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What if I told you Mars in Taurus is actually strong? Superhero strong.

When I saw Mars in Taurus in the inception chart of Superman’s 1938 debut in Action Comics #1, the ‘traditional’ astrologer in me had to double-take.

Shouldn’t a hero as nearly omnipotent as Superman possess a ‘strong’ Mars? A powerful Mars — like in Aries, Scorpio, or Capricorn?

But planets aren’t Popeye, and the zodiac signs aren’t spinach. Planets don’t get strength from their zodiacal locations like nutrients.

In classical astrology, the planet-sign relationship is commonly framed around the idea of “resources.” Each sign contains resources that are more suitable for some planets and less suitable for others. For example, Mars is relatively inept at using the resources of Taurus and Libra, but the planet is especially adept with resources of Aries and Scorpio, signs it calls home.

This framing isn’t wrong, but it’s missing important clarity.

“Resources” here are less akin to food, fuel or tools. They are more akin to social resources like recognition, belonging, and the benefit of the doubt.

A planet with strong dignity doesn't have more power in a muscular or material way. It just has the right credentials for the room it's in. The power it has is legible within a social context. A dignified planet doesn't have to explain itself — its authority is assumed. A planet in detriment (e.g. Mars in Taurus) may have the same raw strength as a planet in domicile. The difference is, when the detriment planet walks into the same room, nobody vouches for it.

Through this lens, Superman’s Mars in Taurus makes perfect sense. As an outsider to planet Earth, he has no social legibility or credentials. He is a Kryptonian, an outsider — and so in his superhero identity he has no social legibility or credentials to lean on. His power is alien, so even when he saves the world, he is still viewed as a threat by earthly society.

Superman is perpetually under investigation — by governments, by the military, by the very people he rescues. The question that follows him is never whether he has the power to save us or not; it's “who gave him the right?”

The core drama of Superman is not about the hero’s power itself, but rather how he chooses to use his power in a world that doesn’t recognize him as their own.

What’s the drama of a hero with Mars in Scorpio, the planet’s home sign?

Captain America. A genetically manipulated super-soldier, the Captain’s power is engineered by his own civilization and deployed to defend it. Unlike Superman who fights for a world that isn’t his, Captain America fights for the home that’s literally in his name.

Where Superman is faced with outsider questions of legitimacy, the Captain faces insider questions of integrity. Is the institution that legitimizes him worthy of his loyalty?

My brother and his dog were at the beach today, and it got me thinking about Venus entering Cancer.

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Tess, the dog, is a Capricorn with three legs. Her fourth was removed to prevent the spread of cancer. The vets said that most dogs with this condition only get a single year more to live. But Tess has gotten two.

Cancer the illness and Cancer the zodiacal sign share a namesake: the Greek “karkínos” (Καρκίνος), crab. There are several accounts of why the Greek physician Hippocrates named the deadly illness after a simple crustacean, according to historian of medicine Howard Markel: “… if you examine a tumor, if you actually feel [a] malignant tumor, you'll note that it's hard as a rock. And so some have explained that it reminded [Hippocrates] of the hard shell of a crab. But others have said it may have reminded him of the pain that a malignant tumor induces. It's much like the sharp pinch of a crab's claw. And an even better version is that it suggests the tenacity with which, you know, a crab bites you...”

This last version of the story — the crab claw’s tenacity — evokes the disease’s notoriously unshakeable grip. While advances in medicine mean that more humans are surviving cancer than ever before, for loving companions like Tess, the most vets can hope to do is give a bit more time, even if on three legs.

My brother does not see himself as a spiritual person, but I think going to Dillon Beach on the Sonoma Coast has been a type of ritual for him. It’s where he took me to welcome me to California when I moved here in 2022. And now, it’s where he’s taking Tess in her latter days.

