World Shadow Horoscope, November 13th, 2020

November 13th, splashes of death, soul-metamorphoses and possessive attachment through cracking voices and tears form a tempest, a jazzy storm through every human transportation center. Teardrops crash into each other as we fall arm in arm carrying all our resentments and awkwardness. Mars backing up then launching himself commences with hundreds of thousands of slingshots smothered in petroleum careening through the air and landing on cars, buses, planes, trains and legs like splatter paint. The guttural, needy groans push and pull our vehicles toward the severe abandonment of what had felt lacking.

We’re all this motion and, too, a coyote who gives our needful grunts a higher pitch. Mounting our tricky, hairy animal selves with fire in our eyes looking at sunset and dawn, and at the strands of all those who had just passed into divinity, we utter howls right along with that coyote, sending celebratory missives to all those threads of soul. Walking up a suspended marble staircase, nauseous at the height but our jumble of howls triumphing over the cacophony of fear, we serenade what’s finally been freed after its desperate struggle.

World Shadow Horoscope, November 12th, 2020

November 12th, our stomachs, bowels and consciences drop as quickly as bricks in earthquakes. The shaky ground is felt as a natural disaster within a domestic shelter when we can suddenly spy, with a sneaky eye, the inner workings of corruption under the pothole. Deep in the sewer lies a perverted courtroom where claustrophobic trials are happening in greasy leather and slugs’ suits. Those on trial trade places with judges around walls of rusty nails.

It’s only the willingness to feel the shaking ground, a result of the buildup that’s given rise to this deceptive court below, that allows us to see the way through the mess. Bricks and rock fall just as we do, with birds eating their own feces. They’re cranky, and resist questions until we offer them berries, at which time the sun turns the pile of broken brick into an archway under a golden sky. “When things are too clogged from our own excrement and we can’t regenerate from what we’ve created, our only recourse is to eat our shit and make room,” those birds say. Down to the stink and back up we go!

New Moon in Scorpio & The Week of 11/9/2020

New moons are times to bend back, root down, reflect and prepare before launching. In this week’s new moon in Scorpio, that backbend also means visiting the dead and reviewing what’s passed into the underground. William Blake writes, “joy impregnates and sorrow brings forth,” and before the bliss of conception, there’s the thrilling angst of courtship; awakening worlds of want and need that lie dormant. This week personifies those awakenings as a torch singer in a silk gown behind two black veils, taking us on a tour of bloody carcasses in the back alley behind the stage. She sits on top of each corpse, arousing and resurrecting them. Some of these bodies are nice; some nasty, even evil. The sultry singer tells us if we’re serving her and walking along, we can request particular desire-carcasses for her to rejuvenate, and also tell her which ones to sidestep, knowing they’ll go around killing everyone if she brings them to life. 

Scorpio new moons are for confronting the shadows with grit, honesty and spicy mischief, as well as planting the seeds of intuition in the ground to manifest the future aims we’re currently hiding or leaving unsaid. This especially relates to how we transform the way we use our power so that it serves life-giving desires instead of those that have rotted into greed and cruelty. This week, then, leads us into that intensive seed-planting by readying the soil and clearing out the weeds. What desires are unwilling to budge, and which ones are ready to rejuvenate by being flexible about the time and place in which their demands are met? These are signature questions of a Scorpio new moon. 

But it’s a little different every time. This is, after all, a year when plutocratic politics and national nightmares, and infections, too, descend upon the populace in an escalating rhythm. Echoing these fearsome events, 2020’s dark moon in Scorpio coincides with its ambassador, Mars, stationing direct, and a conjunction of Jupiter and Pluto. Mars is determined in Scorpio and impulsive in Aries, the sign where he’s currently backing up to retrace his steps and then launching himself farther like a slingshot slathered in crude oil. Mars’ fresh forward motion gives our week, and this new moon, a martial flare: we are warlike, raging, lusting for flesh and battle. Asteroid goddess Pallas Athena underscores this bloodthirsty vibe, striding forward in Capricorn right along with Jupiter and Pluto. 

An exceptional myth from Ovid retells the births of Mars, god of war, and Athena, goddess of wisdom, in a way that bears some relevant lessons for the week. Jupiter mates with Metis (Thought) and swallows her for fear that their offspring will overthrow him. Before long, Athena—strategy, justice, wise council— springs out of his thinking head. Meanwhile, Hera, furious with Jupiter for conceiving the goddess of wisdom without her, storms through mountains, oceans and hells, searching for a drug to relieve her anguish, before finally begging Flora for an antidote. Flora plucks a flower from her garden and touches Hera with it, and—ping!—the goddess of marriage conceives Mars. Athena’s birth from Jupiter tells of liberated sovereignty born of the intellect as well as the clarifying thought born of passionate choice. Mars, on the other hand, born of Hera’s distress touched by a potent flower, tells us of the growth found when we bitterly walk away from seeing clever thought alone as the supreme power. 

