Shadow ‘scopes are horoscopes that hold space for the darker side of your life, and find the redemptive value in the daily awkwardness & agony.
Charging with anger-in-denial toward the undersurfaces of the beds, spears pointed with red-hot tips spewing embers into the air, you roar, attempting to dig for the coins and inheritance documents underneath all of the incestuous moans. The crescendo of gasps coming from chthonic embraces of great grandparents, brothers, and sisters from other lives, doesn’t phase you, but it irritates you enough that you need more time to process the confusing information in these last wills & testaments. They all seem to be written in a secret code. How will you decipher this cryptic language written for a particular form of intimacy that your pioneering nature can’t always translate? You tend to blaze into new territory knowing that you’ll find riches there, but you now find yourself needing to bend over. You’ll find that it’s not about waving the hot spear in front of you, but looking deeper into all the intimate bonds that create the resources you so need to reach the peak of appreciation of the place in which you find yourself. Rolling around in the incestuous, moldy undergrowth with the other bodies reminds you that you’re not only a newborn babe freshly exploding onto the world stage—multiple, overlapping cycles of fate carry you, and it’s time to acknowledge them as part of the depth of the resourcefulness that’s contributing to your current strength.
It seems stability and autonomy within your own skin is on shaky ground, and it’s a prime moment to remind yourself that instability can be delicious. The shakiness first hits the lavender-scented pillows and velvet sheets you’re tempted to melt into during quarantines and post-coital embraces. This full moon most immediately stirs the “relationship” part of your life. Who is the towering bird-woman with bulgy eyes CAWing at you to get your hands, face and arms dirty in the soil of relatedness, thereby resuscitating the soul of your relationships in the world? This doesn’t only apply to romance, but to anything in your life existing as a dyad: how can the two hold hands, sob, laugh, rhythmically breathe with the bursts of thunder in the sky, and meet the bird-woman’s charge? Approaching her throne with a thumping heart, you meet her as the compost of all of your hoarded autonomy. You surrender all of your possessions kept out of fear and lean forward (leading with your heart), repeating, “instability can be delicious.” If you assume that lightning won’t strike you hit, sleeping in a thunderstorm can lead to a tragic fall; if you’re pretty sure you won’t be struck, the same sleeping arrangements can be edgily comforting. Walking this edge of change, vulnerability and release, yours is the kingdom of earth and all of its delights.
Wandering around the cafeterias and porcelain floors of the monastery, you may find yourself out of your element this full moon in Scorpio. But in another sense, you’re right at home, as you’ve always known that applying ideas in a serviceable way is the method to bring your data-hunting and idea-gathering to its full peak of fruition. In your characteristic ability to fast-forward to the final result, you feel transformed into a witch on a broomstick, cackling nervously through the sky and flying forward into the place where service becomes transcendence. But it’s an isolating adventure, and you thrive on social interaction. Don’t fear: your mingling now consists of gazing in wonderment at the walls and ceilings, rag in hand, swearing you see some never-before-translated hieroglyphics on the beautiful ceiling before a custodian barks orders at you to continue the journey of bleaching your current quarters. Wipe the monastery down and see the isolation as a gift. The acidic companions, commanding that you put your information to use lest it all fades into irrelevance, give you the creative tension of service and self-visibility. No longer valued only for adding levity to the party, the free-electron can now be both server and seen unto themselves entirely. From the cackles to the unglamorous elbow-grease of cleaning (physical and ancestral), you sound the low hum of how solitude transforms human awareness into a keen perception of each being’s uniqueness.