For Byung-Chul Han, an essential feature of ritual is repetition. A ritual is not something you do once. But this repetition is not the same as routine, which fades into the backdrop or normal activity. Ritualistic repetition is unique because it perpetuates that sacred energy of exception, creating time outside of time.

Anthropologist has written about how pets mediate our relationship with death, drawing on a pet cemetery in Chicago where votive offerings and grave decorations are refreshed more regularly than at any human cemetery she’s seen. (And she’s seen a lot of them over five years of research for her documentary on contemporary American death practices, I Like Dirt.)

Anthropologists have long been interested in how ritual mediates relations of the visible and invisible. While the descendants of ritual survive today through mass spectacles like concerts and sporting events, and calendrical constructs like civic holidays, I don’t believe any of these perform important spiritual functions for most people.

Ritual, like so many things today, seems to have become a personal matter. Flowers on the altar. Dog biscuits at the pet cemetery. A trip to the beach.

But maybe there is more to our private, personal rituals than meets the eye. Maybe we are participating in something greater, maybe even something eternal.

As the Moon met Venus yesterday and they passed into the sign of the Crab, my brother texted me from the beach: “I went to take Tess for our normal first walk for the day and she didn’t want to go. So we went to the beach and she was excited.”

Cancer is the 6th sign in my brother’s chart. The 6th house shows things to do with one’s pets, so I’ve been watching Jupiter there this year, and I’ve wondered what Venus joining him in the emotional water sign of Cancer might mean for Tess.

A novice might look at the Venus-Jupiter conjunction in my brother’s 6th house and say “what a great time for your dog’s health!” Certainly, it’s a good time to be making memories with Tess at the beach… But I wasn’t surprised to hear that her energy is faltering.

As students of astrology, we’re trained that Venus and Jupiter bring good things — joy and pleasure, meaning and purpose. But it’s not always as we expect. These benefic planets can be the main drivers in stories of loss — stories of release and letting go.

I’ve seen parents die when Venus and Jupiter conjoined in the 4th house of family. I’ve seen breakups when they met in the 5th house of romance, and in the 7th house of partnership.

Let me be clear: I don’t want to put a wet blanket on what’s habitually called “the best transit of the year.” But I do want to suggest we think more carefully and expansively about what “best” might mean, and for whom.

Though classically supportive planets, Venus and Jupiter do not immunize us against loss. When loss is due, they will facilitate it in a merciful way. Endings — whether of life itself, or of our expectations for how it ought to look — can be merciful.

Where and what in your life is calling for mercy? Where have you been holding on? By letting mercy in you can welcome, rather than resist, the renewing tides of change.

This isn’t the glossy, fun take on Venus and Jupiter in Cancer that I’m sure you can find many other places. But it is the one that feels truest to me.

When the lights went out

On the last winter solstice, electricity went down across large swaths of San Francisco. It was that very evening that I’d planned to join friends who were hosting a ritual. We were going to read all 87 Orphic Hymns — poems originally set to music and written in Ancient Greek, with each one invoking a god or natural force. While I’ve been deep in the study of the hymns for years, I’d never read all of them in order in a group ritual like this. So of course, like Hestia, I was stoked.

It was after dark when I knocked on the door of their house in the Outer Sunset, near the sea. The door opened to my friend’s face smiling in the dim glow of candlelight. Their electricity was still out, and it was perfect. The ancients didn’t have electricity either!

Six or so hours and some glasses of wine later, I stepped out of the orange interior of the home onto the dark street carrying a deeper appreciation for how the hymns inter-relate and inter-penetrate the cosmic, godly and eternal with the personal, intimate and mortal.

The first several hymns create the Orphic cosmos. In them, the initiates sing their creation story, with the hymn to Nyx (night), Ouranos (the sky), and Protogonos (the first-born being from the cosmic egg.) Then we meet gods like Helios and Selene (the Sun and Moon), familiar figures like Kronos, Zeus, Apollo and Aphrodite, alongside more idiosyncratic hymns for the Clouds, the Sea, and other beings of Physis (Nature.)