This tale is relevant because mythologically, both representatives of war, Athena and Mars, resonate strongly in the week’s celestial and social events. Pallas Athena embodies the strategic side of war; Mars is the inflamed passion in bloodshed. Whereas Athena wants war as a process of differentiating the sovereign powers of mind that form justice, Mars wants the swelling of courage and determination in the breast. In their most elevated expressions, Athena and Mars together would carry us forward into the majestic courts of boldness and reason. But in 2020, caution is necessary, for conniving dystopia lurks nearby, potentially signaling literal war, with ourselves and each other, on a new scale. The dying weight of corrupt plutocracy can easily convert boldness, reason and an awareness of over-greedy desires into its own likeness, feeding a sadistic parasite that drains our ability to live spontaneously on our own terms. What is Ovid’s tale of the births of Athena and Mars about, if not the integrity of self-sovereign choice and emotional spontaneity nourished by nature’s fragrance? Both births demonstrate levels of autonomy in emotions and actions as shown by divine forces traditionally united, needing to give birth to powers they can only create when divided and divorced from the status quo. 

These realizations of the week signal that we’re neither stuck in vigilant caution, nor are we slaves to the angry, lusty passions. But navigating the underworld forest of our desires is key so that we can discern which ones have become toxic minefields through their inflexibility or greed. Can we listen to the clearest thoughts that rise up from big-picture stillness, and also to the instincts to turn away from the authorities we normally depend on to make our choices? Can we go inward, feeling the spoiled circumstances that no longer bring fulfillment of desire the way they did in the past, and ask nature for a gift? Can we starve the parasites that feed off of terror, rage and control? That is where sovereignty lies—buried underneath the trauma of false idols and expired orders. 

World Shadow Horoscope, November 11th, 2020

November 11th-in the quiet before a storm, the land waits, ready to be sprinkled with rain or with blood. The silent wind ascends toward rotating propellers we can hear only if we listen closely. The air smells of secrets. Strategies unfolding behind the scenes and clearing the ground as dead bureaucrats partner with witchy custodians fighting over the pushbroom—these are actions it’s only possible to hear with our inner ear, yet ones in which we’re entirely complicit.

War and chaos are the first questions, as Heraclitus and others have told us, and today, the opening-up of the landscape, and our ability to confront chaos’ higher octave, occurs through a vaginal opening on a cloud. The feral, uncompromising, generative and destructive part of us at the meeting place between heaven and earth where storms form, fires missiles at the ground through its nerve endings—in fact, a clearing of earth in a crude form we can perceive. Failure to honor the chaos as an opening & clearing makes the storm fester as violence lasting for generations.

It cannot be known today what’s made from the cleansing sprinkles onto the ground emanating from that pulsing organ, but the whispering sweep of chaos (and chaosmos) must be embraced, for our own sake and for the good of the world.

World Shadow Horoscope, November 10th, 2020

November 10th, messes of efficiency, comfort, service and nostalgia clutter our homes of body and soul. In the kitchens and offices of “to do,” foam runs along the tabletops and espresso stains linger, packet upon packet upon crumb dictating the hodgepodge of our inner/outer environs. The neurotic switch to alignment and conformity swerves us to the other extreme as the filing cabinets catalogue what needs most doing, the dichotomy of organization and mess, helpfulness and nuisance, cannibalizing itself.

In reality we’re all in quaint cottages with popup storybook lights, sat on by a smiling turtle-lord. The house lights flicker on and off, a reminder of our clinging to cozy memory and warm gatherings. The switches and household appliances say they need down-time, though—we’re using a lot of energy and need some time today in the dark, in hibernation. What we’re longing to apply can’t be done by force, but by sometimes turning the lights out and allowing the regeneration of the inner oven.

World Shadow Horoscope, November 9th, 2020

November 9th- who will roam solitary? Who will glide together, bound? Who will be connected in a moody orb, and who will violently cut off, separate, shaking off togetherness into their own construct of liberation? Can each of these paths constitute ways of sliding down the butterfly’s wing onto a worked-out path of heart-pumpingly related autonomy? The ‘one’ and the ‘two’ project themselves over and over today, in the guise of vain politicians looking in the mirror and lovers peering over each other in lust and repulsion, and sick hermits, too, booking it away to the woods.

