Full Moon in Capricorn: Resolutions at Midyear

Posted by & filed under Capricorn, Full Moon.


John Adams (left), in a mood.

At the Capricorn New Moon on the first day of this year, I swore I would make no resolutions beyond trying to be a kinder and better version of myself.

I lied.

Well, that’s not exactly true; I was sincere, actually. But old habits die hard, and I didn’t stick to that no-resolution resolution. I soon returned, like a swallow to Capistrano, to my calendars and planners and markers, sketching out an ambitious schedule designed to increase my market share of the planet.

Half a year later, those calendars and their neglected goals look a bit faded, have curled up a bit around their yellowing edges. They are a little bit embarrassing, like old photographs taken when you were very young and innocent and hadn’t quite filled out yet.

The Capricorn New Moon falls near the beginning of each calendar year. At midyear, the Capricorn Full Moon is its mirror image, the response to its call. It’s time to face the optimistic pages of those calendars and planners and compare them with your progress to date. There is still time to change your strategy—or even your resolutions. (more…)

New Moon in Cancer: Setting the Table

Posted by & filed under Cancer, New Moon.

nm-cancer-setting-table3My grandfather built the house himself, a smallish bungalow a few miles from the river, with a good porch and a barn across the road. It was a humble house with three tiny bedrooms and a bathroom added by dad years later, when there were two small kids and a third on the way and Mom was fed up with dragging everything around to the outhouse.

At the center was a large, eat-in kitchen, with bedrooms and living room radiating from it like the rays of the sun. Six of us ate our meals at a round, oak table that, in my memory, was huge. Mom and Dad sat at that table late into the evenings, going over the budget, chatting with uncles and aunts and grandparents. We did our homework there, and mom set the table for big, fried chicken dinners on Sunday. Dad had his morning coffee and cigarette there when he came in from the fields for breakfast; I remember crawling up on his lap, remember his blue work coveralls and his stubbled cheek, remember feeling safe. Remember sitting there, too, the morning a neighbor showed up at the back door to tell us my father was dead.

Many years later, after my mother died, my aunt finally sold that old house. I hadn’t seen it in a decade, and I never planned to live there again, but it was hard to see it go. If my husband and I hadn’t bought our first house together the year before, I’d probably have lobbied to buy it. As long as we owned that house, a place still existed where we had been a family, all of us together.

Coincidentally, it was around this time that I found myself in possession of that old kitchen table. It had gotten a bit warped over the years, and contrary to my memory it was hardly big enough to accommodate even four adults. But back then, most us were little kids and we were all family, so there felt like plenty of space. I wanted to keep that table for sentimental reasons, but our house has small rooms, too, and no space for a dining table that can’t be used for dining. Eventually I passed it back to my sister, who is probably trying to figure out what to do with it now, herself.

When you’re young, there are usually some relatives, a house, some possessions that connect you to the place where you started. If the people who raised you did a good job, there are also places inside of you that act as an internal GPS, long after those people and those places are gone.

Cancer, the sign of home and history and heritage, is your astrological GPS, the umbilical cord that connects you to the mother ship and nourishes you to viability. It’s home – the place where you started out in life, the place where you begin each day, and the people and things that have been there with you. Sometimes it’s even an old, warped table. (more…)

Summer Solstice: Slowing Down, Turning Around

Posted by & filed under Cancer, Seasonal Essays.

I pick up the phone to hear my sister’s voice in mid-reminiscence: “Hey, you know what I remembered today?”


“Remember when we used to go to pick mom up from work, and we’d be sitting in the car waiting…and finally she’d come out, and as she was walking towards us, one of us would say, ‘That’s my mom!’ And the other one would say, ‘Hey – that’s my mom too!’ And then we’d look at each other and go -”

Here I pick up the thread of the storyline, and together we utter a single, dramatic gasp, pretending to be soap opera characters who have suddenly realized they are long-lost sisters. “Duh duh DUH!” we cry, mimicking soap opera “moment of truth” music, and giggle helplessly.

It was fun sharing this mini-flashback to our youth, because in a couple of months I’ll turn 44, and in January my sister will turn 46. In other words, we’re really and truly middle-aged. For instance, the reason she called this morning was to give me a report of my nephew’s SAT scores. He’ll be a high school senior in the fall – about the age his mother and I were back in our “Hey, that’s my mom too!” days. My nephew is marvelous, and I just about burst with pride every time I look at him – but like most rattled oldsters who are continually stunned by the most predictable of life’s transitions, I’m startled as well. Surely he’s not that old, that tall, driving a car, graduating from high school!