By the end of hymn 84, the initiates have sung the praises of every Greek deity you have ever heard of, and more — but as the succession of hymns come to a close, they end by speaking directly to the most personal and private of moments: their own death.

Hymns 85, 86, and 87 are for the personified forms of Sleep (Hypnos), Dreams (Oneiros), and Death (Thanatos). These complete the circle of the ritual: where we began in the vast void of Night and the cosmic birth, we now finish at the most humble, human scale, with prayers to the personification of our personal, earthly end.

Consider these two lines:

You alone distinguish the initiated from the rest.

You alone perform the final rites of all.

Orphic Hymn of Thanatos (Death), trans. Kristin Mathis

The irony here: the initiates are themselves performing the final rites of the hymns, even as they name Thanatos as the one who “alone” does that. This is classic tongue-in-cheek Orphism: a sly gesture to their own sacred belonging with the gods in their eternal nature.

We are never alone — not even, and especially not, at the end.

But what does it mean to have the gods and all of nature on our side? More life? Not necessarily! While the initiates do prize “longevity” (makroisi kronois zoes / μακροίσι χρόνοις ζωής), the hymns as a whole focus on the sacredness of both life and death. The very point of being initiated during life is to have a good afterlife.

My arms are over this child

Unlike the Orphics, we today live in a life-obsessed culture that too often sees death as an enemy. At the conclusion of the Orphic ritual, the initiates embrace their ultimate end like a friend.

But they have earned the right to do so. How? By invoking the previous 86 hymns! They have summoned the protection of countless gods, and they have bound many evils (for an example of apotropaic, evil-warding magic in the Orphic hymns, see Kristin Mathis’s writings on the hymn to Ares.)

Maybe the Orphics were onto something. Maybe the point of all ritual, ultimately, is so that we might greet death as a friend when our time comes. Or, that we might greet any ending in our life with a tranquil peace.

I got another text from my brother. “It’s going to be a tough stretch when Tess goes. I dread it.”

Negative emotions like dread are why we have magic. Why we mourn. Why we have ritual. Why we go to the beach.

These activities are apotropaic — they turn away evil. What is evil? (We only ask the big questions here.)

Evil is not negative emotions themselves — dread, fear, anxiety, anger, hate, sadness, shame. These are natural, not evil. Evil, on the other hand, is the forces that feed on those negative emotions and keep us stuck there. This negative stasis is against the will of Nature.

Evil is not negativity itself, for negativity is part of the balance of Nature. Evil is the stasis and inertia of negativity which destroys the cosmic harmony between dark and light. By Nature, opposing forces are supposed to co-exist in harmony. Evil is that which prevents dark from turning to light.

In my experience, the easiest way to become vulnerable to evil is to dwell on things outside the present moment — either past or future. Whether that looks like dreading the loss of an aging pet, or lamenting a love that could have been, evil feeds on keeping your energy stuck in any space-time that is not now.1 Being at the beach, a ritual repetition, helped keep my brother present. What ritual will you do to be present?

Presence, after all, may be the greatest magic of them all. Because the truth is: when you are present, nothing is absent — even the ones you have lost.

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A doubtless influence on the Orphics, Ancient Egyptian religion is similarly preoccupied with spiritual protection in the afterlife. This preoccupation is perhaps best encapsulated in the figure of the goddess Isis. By reviving Osiris after his defeat at the hand of his evil brother, Set, Isis brings a darkened world back to light.

Isis is the great mother goddess and divine consort of Osiris. In Egyptian astronomy, Isis was associated with Sirius, the brightest star in the constellation Cannis Major (the Big Dog), and indeed, the brightest star in the whole night sky. Today Sirius sits in the middle degrees of tropical Cancer.

Sirius/Isis was also the most important star in the Egyptian calendar, as its summertime emergence before the dawn heralded the flood of the Nile, which brought life and fertility to the delta each year. In these ways we see Isis’s connection to the element of water.