When the two butterflies entwine their flights on a barren, vast trail, they present two lifelines to humanity: one takes the form of lit bull’s horns arching up to the sky, attached to a dreamcatcher; the other our toddler selves gazing at the nocturnal bottom of a steep cliff. The horns move up and toward the “we all,” the cliff yanks us down to sort out the complexity of the I and the We. Either route, today, can be a road to what is most vast, as long as we accept the moods that exponentially replicate themselves along the way.

World Shadow Horoscope (in the first person), November 4th, 2020

Yesterday, I was perplexed. Riddled by personal anxieties and distractions about health & symptoms on one level, and concerns about the nail-biting election on another level, I wanted to find a way to be present to the public within my means. I had imagined going live, posting an “ask me anything” in my Story, or providing some words of solace in the feeds. I could hardly manage to type or write anything, save for a response to a cousin’s question about our grandmother: who would she have voted for in 1952—Ike or Stevenson? My response to this question, the one text I managed to send, a lifeline to an ancestor, reconciling the American past with the American present and the interdependence of the two. The need to call upon those who have come before and to examine who they were & are: if those ancestors were bigoted, for instance, have those prejudices dissolved now on the other side? And, having transitioned over, are they now reaching across and providing counsel in a way that reflects the innermost essence of their genius, trying to catalyze our ability to communicate our own geniuses in this monumental moment?

Petrified, somaticizing symptoms, brewing garlic tea, skeptical of the fish that had been sitting in the fridge for a few days, wearing tense smiles with an intention to nurture my loved ones, wondering if I was hearing ringing in my ears that signaled a pounding fever (I’m fine), or simply too much noise from refreshing the election results on my phone, I scribbled out a shadow horoscope— more of a prayer, that came through an inner guide. And so, I begin the process of being here for you all by telling the tale of what was shown to me, and will leave this post at that:

An old giant with a blistery, hunched back calling themselves Grampy (or maybe Grammy?) asked to enter from out in the cold. He proudly proclaimed how cranky he was, saying he’d been through it all, and that the bumps & scars on his back were proof. In this visitation, I saw myself, birds-eye view, as in a dream, and my demeanor was as a child at a table waiting to hear it all from the Elder, being soothed & nourished by experience, finding pockets or holes to jump into within the stories behind that aged, dirty beard, seeking breathable respite from the fog of undesired outcomes. The giant swept his hand across the table, knocking the mead-filled copper cups down, cranky as hell. “The people should get some rest,” he said. “Anger won’t do them good tonight. Save energy for when it’s needed soon.”

He stood and revealed a huddle of scorpions in a strainer, saying, “I’m showing you my elixir for election nights.” He boiled the scorpions into a hot cocktail and we both drank up.

Everyone I’ve ever met and known, and everyone they’ve ever met and known, and so on, drank up, filling up with the reserves to regenerate on the deeper levels—staying power, calm, hot ice, and the nutrients to head underground to transform what needs changing at the core.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 30th, 2020

October 30th, as the moon prepares for fullness, a penguin slowly walks our desiring child-selves across a cliff passage, advising us to step slowly. But how can we stroll at a leisurely pace, taking in the scenery hinting at rock & ice, if we’re ill-at-ease? We arrive at a pitch black archway, encasing us in a power center that demands stillness. Sub-zero wind blasts our scalps and cheeks under there; a rush of cold that rewires the inner lights of desire. A nearby voice, perhaps that penguin-companion, or maybe another in that space where beings as we know them become invisible, whispers, “Know how to be uneasy, and know how this can steadily intensify your power. First, your passionate grasping must be refrigerated in order to express itself hereafter in a way that both survives and creates.”

In a different dimension, we’re shoplifting in tuxedos, smashing the glass and then vandalizing, staking claim to the force of possession itself. All the sensations that have mastered us through our cravings, the utter enjoyment of toxins, now clarifies itself when it’s all turned to ice cubes instead of flooding us with wavy inundation. Stay under the cool, silent arches, and let your violent, domineering greed freeze into something that preserves the goodness of others.

Full Moon in Taurus & The Week of 10/26/2020

It’s the kind of week when you fight with your lover and then process it all by chewing on a hunk of sugar cane and gathering dusty portraits of ancestors. It’s a week when shadowy surgeons creep up behind you evaluating how you treat your loved ones, how you approach important subject matter, how you measure up to the values of your own organs of desire. 