It seems you’re the only matriarch of the family able to swim in the deep waters flooding the foundations of your home. As you struggle to hold the pack afloat, scandals of past illicit affairs leak in through the walls, forcing open the window blinds and airing your family’s dirty laundry to the whole village. Even if it seems everyone’s distant and nobody’s listening to you, this started as a chance for you to teach them all how to swim. It ends as an opportunity to realize that it’s not only about the welfare of the small clan; it’s about the whole community gathering the might of their resources, combining their values tangibly in the anticipation of a mass voyage. The reminders of unwanted sexual consequences, rejected children, and outcries of unmet needs that everyone tries to blame on you, are the components of an overture to the epic drama in which you gather everyone aboard the ship destined to sail across a course of many churning waters. Your ability to swim and protect, while not over-hardening your shell, strengthens the ability of your family and village to coexist. You must hear the cries of the rejected fetuses as music in order to swim in the ocean we’re all about to face, and you are called to teach everyone how to do it.
Just as you’re ready to bask in the pleasures of creative juices made visible to the public, phantasms of the dark mom-and-dad parental lions startle you, messing with your stage lighting. Their eyes shine so brightly within their dark manes that they destabilize your sense of presence, stoking the fires of your anger by interrupting your time in the spotlight. But this Scorpio full moon invites you to enter the oneiric portal to your roots, crossing into a turbulent void. Imagine that instead of a solid “you” existing in the limelight, the stage contains no center, and instead your awareness drifts toward the act of tumbling through the past. While you, Leo, are susceptible to motion sickness when it’s not all about you, there’s no need for queasiness when gravitational movement alone offers itself as a focal point. Monuments to your childlike nature feel by turns grandiose and destabilized, but the darker lions at the bottom of the cellar bear snarly gifts.
With your band of brothers and sisters, you stampede toward the temples and new sites of knowledge, insatiably lusting after new food for your mind and medicine for your soul. The sunset, or dawn, shines on these places of knowledge and the birds arrive with their songs. Tongues of devotion lure you in, the horizons themselves promising not only an endless supply of inspiration for your acts of service, but also a den of love-aplenty. When you enter the temple, gossiping sisters try to convert you into their likeness, and listening to their competitive bickering, you’re suddenly seized by a desperate need to have no wrinkles and appear flawlessly in harmony with the elements. You’re tempted to skin yourself, and this temptation serves as the first transmission of knowledge you receive here: crossing the realms into the dawn of knowing requires the desperation to violently dispose of all of your skin until you’re nothing but entrails. Yearning to serve the wrinkle-less order is your specialty, but the trick is to feel that longing without destroying the perceived imperfections of your current vessel. What would the cosmic order be without your wrinkles?
You fancy yourself perfectly in control and ready to serve the whims of the diplomatic order of the day, but this full moon you acquire resources from unidentified beings in less identifiable flying objects. At first, it seems the old fruits are rotting away just when you need them to last you the longest. But when you look again, the ground lights up: a thousand ground flashlights point you toward the undercurrent of more fruit on its way to ripening. Perhaps when you looked away the extraterrestrials placed the lanterns on the ground in a flash. But even though you’ve never tasted these fruits and you’re uncertain how much you can trust the entities from whence they came, you feel an undeniable power in their presence. Rather than indulging in drama over the devastation of the rotten avocados and the drained, delayed accounts, better to be silent, listening to how to eat and preserve what’s newly gifted to you. Your skill at diplomacy needs to include a diplomatic attitude toward adapting to new experiences, including those that take appearances that don’t immediately meet your criteria of the Good and the Beautiful. Right after you feel the temptation to indulge in the devastation, silently lean into the novel power.
You find yourself thrusting out into the world in a belligerent shamanic frenzy, gifted with just enough madness to move your gonads forward into creative autonomy. But suddenly your eyes roll into the back of your head. Even though at first it seems both sides of your body are on board to step into a newer, freer view of the world, there’s a lot that’s been left unsaid. You’ll need to gutturally sputter your way to silence, retracing the steps that led you to this perspective, in order to rejuvenate your self-confidence. Letting these forces from underneath hack your brain and tear your fingernail will show you that despite the interruptions, your true power remains indestructible. Rather than suppressing your odors, gurgles and vulnerabilities when expressing your emotional autonomy, you now see that these are instrumental and that the foibles are what make you vital. Riding the back of a giant scarab, you realize that in order for your intuition to carry you forward you need the company of your most intimate friends and partners, and part of this celebration of the foibles is to let them take whatever shapes necessary.