Along with fertility and regeneration, mourning and protection in the afterlife are core themes of Isis. In the myth, Osiris is killed and his body dismembered by his evil brother, Set. Stricken with grief, Isis transforms into a bird to search for her husband’s scattered limbs. She retrieves and reassembles the body of Osiris, before using the magic of her mourning to revive him in the underworld. There, they unite once more and produce a son, Horus, who will avenge his father by destroying evil Set.

But while new life is given in the form of Horus, who rises as a new Sun, Osiris himself must remain in the realm of the dead. Isis’s loss cannot be undone, but her magic generates a new world.

The purpose of our rituals, our magic, and our protective offerings is not to prevent loss. It is to protect the promise of new life. That the light will return.

The water that remembers

I’m sure you can remember a time when you “believed” your life would get better if something or someone outside of you would change. This is how we forgot. Twisted by anxiety, by dread, by shallow hopes, or by shame, it became too easy to paint ourselves into the tiniest corner of the universe. Then we remembered to have mercy on our own souls, in all their magnificent color.

Suffering grows out of the merciless refusal to accept change — or simply accept people, places, things, and events just as they are in the present moment. We cannot prevent loss, but we can prevent suffering through this acceptance. Psychotherapist Carl J. Rogers put it this way: “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.”

Unhealed attachments to the past and anxious attachments to the future inevitably warp our sense of the good — keeping us stuck in the same old stories, and making us vessels for evil. But when we accept darkness and shadow, it loosens their hold over us. Cool water restores the body of Osiris, and we remember who we truly are.

In Orphic mythology, memory and forgetting take the form of two separate bodies of water in the underworld. Our primary evidence comes from Orphic gold tablets — thin inscribed sheets buried with initiates as funerary objects — which provide step-by-step instructions for navigating the afterlife. In these texts, the initiate is told to avoid the river Lethe (forgetfulness) and instead seek out the pool of Mnemosyne (memory). By drinking the water of memory, the initiate would be able to return to the eternal Stars.

It is easy to see why the Orphics held Memory among their most sacred deities. For she held the keys of the eternal.

[Memory,] You exist eternally beyond evil,

mind-tangling Forgetfulness,

ever apart from the pernicious

river Lethe who misleads and disables.

Folding every mind into the chest,

uniting it there with the souls of fleshly beings,

you make the mind a housemate of the soul

Orphic Hymn of Mnemosyne, trans.

When the mind is a housemate of the soul, we need dwell in no other time but this one.

To conclude, I would wish to say a bit about what I even mean by eternal.2 However, as any initiate knows, it is the nature of the most sacred and holy things that they are unspeakable.

Maybe some other time.

For now,

Drew

P.S. Registration for our class on the Orphic hymns, Orphic cosmology, and the wisdom at the roots ancient astrology is open!

Learn more here: STAR: An Orphic Initiation

My workshop on Saturn in Aries is now available on my website: Download Here

In the garden of your life, it’s easy to villainize the weeds. So voraciously do they steal the sun and gobble the earth around your precious roses.

It’s good to weed your garden. But sometimes our attention gets so consumed by the weeds of our lives, we can end up neglecting what we want to grow, forgetting to tend our vision for a better life. Prioritize what you are tending, not what you want to tear down.

With Saturn in Aries, there seems to be a mania of eradication. There is such a thing as over-weeding, as it can disturb the soil. Sometimes even the most unsightly weeds can help the garden, attracting pollinators and providing habitat for helpful insects.

Purity is its own poison. Your garden does not have to be “pure” to be abundant. You could pull the weeds forever, making your garden pristine, but sterile; cultivated, but bare.

But stop a minute. Imagine paradise… Is it not wild? Do the rivers not ramble? Does the wind not greet you when you least expect? Are there not creatures of all kinds?

