Everything you need to know about the Earth opening up and swallowing your planets or the other way around.
Past Horoscopes Entries
Horoscopes by Corina Dross
Like it or not, it’s time to begin again. Last summer we had the first in a series of eclipses along the Leo-Aquarius axis; Leo is how we experience love as something intimate, personal, bright, loyal, and passionate. Aquarius is the experience of love that connects us through our collectivity, our shared ideals, our visions for liberation. Eclipses activate what is hidden, neglected, and often trapped in our psyches. Eclipses open unlikely paths for us and upend terrain we thought was solid. From last August to next August, we’re learning what we’ve haven't yet understood about love – personally and collectively – and how to reorient ourselves toward intimacy, connection, and collaboration. We’ve just passed the halfway mark, and March brings us fresh energy for this journey.
The past six months have taught us about transition – opening us to grief, confusion, and sometimes withdrawal from struggle. It’s been a time of healing but also a time of exhaustion. As Venus moves into Aries early this month (and the Sun follows, a few weeks later), we encounter fresh reserves of courage and motivation. Aries is the sign of boldly beginning again, of striking out into the unknown with a sense of urgency. This is the month we come back to life, personally and collectively. It won’t always feel comfortable. At times it may feel intensely uncomfortable, but it will remind us that to be alive means facing pain in order to also feel joy and connection.
As always, read these for what you find useful and discard the rest. The astro-literate are advised to read their rising sign first, followed by their Sun and Moon signs. And you can hit me up at flaxandgold.com to chat in more detail about what’s coming up for you right now.
“I can’t be a pessimist because I’m alive. To be a pessimist means that you have agreed that human life is an academic matter.”
What you do with the coursing energies of this month depends on whether that gun in your hand is loaded with live ammo or is merely a squirt gun. Which is to say that you are all too aware of how celebratory fireworks and lethal missiles share a common ancestor, and all too aware of how your enthusiasm can bubble into bloodsports from time to time. This month, I’d advise you to make sure you’re equipped with some colorful plastic cannon to pelt marshmallows or fluffy baby chicks into the air. You are a something that must explode; let it be in celebration.
In this dream you are borrowing the body of a Greek god, some unbearably powerful and symmetrical engine of movement that has never felt pain. As you swim laps down a long pool surrounded by olive trees you hear a familiar melody. The notes never descend into pathos or sentimentality, but remain thoughtful, even playful. Ducking underwater, you hear the music in your inner ear, the chambers of your heart, the rhythmic sweep of your limbs. Gradually it dawns on you that you are creating this music through your movement, and that this body you’ve borrowed is really a musical instrument. When you wake up, try to answer this question: your human body may be fragile, asymmetrical, and frequently in pain – but it is still imbued with its own music. What kind of melody can you play with this instrument?
Whatever you get up to this month, don’t do it alone. Be your own twin if you must, conscript angels and devils to leer and bicker over each of your shoulders, carry your favorite rock or stuffed animal with you to whisper to on the subway, but by all means don’t believe that what you’re here to do needs to happen in isolation. When in doubt, broaden your perspective. Ask experts and the inexpert. Seek out advice from those who rarely give it. Offer a few perspectives of your own, and stir them together to see what kind of plan you can formulate from all this abundance.
To be alive is to tremble on a tightrope between ecstasy and despair. Most of us choose not to be alive, most of the time, opting instead for daydream and stagnation and fiction. You have your own cycles of risk and retreat, but of all the signs you feel the lure of this precipice most keenly, and you know what’s at stake when you set one foot on that tightrope. To be timid is to fumble and fall. You have to commit to your trajectory. This month, it’s time to take new risks with absolute faith in your desires, and to risk falling and trying again.