This full moon might make you feel like a child bumbling through a cliffy terrain leading to a hall of ghosts that have just escaped prison. As you amble along, a country bumpkin cartoon within your own mind, the ghosts make feeble attempts to scare you, bulging their eyes at you through space. You realize that this was all catalyzed by a magician’s golden fingertip shooting starseed back into the sky. After a warlock extends a webbed foot toward your body, you realize that pie-in-the-sky naiivete won’t carry the day, but that you can make space for yourself in the floating hall of ghosts. Awareness of both your solitude and your foolishness is therapy for you on this lunation. Sink into rock-bottom while also in space! Forge a profound scripture from all of the anguish of the ghosts and their stories! The knowledge you’re seeking hasn’t yet been discovered until you’ve served those raging demons and helped them tell the epic tales of their aeons of isolation.
This full moon, you’re responsible for glimpsing the new blueprints of what monuments to humanity-in-friendship might look like. Your raw material: the ashes from the razed skyscrapers, the vulnerable faces of the city’s masses, and the rebirth out of those ashes of the burned-down parts. You are the sign of the monument; the song to the crystallization of those structures that celebrate the toil and clarity of human force. But to what end are those monuments created? Can you be sure that humanity will erect monuments that catalyze meeting in public; a creative ‘third’ off of which the radiant light of the populace bounces? Now, with all of the current structures burned down, it’s up to you to unveil the integrity of the foundations, showing that it’s not all about gatekeeping and power, but about ways of being together. There is something beyond mass tragedy, and as the ritual elder the task is yours to show humanity that monuments reflect the light of the camaraderie that remains after burying so many loved ones. Being both in the fire and in the post-devastation is a tall order, and may take an emotional toll, but if anyone can handle it, it’s you.
Remember that time you walked in on your caregivers copulating—only to discover that in fact, they were having an orgy with their secret commune that you had no idea about? Remember how that time disturbed you immensely but also, though you love to deny it, spoke to something at the core of your life mission? The fruits of these labors of recollection now begin to show their moldy undersides, recalling the shaky past, making your memory tremble. They skyrocket you into embracing what the leaders in your life have given you through oppression, violence and the opening of the gates. Seeing the unbearable tyrants in your past and their intimidating cloaks, you feel the uprising of your contact with the generative life principle. Your effectiveness in the world depends upon your rebellion against tyranny, and if these authority figures hadn’t disturbed your powerless self and asserted their dominance in those dark, communal hallways—crescendos that recede into the private hallways and clogged bathtubs of your memory—you might have nothing to rebel against. A tip of the hat to the devouring or absent parents is in order, as is a treading on the edge of disturbance and arousal. Here lies your resistance, and the potency of your natural uprising.
You dream of far-off lands holding transcendent wisdom. This full moon, you also secretly desire to burn the institutional authorities sourcing those faraway places to the ground, overthrowing the dogmatic powers-that-be, and then stealing the crown hidden inside the church. In this dream, you resurrect all of the wounded children under the floorboards and find yourself held up by many who depend on your dance of longing toward sacrifice. You are sweating, tired, weeping, and for once, you have the opportunity to feel supported and suspended in the air by your soul-brothers and sisters. They hold you under the sunlight, shaking the dark residue out of your pores; you release the tears for the blisters and murders inflicted upon the world’s children by dogma. There’s no need to feel guilty about that power-grab in which you overthrew the power: sometimes overpowering the conquerers, and robbing the robbers, is the necessary move to restore the sisterhood able to see outside the claustrophobic vessels of power into the wider landscape of paradise. Everyone, including the ghosts of the corrupt, kneels and suspends your body in the air, weeping, offering their catharsis for the ability of every living being to be seen within their dreams.