It is within our power to create abundance in the garden. We all live among the same greenery, and smell the same flowers. To myself, I am a gardener; to others, I may seem a weed. Everything that grows is also a gardener. Let us not weed each other out, we who garden and grow. Let our roots tunnel deeply, and our shoots thrust up to the sun. God is both ways.

“I only have shitty options,” my client said.

As an astrologer working with clients over many years, I see their highs and lows. Last year, I chose the wedding date for this same person, and they had a beautiful ceremony. But in the past few months, her new husband’s ex-wife was out for blood. To make a long story short, the result is that my client is at risk of losing her professional license, and she has the choice of whether to fight it.

Sometimes, my job as an astrologer involves reframing a less-than-ideal situation so it can be seen in a new light, and leading to a brighter future. But this time, what my client said was true. Neither choice was good. Would she fight this and risk losing everything, or surrender in exchange for some small consolations?

Sometimes it feels like there’s no right answer. Sometimes we don’t get to choose between good and bad, or — god-willing — good and better. Sometimes it’s shit, and there’s no sugar coating it.

This client and I share a lot of fire in our charts, particularly Aries, where Saturn is about to be for the next 3 years, starting this month.

The thing about Aries energy, and fire signs for that matter… losing really isn’t our jam. And if we go down, we’d rather go down swinging. We’d rather prove ourselves and fight.

But at what cost?

Time is precious. Energy, too. With Saturn in Aries, we can clarify the value of these resources. Sheathing the sword doesn’t mean giving up. It’s saving your strength for the more important fight. In The Art of War, Sun Tzu wrote “He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.”

That’s Saturn in Aries — when is it time to pull back the army of your energy? Or even giving up on the battle in order to win the war.

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Preserving Your Will

Saturn is a planet of preservation. Aries is a sign of will. The next three years of Saturn in Aries may ask you to distill your goals and ambitions into simple actions rooted in the here-and-now.

As much as you can, keep it simple. Small, simple acts add up. You don’t always have to play the long game for time to be on your side. What is within your capacity right now? Beyond that, leave the future to the fates.

Focusing on the present reminds us we can’t do everything. We have to choose what to do well. There are so many ways to waste our energy — as many as there are problems beyond our ability to solve. Tragic political and ecological realities are all around. But what can we do about them — or even our own lives?

The answer lies somewhere between the doom-scrolling of nothing and the manic rage of everything. When we pierce this vague Neptunian cloud, we’ll recognize our power within situations at hand, personally and politically. The impacts that are within reach, even if small, are worth it. Maybe they are next-door, on your block, in your town. Maybe it’s a habit you need to get back to. Maybe it’s saying I love you. We don’t have to conquer the world’s problems to make our lives better. When overwhelm sets in, we impact nothing.

This overwhelm is what I’ve been seeing with Saturn in Pisces, even more since the North Node joined it in January. With problems literally and figuratively as vast as the ocean, it again begs the question of what can be done. I think Saturn in Aries can actually help with that, if we are wise.

Workshop Opportunity the coming Weekend

UPDATE: The Saturn in Aries workshop that took place 5/17 is now available in recorded form, along with the slides & a journal exercise packet.

Get the workshop recording here: Recording Available

There are so many themes in play this year — from Saturn in Aries, to Jupiter in Cancer, to Uranus in Gemini. And they’re all inter-related.

Join me for Fall, Fail, Forge Ahead: A Saturn in Aries Workshop, live-streamed next Saturday, May 17th. We will dive deep into Saturn in Aries themes, timing, and strategies. We’ll also explore how the Saturn in Aries story connects with other big shifts this year and beyond. Always with an eye to the practical present!

The workshop will be recorded for all who register, so don’t stress if you can’t make it live.

Register Here

From Overwhelm to Humble Action

Coming from the overwhelming perspective of Saturn in Pisces with the North Node, the Ringed One’s entry into Aries may come as a welcome, clarifying shift. The endless expanse of the Fishes gives way to the sprinting charge of the Ram.