Oh, what is it about summer that makes us look back with such aching nostalgia, to take stock of the years passing us by, register such alarm at the 6’3″ nephew, remember silly word games we once played – sometimes still play – with a sibling? In the past few days, the sun has turned fierce after weeks of “June gloom,” San Diego’s characteristic, pre-summer cloudiness. Now, when I leave my office in the afternoon, an ice cream truck is parked in front of the playground across the street. The vendor starts up his engine, the cheesy music begins to play, and I’m immediately seven years old. It’s all I can do to keep from chasing after him for a sidewalk sundae. These are sweet memories; why does it make me a little sad to remember them? (more…)

Full Moon in Sagittarius: I Married An Alien

Posted by & filed under Full Moon, Lunar Phases, Sagittarius.

robobrideMy sister and I enjoy chuckling over pictures from our childhood, which invariably feature me looking up at the sky, distracted, as if awaiting the return of my mother ship. Who knows, maybe I was; born with Sagittarius, the sign of the foreigner, on the Ascendant of my chart, part of me has always felt that I was born in the wrong place, the wrong century, perhaps even in the wrong solar system.

From an early age, even my taste in men spanned multiple time zones. While my sister’s tastes in Tiger Beat magazine teen idols ran along the decidedly American lines of Bobby Sherman and Donny Osmond, I strongly preferred wispy English boys with cute accents. Years later, I spent a good deal of my twenties in a thoroughly impractical and ultimately doomed relationship with a much-older Scotsman; I suspect that his fetching brogue was responsible for 80% of my attraction.

So it came as a surprise to absolutely no one close to me when the man I eventually decided to marry turned out to be from a different country. It makes complete sense that my closest relationship is with someone whose green card thrillingly classifies him as a “Permanent Resident Alien.”

Yes…I married an alien! My husband hails not from Mars but from New Zealand, a smallish country in the South Pacific renowned for its magical scenery, abundant sheep, and Hobbits. Not that I knew anything about it when I met him—and that, of course, was a huge point in his favor. As far as I knew, he came from an entirely different world, and that was interesting to me. Fortunately, more than two decades together, it still is.

What’s a bit strange about my marriage to an alien is that, despite a Sagittarius rising sign and a lot of planets in my 9th house, there is nothing exotic about me whatsoever. I’m from Indiana, possibly the least exotic place on earth. I pretty much hang out in the kinds of places, with the sorts of people, and doing the types of stuff that would seem completely unsurprising to anyone who met me. I have visited a few foreign countries, but I’m actually not that fond of long distance travel. I am wary of unfamiliar foods and am mildly afraid of visiting a country where English is not the native tongue.

But within each of us, a stealth Sagittarian cell seeks the kind of experiences that expand the tiny parameters of our realities. It’s my Stealth Sagittarian who enjoyed sampling a couple of foreign languages in college, whose favorite film of all time is in German, and who married a guy from the other side of the world. (more…)

New Moon in Gemini: A World in Motion

Posted by & filed under Gemini, Lunar Phases, New Moon, Pisces.

newmoon-gemini-300Some people have a knack for language. Perceptive and quick, they’ve been kissed by Gemini and his Mercury ruler, knighted with the rapier of wit. Like birds or bees, they flit from person to person, situation to situation, in an eager dance of verbal cross-pollination.

Gemini’s children have a love of words that borders on the insatiable. But a way with words does not guarantee that you’ve got anything much to say. And it certainly doesn’t solve an even larger problem, which is that not everything can be communicated easily through language.

This dilemma is at the crux of the Gemini New Moon in a nearly precise square to Neptune in Pisces, the planet of dreams in the sign of the ineffable. Gemini effortlessly converts the world of ideas into language and communicates it readily, joyfully; Pisces finds language somewhat inadequate for expressing the enormity and subtlety of its feeling nature. So Gemini and Pisces generally have to struggle to understand one another; but when they find common ground, they produce beautiful prose, poetry, art, music.

Both are restless, mutable signs, though, so assuming you can get the them to agree on something that needs to be said, good luck getting them to sit still long enough to get it said. Sitting still for hours, facing a screen or scratching a pen across a tablet, or composing a song or a sonnet, can make Gemini, in particular, feel like a bird in a cage. Movement, oxygen, and variety bring Gemini happiness, and more than most signs, she chafes under constriction. One tends to imagine that writing is pretty much the same as readingrelaxed, absorbingbut it’s entirely different, and surprisingly difficult.

