
Living with the Planetary Power
One of the reasons I find talismans so interesting is that their purpose can extend far beyond the moment of creation. A carefully elected object may remain in someone’s possession for years, becoming associated with an ongoing relationship with a planetary deity and the circumstances surrounding the original working.
The practitioner may continue studying the planet’s mythology, observing its symbolism in ordinary life, or developing a more personal understanding of its traditional powers. Their relationship with the object may also change as their circumstances and interests develop.
I’ve experienced something similar in my broader relationship with Saturn.
When I began studying astrology, Saturn appeared considerably less appealing than planets such as Jupiter or the Sun. His associations with hardship, aging, restriction, and limitation weren’t exactly qualities I was eager to invite into my life. Over time, however, I developed a greater appreciation for discipline, tradition, endurance, and the importance of allowing certain things to develop organically.
I also became increasingly interested in Saturn’s association with the Golden Age in Roman mythology. It’s an intriguing dimension of a god who is so frequently portrayed as the unpleasant celestial authority responsible for making everyone’s life difficult.
My understanding changed because my experience of Saturnian themes changed. The planet’s traditional symbolism remained recognizable, but I had learned to appreciate qualities that once seemed primarily restrictive.
A talisman associated with Saturn could become part of a similar long-term relationship. Someone might initially approach the planet because they want protection or firmer boundaries, only to discover over time that their understanding of responsibility and personal limitation has become more sophisticated.
That development isn’t guaranteed by the talisman’s construction. It depends upon the person and the experiences through which their relationship with the planetary power unfolds.
Yet it points toward something I consider valuable about astrological magic. The planets possess rich histories and symbolic associations that continue offering material for reflection long after a particular ritual has concluded.
The more familiar we become with those powers, the more capable we may become of recognizing their significance in circumstances that initially seem unrelated to the original working.
When the Gods Give You More Than You Asked For
I began with the example of someone creating a Venus talisman to attract love because it illustrates a difficulty that extends far beyond romantic relationships. People frequently approach magical practice with a clear picture of the result they want, only to discover that their circumstances involve questions they haven’t fully examined.
The traditional purpose of an astrological talisman is to preserve the virtue of a carefully selected celestial moment within an object prepared for a particular magical operation. The election, physical materials, images, and ritual procedures establish that purpose according to the tradition being followed.
I take that history seriously. These objects emerged from philosophical and spiritual systems in which the relationship between the heavens and earthly life was understood as something more substantial than personal symbolism.
At the same time, I think depth psychology offers an additional perspective on what can happen when a practitioner develops a continuing relationship with such an object. The talisman may acquire meanings that weren’t consciously anticipated when it was created. It may become associated with uncomfortable realizations about desire, authority, fear, or the expectations someone brings to their relationships.
Those possibilities don’t establish that the original magical operation was successful, and they don’t require us to dismiss the traditional belief in planetary influence or spiritual agency. They simply invite us to consider the experience of the person carrying the object as seriously as the methods used to prepare it.
After more than twenty-five years of practicing planetary magic, I’ve become increasingly conscious of the importance of examining what I want before approaching the gods. Sometimes that requires considerable time, especially when the intention concerns a lasting change in circumstances. The more significant the working, the more attention I believe it deserves.
But I’ve also learned that experience can complicate our understanding of what we originally requested.
When I approached the Sun to expand my friendships many years ago, I didn’t anticipate losing almost my entire social circle before developing relationships that would last for decades. Looking back, I believe the working was appropriate, even though the outcome developed through circumstances I hadn’t imagined, and was quite painful at the time.
That experience remains important to me because it illustrates how much can happen between making a request and eventually understanding what the experience has meant.
A planetary talisman introduces an additional dimension to that process. The elected moment passes, the planets continue moving, and the object remains with the practitioner. Years later, the original circumstances may have changed so considerably that the talisman evokes an entirely different understanding of the planetary power involved.
Perhaps the Venus talisman accompanies its owner into a loving relationship, helps them recognize that an old attachment must be released, or remains with them as they continue seeking love without the external result or psychological growth they hoped for.
I don’t think we need to invent a comforting explanation for every possibility.
The talisman was created to fulfill a particular desire, and that purpose deserves to be taken seriously. But so does the person who carries it, particularly when their understanding of the gods, their desires, and themselves continues developing long after the original election.
After all, there’s a certain audacity in believing that you can capture a favorable moment in the heavens and preserve it in a piece of metal. It’s one of the reasons I find traditional astrological magic so fascinating.
The gods may have agreed to the original arrangement. Whether you’ve fully understood what you were asking them to become involved in is another matter entirely.