But if the problem for Saturn in Pisces was a bandwidth and overwhelm problem, for Saturn in Aries it will be an issue of energy management. How can we string together small wins without feeling deflated in the shadow of huge ambitions and even bigger hurdles?

Saturn is said to be “fallen” in Aries. The astrological condition known as “fall” is a topic I discussed before in a piece on the transition from fallen Mars in Cancer to exalted Jupiter in the sign, a threshold on which we now stand.

In Ancient Greek, the astrological word for fall is tapeinoma, meaning low to the ground, or humble. Fallen planets must learn humility.

In some ways, fallen planets like Saturn in Aries have more to work with. (Traditional astrologers everywhere gasp.) What I mean is, we often learn and grow more through the greatest challenges. Talent is wasted on the gifted, and ambition is wasted on the vain. Others rise through grit, determination, and consistency.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not saying Saturn in Aries is cause for celebration. Not by a long shot. But it’s the reality we have for three years. I’ll ask again: what are we going to do with it?

I say: humble yourself to your actual capability. Likely it is less than you wish, but far more than you have realized.

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Small Fires, Real Light

One of the risks with Saturn in Aries is spreading yourself too thin. But do spread yourself. Do that small, brave thing you normally wouldn’t. Over time, those actions add up. Patience is key, too. Don’t evade future failure if at first you don’t succeed. Try to fail well. We’ll talk about what this means in the workshop.

Show up for something — fully and repeatedly — whether it’s a good habit, a municipal meeting, or something else you care about. With enough sustained effort, you can start a humble fire, building light in the dark. What if everyone did the same? But don’t chastise anyone else for not. Be the change.

As we cross this energetic threshold, it’s important to reject defeatism. Even in the face of shitty choices, we still have a choice. And another. And another. No one said this would be easy. But it’s still ours to live, and to do something we respect.

Register Here

For now,

Drew

It’s a week to turn the page from old stories. You don’t have to leave everything behind to start fresh. Wherever you are is a great place to start.

Hot off the heels of a New Moon with Uranus and square Mars, this lunar cycle can help you flip the script. Try a new approach. The seeds of possibilities you sow now may reap surprising rewards down the line.

I hope you enjoy this edition of Atmospherics, your daily breakdown of the week at hand.

Monday, April 28

Moon in Taurus conjunct Uranus, sextile Venus & Saturn in Pisces

Revolutions seldom happen overnight. More often, they accumulate from small shifts and brave first steps. As we begin the lunar month, try and find your micro-revolution — whether it’s in your routine, something about how you speak or relate, or a perspective that you choose to carry throughout your days. Eventually, these adjustments can change the course of your life — or even history.

Tuesday, April 29

Moon in Gemini sextile Mars in Leo & Mercury in Aries

The saying goes “haste makes waste,” but so can overthinking. Get to the point today, and don’t miss the forest for the trees. To quote Shakespeare, brevity is the soul of wit.

Wednesday, April 30

Moon conjunct Jupiter in Gemini, square Saturn

Just because a door opens doesn’t mean you need to walk through it. If you can afford a side quest, today could be a great day for it. Just don’t confuse that with the longer road you are traveling. Saying no to one thing can allow you to invest in a bigger goal.

Thursday, May 1

Moon in Cancer square Venus in Aries, sextile Sun in Taurus

Sometimes even when we know what’s healthy for us, we do the opposite. Whether it’s indulging a sweet tooth or engaging in a worn out relational dynamic, it can be all too easy to give into temptation. It just feels so good! At least in the moment… Today, try to discern between feeling good and being well. Feed your soul, not your urges.

Friday, May 2

Moon in Cancer square Mercury in Aries, trine Saturn in Pisces

It’s one thing to be in touch with your feelings about a situation, but knowing what to do about it, or how to talk about it, can be another matter entirely. Today you may feel an urgent need to voice something or put a plan in motion. Press pause and consider: what if the change you are seeking is inside?

