This New Moon in Aries falls at the midpoint between two sets
of eclipses in Cancer and Capricorn (in late December/January
and in late June/July). Along with enormous planetary events such
as Saturn's opposition to Uranus (round #2 on April 26)
and the cardinal t-square involving almost all of the outer
planets, the world is facing a critical confrontation between
the demands of tribe (Cancer) and of society (Capricorn). This
New Moon is one of the catalyst points for this crisis, as
the strenuous yearning for independence places us at odds with
both.
Coincidentally, last night I finally got around to watching the
George Clooney film, "Up in the Air." Clooney plays
Ryan Bingham, whose career takes him all over the country to fire
employees for companies that are downsizing. Ryan moves through
life quickly, precisely, and without hesitation. He wields the
machete of professional job termination with efficiency and (at
least superficial) kindness, and once he has finished a job, he
doesn't look back. As Ryan tells a rapt audience of colleagues
in a distinctly Aries-tinged monologue,
The slower we move, the faster we die. Make no
mistake, moving is living. Some animals were meant to carry
each other, to live symbiotically over a lifetime. Star crossed
lovers, monogamous swans. We are not swans. We are sharks.
But at the zenith of his career, Ryan's lifestyle of perpetual
travel and unfettered independence is threatened both by new technology
that could mean an end to his solitary life on the road, and by
the realization that relationships mean more to him than he'd
suspected.
Clooney's Aries-like character (a confirmed bachelor) encounters
the Libran other in the form of a fetching woman he meets
on the road, but also in the wedding that reunites him with his
family. Ryan seems surprised at the tenderness he feels for the
sisters he essentially abandoned when he left their prosaic home
town. As he tries - tentatively - to reconnect with them, he finds
that they, too, have moved on, and that there is no easy place
for him in their lives. Not only is his bachelor apartment in
far-away Omaha stark, utilitarian, and not really a home; but
he finds he doesn't belong among his family, either. When someone
on an airplane asks where he's from, he simply answers, "Here."
The man who is reluctant to marry is a stereotype that launched
a thousand self-help books. And as countless generations have
found, leaving home to conquer far away lands means jumping -
perhaps permanently - from the warm, Cancerian waters of
family. Not to mention that the Capricorn career in which
you have taken refuge from the demands of a partner or family
may eventually pose an equal threat to individuality and mobility.
As Ryan Bingham and his hapless victims found out, you can quickly
find yourself out of a job. Or, in the case of Bingham himself,
you may find your entire approach to your career - and your life
- is threatened by new ways of doing things. Then, too, one reaches
a point in life when it becomes difficult to switch careers -
not only because of our obligations to others, but also because
fitting into corporate machinery inevitably requires that we check
some measure of autonomy at the door. And once it's been surrendered,
it can be difficult to reclaim.
That, I think, is the work of each year's New Moon in Aries:
reclaiming the self. Who are you, apart from your family,
your career, and your partner? Among the cardinal compass points
that orient us to our world, the point of self - the rogue element
that is seen as a potential threat to the security of family,
the order of society, and the fidelity of marriage - is one that
is often misunderstood and given short shrift. It's essential
to honor our commitments, but we also have an obligation to fulfill
our individual destinies. And each time you fail to pursue your
unique passions or to honor your true nature, you die a little.
As a midpoint between Cancer and Capricorn, the parental signs,
I find it helpful to think of Aries as a symbol of the divine
spark, the catalytic impulse that united your parents in an act
of creation. It is the part of you that won out over all the other
spermatozoa in the race to fertilize the egg, the part that emerged
from your mother's body bloody and screaming and ready to fight
for what it needs. The part of you that is, simply, unalterably,
matchlessly, you.
Even if you have no planets, nor the Ascendant or Midheaven in
this sign, Aries is simmering somewhere in your horoscope, calling
the shots from a house cusp or two, or hiding out intercepted
in a house. He's the symbol of pure, unbridled life force,
the energy to explore and conquer new territory. Unless you
were born with Mars, his ruling planet, in a more strategic sign
(say, Libra or Capricorn) or aspect (such as to Saturn), this
is not a part of you that thinks ahead and tries to figure out
how to capitalize on all that energy. It is, rather, the part
of you that simply loves to be in motion, conquering new lands
and rising to new challenges.
Standing at this eclipse midpoint crossroads, with demands from
all directions, remember to feed this part of yourself with just
as much food and oxygen as you give to your family, partners,
and worldly responsibilities. When it is well fed - properly fed
- the Aries spark will lead you in exciting new directions that
make you feel alive. But when your individuality is starved,
or alternately, when it is used as an excuse for failing to connect
with others, it can turn into a shark - gliding silently,
dangerously, and hungrily just beneath the calm surface of your
life, waiting to take a bite.
Want to learn more about what this year's eclipses mean
for you? Order my unique eclipse report, Followed
by a Moonshadow - a three-year report based on your birth
chart, on sale for only $30 through April 30, 2010!