Edna St. Vincent Millay writes that she is not resigned to “the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground,” and neither are you. Whatever losses the last few months have brought you – relationships that ended, dashed hopes, a lost sense of purpose or direction – resignation is not your goal. What you have loved most sharply remains and continues in a different forms: the smell of your ex-lover’s neck is imbued in your own cells; the idealism that once buoyed you up may have broken on the shore of reality, but even its landlogged shards are dissolving and recombining in new ways. Your sense of purpose will continue to shift, and if it is ebbing right now it is only to make way for the next wave that will carry you to a farther shore. Meanwhile, you don’t have to be resigned. Grieve and celebrate, and follow that spark of life when it pulls you again.
Despite how little time you spend reading for fun anymore, libraries are still your sacred places. You may not say the word “sacred” out loud, but something stirs in you when you walk through stacks of books whispering their names and call numbers silently in your mind. Reverence is too formal a word for it, but comfort and hope are close. Like fungal networks in a forest that redistribute nutrients to keep everyone alive and well, the books of a library flock and disperse and rearrange themselves in patterns that correspond to our desires. There is a collective intelligence there that’s greater than the sum of its parts. Call on this larger force right now to remind you that you’re not facing this mess alone.
In Anne Carson’s taxonomy, major things include wind, evil, a good fighting horse, prepositions, inexhaustible love, and the way people choose their king. Minor things, meanwhile, include dirt, the name of schools of philosophy, mood and not having a mood, and the correct time. She continues that there are more major than minor things overall, but that the minor are disheartening to list. This month, begin to track the major things in your landscape and only list the minor things in order to recognize that you don’t need pay them much mind.
There’s a certain kind of silence you need to tap into your roiling inner world and sense what to do to next – the right action, not just an impulsive reaction. Imagine this silence as a thick swath of vegetation, like the stands of trees along the edges of highways, blocking not only the noise beyond but creating within their borders a different sound: generating silence that is made up of only small sounds, only subtle shiftings, only intricate responses that ripple outward and then back inward. Seek out spaces that can help you filter the broader chaos and get more focused on the subtle chaos, rippling outward from you and then flowing back, that will teach you where you need to go.
You may love your rut, which you might call routine or regular life or even “generally fine, considering” – but this month implores you to see the difference between what sustains you and what kills you slowly day by day. Clearly, survival under capitalism can blur those lines. But there are still moments in your day when you can break free. Why fill those moments with numbness and distraction? Your hardest lesson right now is to come back to life. Remember that joy is worth the pain you’ll feel en route. Even sharp longing is better than another night spent pretending you’re satisfied with mere comfort.
Gordon Matta-Clark created a resistant architecture by cutting holes in existing buildings – both crowded slums in New York that were in danger of collapsing anyway and abandoned churches in Europe whose purposeful lives had ended. He recognized the futility of creating more buildings in landscapes that hadn’t addressed the glut, the lack, the danger, the need already present in them. Your assignment this month is to emulate Matta-Clark and consider where in your life you’re tempted to build, create, and add more and more when it might be better to selectively subtract.
Others may catch a glimpse sometimes, but only you know with accuracy what you will do in order to not feel anything. Maybe it’s your taxes. Maybe it’s research, exercise, seeking out the best flavor of ramen noodles available at the corner store, or correcting strangers’ grammar online. Whatever your favorite habit for blocking out the pressure of emotions, this is a month when the feelings will leak through anyway. With that in mind, you may want to adjust your routine to fully harness the energy of what’s ready to come through.
In the procession of creatures that emerged first from the ocean, or even further back from carbon molecules who themselves had once been stellar flotsam, life as we know it has proven itself so astonishing that when we arrive at the end of the taxonomic tree and point at homo sapiens, you may wonder whether humanity is worth all this fuss. Otters, maybe. Flying amphibians, the platypus, even ants seem to have achieved something noteworthy. Humans mostly make obnoxious noises, revving engines and designing HVAC systems that roar day and night. Yet here we are. This month, consider what animal you would have us evolve into, if you could guide that process over the next few millennia. You’ll never see the results of your labor, but history will thank you.