Saturday, May 3

Moon in Leo conjunct Mars, opposite Pluto, trine Venus in Aries

Essayist Tim Kreider wrote, “If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.” We all wear masks. Today, consider taking one off and not apologizing for what’s underneath.

Sunday, May 4

Moon in Leo square Sun in Taurus, trine Mercury in Aries

Perfect is the enemy of good. Today, don’t worry about being a master of something. Instead, focus on keeping your momentum. Keep your eye on the prize, and remember that wherever you are is good enough as long as you keep moving.

Gaining a sense of the day is powerful, whether or not you’re studying astrology — but especially if you’re learning astrology. You see the planets in action. You learn what they do, and when.

The mood of each day is tidal, governed by the Moon. Noticing the Moon’s journey through the signs — and the connections she makes with other planets — is as simple as it is powerful. Living Astrologically 101.

Before getting into the horoscopes, some news: my talk on ancient number theory and the origins of the 12 houses is now available for download on my website. This talk presents some striking findings about possible origins of the 12 houses.

Reading the originary frameworks of Hellenistic astrology — Thema Mundi, Exaltations, Planetary Joys — through the lens of Pythagorean & Platonic ideas about the sacred numbers reveals extremely striking parallels. Could sacred numbers provide the original reasoning for the astrological houses? I was completely floored when I found these connections, and I think you will be too.

Download the talk here.

Now to your daily horoscopes. Without further ado: Atmospherics. The week at hand.

Monday, April 7

Moon in Leo sextile Jupiter in Gemini, trine Sun in Aries

Sometimes pride gets a bad rap — but not today. What are you proud of in your life? Celebrate that. Can you use today as kindling? Do something you respect? Stoke a fire in yourself. The world needs it.

Tuesday, April 8

Moon in Virgo, no aspect forming

Some math problems are thousands of years old and still, nobody — not even the world’s greatest mathematicians — have found a solution. Despite how it can sometimes feel, life is not a math problem. Don’t forget that.

Wednesday, April 9

Moon in Virgo square Jupiter in Gemini

How can you do a puzzle if you don’t know what the picture is? Today, the pieces may start coming together and you may start seeing the image. Take the opportunity to get real about something. False hope is like empty calories for the soul.

Thursday, April 10

Moon in Virgo opposite Mercury-Venus-Saturn-North Node in Pisces, trine Uranus in Taurus, sextile Mars in Cancer

Sometimes there’s so much to say — and yet, somehow, nothing to say at all. So what should you say? Maybe less is more. Get quiet enough to hear an answer. It may already be right in front of you.

Friday, April 11

Moon in Libra trine Jupiter in Gemini

Sometimes we pay so much attention to what’s in other people’s hearts, we forget our own. Today can help you return to your own heart. Remember, compromises don’t have to be compromising.

Saturday, April 12

Full Moon in Libra square Mars in Cancer

Do you feel differently than you once did? It’s ok — actually, it’s more than ok. It’s a sign you are alive. No one ever said growth is easy. These days, it isn’t getting any easier. But it can get better.

Sunday, April 13

Moon in Scorpio square Pluto in Aquarius

Some of us like to keep our cards close to our chest. That’s smart, sometimes. But if you never let anyone see what you want, how will they ever give it to you? You don’t have to share everything — just enough to be known.

1. Thoughts on the eclipses

2. Invitation to free webinar

3. Readings & Elections re-opening in April

On Meaningful Sacrifice: South Node Eclipse in Virgo

For many of us this eclipse season, the meaning of sacrifice is changing. As the Moon turned blood-red in Virgo, a sign of service and sacred order, we may have begun to see sacrifice in a different light.

A sacrifice without intention and purpose is just an emptying, a void. What may you have been a-voiding? Eclipses disrupt. Worn out habits can be broken as old emotional flows are interrupted. Old paradigms and practices offer themselves up to the purging fire.

