Everything you need to know about the Earth opening up and swallowing your planets or the other way around.
Horoscopes by Corina Dross
If you are feeling lonely and confused right now, you’re not alone.
Seriously, if the things that were stable in your life have been dramatically changing and ending, you’ve got plenty of company. In these past three years, we’ve lived through an energetic earthquake, as played out by the multiple squares between Uranus (upheaval and revolution) and Pluto (death, power, catharsis). While the worst of it is over, during this eclipse season (the New Moon eclipse was on the equinox and the Full Moon eclipse will be on April 4th) we’re still feeling the aftershocks. This has been a time when so much has changed and ended: ecosystems, species, governments, beliefs, collectives, households, romances, human lives. Some of these changes were welcome, others we’re still mourning and raging against. In every explosion there is a release of energy, a clearing for some new form of life – but there is also collateral damage. Odds and ends of bedrooms and kitchens strewn across the water. Rain-soaked journals swelling with mildew. Ashes, live wires, wild dogs. You may feel stranded now in the wreckage, wondering who has the strength to help you rebuild – and what does rebuilding even mean, now? Not the same old world, made new. What can you begin to imagine?
The worst of the storms are over, astrologically, but a crisis is often easier to face than the slow work of release and regrowth. We have work to do, and we may feel ripped away from our friends and comrades, as in the Cowper poem: “When, snatched from all effectual aid / We perished, each alone / But I beneath a rougher sea / And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he.” But we haven’t perished, and we aren’t as alone as we feel. If we’re in a prison cell, there are others we can tap to across the wall. If we’re buried in an avalanche, there are others lost on the same mountain, able to hear us if we call out. We must call out, and keep calling. This month will offer us some stamina to raise our voices with the conjunction of the Sun, Mercury, and Uranus in Aries on the 6th through 8th – giving us a jolt of creative, courageous energy – and with a trine in the Earth signs on the 20th through 26th, helping us stabilize that energy into something concrete. As always, take what’s useful in these horoscopes and let the rest be carried downstream.
You will travel through the membrane of death, smell cooking
from the encampment where our relatives make a feast of fresh
deer meat and corn soup, in the Milky Way.
They have never left us; we abandoned them for science.
And when you take your next breath as we enter the fifth world
there will be no X, no guidebook with words you can carry.
What’s it like being so flammable, buddy? People may see you as a firefly or a bonfire, but this month you’re learning to be a phoenix. This is the last month of major conflagrations in your sign, and you may be waning a little into the ember phase, if not the ashen one. Be extra gentle to all that is angry and chaotic in your heart right now, and try to let your friends know that all that fire isn’t just strength, but also vulnerability. Your passionate care and your pain go hand in hand; you will be burnt by both. This month, experiment with (and then write down) the alchemical spell you need to resurrect yourself from the ashes. If anyone can do it, you can.
When three witches appear and then disappear on a foggy battlefield, Banquo muses to Macbeth, “The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, / And these are of them.” Of all the signs, you are arguably the earthiest – slow to change, stubborn as rock, and attached to what’s familiar. Bubbling isn’t really one of your dance moves. But under certain conditions, strange things happen. This month, Mercury (insight, creativity, flight) and Mars (vitality, action) will meet in your sign and hold a brief but meaningful conference with Pluto (regeneration, radical change). What comes of this can best be described as a buoyant wave, rippling through your heart and nerves and sinew. Less an earthquake then a hot date with the magnetic polarity of the planet, this wave will crest on the week of the 20th. Ride it somewhere unexpected, or redirect it towards any solid thing that needs shoring up.
They come at you this month like a thousand tiny paper cuts, each one trying to bleed a little bit of your life. A constellation of pinpricks, mosquitoes, tiny shivers of splinters. We’re in this world to bleed a little, but you don’t have to give them your full attention. In the words of a wise friend, “none of these fucking people or situations actually matter.” Now’s not only the time to be bigger than all that, it’s time to be so big these annoyances will fly harmlessly as neutrinos through the spaces between the atoms of your cells. It probably wouldn’t hurt to arm yourself with a few pointy spikes of your own, while you’re at it, for larger foes. Stay focused, and channel your inner giant pufferfish. Teach us how to be more corporeal and spikier, all at once.
Remember when you were very young and you scrutinized grown-ups in confusion? Who would take such boring things so seriously? Willingly wear such ugly clothes? Move in a cloud of disappointment and regrets? When you got a little older perhaps you treated the same the same behavior with vehement disgust, vowing you’d never be that way. Maybe you are a little older than that now. Maybe you’ve had your heart broken – not just by a lover, but by a household, a collective, a city, a dream. Maybe this has happened again and again. Maybe you’re getting tired. There’s a figure on the horizon, walking towards you, that you’re beginning to recognize as your unwanted adulthood: who you will be when you’re too tired to keep resisting the ugly, the boring, the banal, the evil. Your assignment this month is a big one: kill that döppelganger before it kills you. What weapons fight resignation and exhaustion? What restores your childlike understanding of what matters?