I’ve often heard that writers need to have some kind of connection in their charts between Mercury/Gemini and Saturn. One might have an aspect between Mercury and Saturn, or Saturn in the third house, or Saturn in Gemini. Within a writer, there must be a delightful bird—but also, a cage. And ideally a little Neptune, and the desire to give voice to the things that mean the most to us but can be hard to express.

Just before the last Full Moon, I was approached to write my third book, and a few days ago I signed the contract. It’s the best moment of any new enterprise, the space between the offer and the commitment. The offer is all about possibility and being wanted, and the commitment is the moment when the door of the cage slams after you, and you enter a sort of 12th house/Pisces realm of confinement.

Born with the Moon in Gemini, I love almost nothing as much as I love words. Yet nothing makes me yearn to leave the house more than the feeling that I should be sitting at my desk, slapping words together. Normally I don’t spend much time hanging out in cafes, but when I’m working on a book I itch to distance myself from the delightful distractions of cats, email, and laundry.

Apparently, it’s a condition universal among writers. When Amtrak recently announced a residency program for 24 lucky writers, Facebook exploded with excitement. And why not? The thought of “writing” the rails for hours on end, with nothing to do but watch the scenery go and tap away at the laptop sounds like writer’s heaven. It’s so much less painful to write while in motion – or while the world is, which is why you’ll find so many writers sitting in cafes, watching the world pass by, dreaming of Amtrak.

If Gemini’s children can’t move, we have to at least watch movement. (more…)

Full Moon in Scorpio: In the Belly of a Duck

Posted by & filed under Full Moon, Scorpio.

bull-rubber-duckEver hopeful for increased prosperity and other cosmic bonbons, I decided to perform the Venus Santeria ritual that Dana wrote about at the Taurus New Moon. It sounded so simple – a piece of bread, a smallish candle, a nickel, a body of running water – but it took me the better part of an afternoon to collect the right size candle, the right shape roll. Finally, I had everything I needed to perform the ritual on the Friday (Venus’ day) after the New Moon.

So just before lunchtime I wrote out my wish list, prepared my little roll, and lit the candle. As it burned down, I followed the ritual’s instructions to pursue pleasant Venusian pastimes. I had my favorite food for lunch, and then I replaced my decaying guitar strings, which seemed appropriately Venusy. Within a couple of hours the candle burned itself out, and I was ready to … well,roll, so to speak. The question was, where to release my Venusian offering into the wild? I had been thinking of taking it over to Coronado and tossing it into the ocean, but then I reread Dana’s article and realized salt water was out of the question.

Then my husband remembered a spot down in the valley where we might be able to get close enough to the bank of the San Diego River to surrender my cosmic muffin therein. We parked in a nearby lot, trundled down the street a piece, and found a likely – if rocky – spot. We picked our way cautiously a few feet down, where I perched on a rock and hurled the bun. At first, I was dismayed; the roll fell just at the edge of a kind of breakwater thing and just sat there for a minute. And then I noticed that the wind was blowing the water toward the breakwater, and despaired of my little offering to Venus getting very far at all.

Then, an intervention: a group of four ducks descended on the roll, pushed it into the river, and began eating it. “That’s… good, right?” I asked my husband. “I mean, nature participating in the ritual, and all.” “Well, think of it this way,” he pointed out. “That roll is going to get a lot further down the river in the stomach of that duck than it would have on its own.” (more…)

New Moon Solar Eclipse in Taurus: Pennies from Heaven

Posted by & filed under Eclipses, New Moon, Taurus.

Oh every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven
Don’t you know each cloud contains pennies from heaven…
~ From “Pennies from Heaven,” by Johnny Burke and Arthur Johnston

pennies-from-heaven-300For months, astrologers have warned that this April would be a cruel month, with two eclipses and a cardinal cross involving Mars, Jupiter, Uranus, and Pluto. And I won’t say that it’s been easy. But with this Solar Eclipse in the fixed sign of Taurus, breaking up old, stagnant routines—while destabilizing—can be necessary for growth and new opportunities.

Around our house, we have found ourselves with too much to do and far too little time in which to do it. There has been change; routines have been shaken up; things have been stressful. But (knock on wood) the net result has been pretty positive—new career opportunities for both of us, and even a sporty, new(ish) car.