We may, in moments, feel back-stabbed by a lack of reciprocity, or by our failure to meet our own standards of making passions visible and relating to others in a loving way. “Why aren’t they serenading me and pouring all their resources forth in a spontaneous burst of love? Why did I just say that cruel, sadistic thing and remind that person how much they owe me? I’d never do that!” But with a full moon on Saturday conjunct Uranus in sensual Taurus, the emotional lessons of the week aren’t only there for a spook factor. They’re rather gearing us toward a revolution of the body’s erotic values. 

Saturday’s full moon announces itself like a mafia messenger, or a quiet assassin walking through a bright door at the end of a dark corridor. This messenger wishes us no harm, but enters the scene to spill the truth about how our values communicate to ourselves and our loved ones, and to what extent we’re honoring our most volatile desires. The front of his pants, which we mistake for a crotch bulge, opens, and a bunch of cash bursts out, falling to the ground. While it’s tempting to interpret this as only the subconscious rolling its eyes about money worries or sexual hangups, the full moon carries subtler messages about shared energy, sex, death, and rejuvenation of resources. If the messenger behind the moon in that alley could speak, it might say, “the money spilling out of my pants is money lost and money found. Your true values communicate unconsciously, sometimes in ways that are surprising to you, and sometimes even in spite of your will. What do you want to show and give?”  

It’s Venus who carries the week into themes of value, worth, sensuality and relationship. Just as this full moon embodies her native sign of Taurus, so too does Venus now dance through her other native sign of Libra. Taurus wants to receive and build upon joy from the earthy reservoir of timeless delights. Libra wants to design classically beautiful structures with an architect’s eye, and facilitate balance in partnership. They find common ground in their valuing of *quality*—which includes opening up to ‘quality time’ with people who bring us joy and whose primary love language consists of spending time together. 

With Uranus’ presence, our experiences of quality this week are both foam-born and fiery. The walk, the gift, the meal, the bath, and the bedroom, bring with them the impatient sky-god, from whom Venus was born in a heroic feat that saved pleasure-bodies from their creator’s impatience. Those daily pleasures also bring the slowly burning, life-sustaining warmth brought to us by Prometheus when he stole fire. That means there are restless, transgressive, cunning, resilient and liberated qualities to this kind of quality time. Equally, that messenger-assassin stepping through a light at the end of the alley spilling cash out of his groin—the meeting of Taurus and Scorpio on Saturday’s full moon—creepily and cryptically encourages us to meet our desirous impulses and each other with patience, underscoring the importance of letting the raging “I wants”  gradually stretch from the inside out, creating an inner heat we can then breathe into our environmental, financial and intimate life. 

The art of the week lies in discerning the difference between manically thrusting our values and desires forward, and internally honoring the generous yearning to give of our life force, letting it cook in the heart’s oven so that it’s mutually enjoyed with just the right crisp. On one level, old taskmaster Saturn urges us to exercise the restraint necessary to craft that inner heat with which we find ourselves and each other through the changes. In another sense, wild card Uranus, the liberator, stands next to the full moon ready to shake us up with sudden change. Can we craft the internal fire of desire carefully, patiently, while also listening to the rhythm that edges us to release into the unexpected? Can we meet the volatility of change with emboldened patience? Can we meet the financial and relational plot twists with the strength of interior heat? Can we meet others’ desires with an open mind?

This won’t necessarily be an easy dynamic to hold, but by stepping through the light and letting others meet us, not blocking their ability to meet halfway by insensitively shoving our own cares into their path, there’s an opportunity for the kind of relationship that opens up many timelines of survival, ecstasy and devoted love.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 28th, 2020

October 28th, the urge to move forward into unconquered places attacks the body. Ironically it’s more like a block or a clench: the squeezing of sphincters, the lip-biting when we can’t peel the hard-boiled eggs fast enough, the muttering, growling curses that bruise our voices. It seems it’s always the desire to ‘go on’ that creates obstructions; clenching tensions that hold us back.

We’re today the geologist and the mummy in the tunnel we must enter, the claustrophobic encasement filled with hundreds of thousands of corpses and goblets—the only way forward into discovering the treasure, no map with an alternate route. A booming voice, an amalgamation of dead, preserved wounds made specially for the souls of pioneers, commands us to strip down. We throw our pants to the ghouls and re-feel the bloody gash we got on our knee when we were seven years old. The chorus of ancestral stings laughs in celebration as we surrender to the flowing blood.

Our double mummy self, the resilient one with humor, knows this is all okay. We laugh along with the banshees in the corpse-tunnel, knowing that wounds can be damn funny when we’re aware that even when the body doesn’t go on, we do. Hearing that mummy voice tell us to wear that skin-pain and soul-pain like decorations, we cartwheel through the charnel ground with pus and golden cups dangling from our laughing body-suits.