Of all the zodiac, you’re actually having the easiest time right now – as long as you seize every opportunity for self-expansion. Keep resisting the temptation to dream away your days in fantasies of your perfect life (past or future). Stay aware of where shame and fear make you sabotage your chances to grow even bigger and brighter. Accept that loneliness will always accompany big dreams: the hours spent studying, practicing, planning, touring, presenting, performing are all hours that from a golden bubble around you and your project. Accept that connection comes when you risk being lonely. Seize whatever needs seizing, darling, and keep at it.
Your small thing to hold onto this month, Virgo, is an image of upside-down birds. Soaring on their backs far below you, inhabiting the upside-down sky in the puddle at your feet, they flit from one edge of that universe to the next so quickly you’re grateful to have seen them at all. If you’d like a soundtrack to go with this, you can add the regular rustling of small songbirds hidden in the dry leaves behind you. You are surrounded this month by these small winged things, what Salinger called “of all created beings the nearest to pure spirit,” but they are all at ground level, conducting business with the surface of the earth. Are you there with them? Or have you gone unmoored, floating ahead of and beyond yourself? Just because you are supremely capable of flight, of dissolving against the bright sun, doesn’t mean you need to just now. Stay close to the ground, this month, and let your wings rest.
In Tibetan religious imagery, one often finds beneficent deities holding a jewel-spitting mongoose. This mongoose, symbol of generosity and sworn enemy of treasure-hoarding snakes, is shown either willingly disgorging its treasures or being squeezed by the deity to vomit forth a stream of precious stones. With an eclipse in your sign early this month, you may feel the universe is trying to squeeze you for all you’re worth, and the distressing thing is you’re worth quite a lot. Claim your agency by determining the time and place, and pace, at which you’d like to share your viverrine treasures.
Consider the first half of this month as merely field recording: coughs and tire screeches, car alarms, train whistles, cellphone ringtones, garbled shouts outside the bar – a rattlebag of noises released into the world and captured for later use. From this effluvia you’ll be able to wring not only sense but beauty later in the month, adding above all your own voice. Don’t be overawed by what others think harmony should be. Your voice may sound harsh and raw in your own ears, but it is the bright thread that will pull together these accidental moments.
It’s not that I’m telling you to be paranoid, dear open-hearted and optimistic Sag, but this is definitely a good time to start sifting through what people say they believe and want, and examining the reality of what they’re actually doing. You are a sucker for a good intention, a warm smile, and the promise of something too-good-to-be-true. And while science may have proven that the grass is actually twenty shades greener wherever you are not (or so my understanding of “science” leads me to believe), at some point you will have seen all the damn grass (whose color begins to fade rapidly on your arrival) and you’re going to have to live in a world with not only brown, withered grass but also unrelieved expanses of concrete. What do you do, then? How do you stake a claim in your own lived experience, wherever you’ve landed? How can you test for what’s really real amongst the distracting chatter of what you wish were real?
Your mantra for the month: Tragedy is not a workout program. Not all difficulties are here to test our strength and increase our capacity. We are here to take risks, and we will get hurt. We will be betrayed, abandoned, and confused. The goal is not become impervious, or superhuman in our capacity to shoulder pain, but to find our only choices are giving up or staying connected. To stay connected this month, what do you need to soften? What have you overlooked in your environment that is an unlikely source of comfort? Whose presence alone will help you catalyze a fuller sense of being here and being part of a much bigger story?
In that other life we used to live together in the same city, in the same tiny apartment, there was a playground nearby with some massive wooden structure of many steps and platforms, embedded in a spongey rubber sea. In my dream with you the other night, we were climbing these steps and pausing at each platform, planning what kind of ritual performance we would do there to release all the old bad blood. On the first few platforms, we schemed and took notes, buzzing with purpose. On the fourth, you reminded me something dark needed to happen, involving loons and a bottomless pool. On the fifth, we both came up empty. We had no idea what should happen next. Our momentary panic broke: we realized when we did this for real, we would know what to do when we got here – but only after we’d fully performed the first four stages. This month, remember where you are in time and place. Trust that if you can’t plan what happens next, it’s because whatever you’re doing now is creating those possibilities.
Some have looked to pockets of resistance across the globe for hope right now: maybe in the streets of Frankfurt, or the screenprinting workshops of Oaxaca, or the feminist enclaves of Kurdish Peshmerga, or even the fierceness arising from various small-town anarchylands, USA. Some, who like to look for the opposite of hope, follow news stories and rumor mills closely in order to reassure themselves, when things fall apart, that what was the last hope is now over. All perspectives see only small islands on the surface of the water, rising and sinking as the currents change, and miss the massive underwater mountains of which those islands are a mere sliver. This month, open your eyes underwater and see for yourself what’s lurking beneath the furtive, shifting waves. Set aside judgments about whether the news is good or bad, but take notes and let the rest of us know what you can see.