Mind you, we had gotten to the point where we were treading water, so almost any change is welcome. Humans prefer safety and predictability, but we need a healthy balance of stability and unpredictability. When we become too safe, it’s easy to get bored, lazy, and a little bit grumpy. Eclipses seem to catalyze the sort of scary change that we both need and dread, and it’s often the kind of change that, in hindsight, seems to have been inevitable. (more…)

Lunar Eclipse in Libra: You Were Asleep

Posted by & filed under Eclipses, Libra, New Moon.

asleepEclipses are freakish moments when the world ceases to function the way we expect it to. The air turns prickly and the sky turns dark and we panic a little, the way you might if the electricity suddenly went out on a cold, windy night when you’re home alone. Objectively, you know you’re safe. But during eclipse times, objectivity is not on the menu. Your perceptions have been altered, and you’re not sure you can trust your instincts.

This month brings two eclipses. A Solar Eclipse in Taurus (April 28) is the penultimate in a series of Taurus/Scorpio eclipses that began back in November 2012. During this cycle, the changes in perception have been related to resources, security, and sharing.

Gradually, the eclipses are easing backward into Aries and Libra, and this Full Moon Lunar Eclipse comes with a clear message: your relationship style has outlived its usefulness. Don’t feel bad. I’m in the same boat. We all are. (more…)

New Moon in Aries: The Taming

Posted by & filed under Aries, Mars retrograde, New Moon, Zodiac Signs.

tamingThere’s more than a hint of madness in this New Moon in Aries, with the Sun and Moon conjoined Uranus and square both Jupiter and Pluto. Everyone seems busy and overwhelmed to the point of exhaustion. It’s as though we’re suffering from collective adrenal exhaustion.

I’ve been wondering why I’m not getting more done, but when I look at my schedule it’s clear that I’m doing plenty, even if it’s not exactly what I’d wanted to accomplish. My appointment calendar is covered with my scrawling, failing penmanship. My days are filled to brimming, even if my bank account is not.

There is some work recorded there, some meetings and appointments, notes about homeopathic remedies I’ve taken. But plenty of what fills my days is not written down anywhere. Troubling phone calls about people I love. The demoralizing, annual ritual of gathering my business profit and loss information for our tax return; a sense of defeat about the latest setback in my career. Clucking over my spouse, who was going through his yearly stressful crunch time at work.

My book is full, my life is hectic, but so much of it is just stuff that makes me want to run away. Is this what is means to have the New Moon point conjoined Uranus, and square Pluto—demoralizing pressure, and longing for freedom? (more…)

Spring: Faces of Mars

Posted by & filed under Aries, Mars, Scorpio, Seasonal Essays.

by April Elliott Kent

I’ve grown lazy in the garden, and everything would be dead if it weren’t for the much-needed rainfall that ended our winter drought last week. Now the lawn, which we let turn brown and dusty until the rains came along and took pity on it, is lush and verdant and keeps my husband busy for at least a couple of hours each weekend. He resents this deeply, and I can’t say I blame him; but I like the green nonetheless.

The plants are suffering, though. A number of them need repotting, and I should’ve pruned back the rose bushes a month ago; but now they’re full of beautiful, dark red  foliage and I don’t have the heart. Anyway, it’s not that I don’t have time to devote to the garden, because truthfully I’m bone idle a lot of the time. I guess we just had such a short, stinting, mildish winter here that I feel a little cheated, and I’m reluctant to drag myself into spring mode.

Once I do, though, I’m bound to enjoy it. As I’ve mentioned before, I fancy myself a sort of horticultural messiah, raising plants from the dead. I really like a lost cause, always have. Had a lot of stupid relationships because of it, early on. Seems I have the eye to see the potential of a thing — can see the prince in the frog, the princess in the chambermaid, the Academy Award winner in the struggling character actor — as well as the conceit to think I can coax realization from potential. Transformation of something broken and half-dead into something beautiful and lush is thrilling as hell.  But resurrection — bringing forth life from death — is a labor of love that requires a lot of energy, and for that reason it’s a tough act to pull off.

Energy — that fine, pure dominion of Mars — is, in fact, the common denominator of life and death; hence, its astrological rulership of both Aries (birth) and Scorpio (death). In the garden, there is no life without death; foul, impolite, Scorpionic matter gets turned over and around and makes the soil a rich and nutritious thing. The hard labor of insects and enzymes, the vibrant energy of breaking down organic material into a usable state, is the foundation on which spring’s brave and tender beauty is built. So if all we celebrate of spring is the Aries emergence of green and vibrant foliage, then we’ve lost half the story of Mars — the dark, earthy, breaking-down Mars of Scorpio.  (more…)