Sacrifices, made intentionally, express love. We give something up for a purpose. Lined with wise offerings, the altar hums its divine music. Light rejoices. Intention sings.

This lunar eclipse is guided by Mercury as it stations retrograde in Aries. The motion-reversal of the eclipse ruler suggests Virgoan values being called into question, re-balanced on the scales:

As this is a South Node eclipse, we can accept the invitation to let go of old ways of being, doing, and even loving.

Enter Venus. Mercury, ruler of the eclipse, is conjoining Venus retrograde. The messenger planet helps us think and talk about the themes of the other planets it touches. With Venus retrograde together with Mercury in Aries, we can anticipate intense conversations or perhaps silent ruminations on the sphere of values, agreements, and relationships. With it being in Aries, we may be asking ourselves the question, "What’s in it for me?”

Selflessness and love are not the same thing.

Aries is an impulsive sign. Research on the psychology of sacrifice suggests that impulsive people are actually more inclined to make sacrifices for their partners, when compared with more self-controlled types (read more). With the inner planets retrograding in Aries, impulses are paused for more careful consideration. If sacrifices have been feeling aimless, this is a chance to redefine their purpose—or to shift the expectations around them.

The word sacrifice takes root in the Latin sacrificium, which also gives us “sacred.” Sacrifices are sacred. They declare sacredness, ward evil, cleanse. But these warding and cleansing powers are rooted in intentional connection with a divinity and its purifying light. If you feel drained by a sacrifice you keep making, take a deeper look. You may be tangling with demons.

It is easy to lose track of the intentionality in our sacrifice. If we remember our intention, we empower our choices. Simple.

Sacrifices are always relational, but they don’t have to be interpersonal. They can be personal, or collective. For instance, we can choose greater reciprocity with the earth by altering our habits, or meditating with her and giving thanks and making commitments. We can choose to make different financial choices — not eating out or buying coffee or using credit cards, for instance. Sacrifices are practical tools for manifesting the future we want and deserve. They declare that we do have the power, and we are worthy. But if we’re unwilling to give something up, can we truly claim to be committed to change?

Changes in our sacrifices express changes in our values. Sometimes our values change first, but the sacrifices need to catch up. An eclipse is a quickening that follows from an interruption. What is this eclipse cycle interrupting? What channels are ready to course with new flows? What are you putting on the altar of your life?

Myth, Math, and Magic in Ancient Astrology

Next Sunday, I’m giving a free talk for the Nightlight Astrology speaker series.

I will be talking about Ancient Greek religious ideas and how they inform the structure of Hellenistic astrology. In particular, I’ll be exploring Orphic mythology and Pythagorean number mysticism as they manifest through the Planetary Joy Scheme, as well as the Exaltations and Thema Mundi.

This talk is free but you have to register! Here is the link to do that: REGISTER

Readings Re-Opening

After a very busy hiatus for teaching and research, my books are re-opening to new clients again in April.

The next few months are a major astrological threshold, with several outer planets introducing new energies and questions in our lives. If you have been considering a reading, now is a rich time to gain perspective. Attunement Sessions

For now,

Drew

My books for February are open, including my new offering, the Radical Election Diagnostic, which invites you to understand your relationship with opportunities in time through the perspective of your birth chart. Attunement Sessions are my natal chart offering. Also don’t forget to pick up my Free 90-minute Teaching on Aspects.

Without further ado: Love, the Opposite.

The Dyadic Zodiac

Signs in opposition are more similar than they are different.

Of the signs' three fundamental qualities, listed below, opposite signs share two, and only differ in one area -- their element.

1. SAME: Signs in opposition share a POLARITY (yin/yang, masculine/feminine, diurnal/nocturnal) -- example: Aries opposes Libra and both are yang signs, Taurus opposes Scorpio and both are yin signs

2. SAME: Signs in opposition also share a MODALITY (cardinal, fixed, or mutable) -- example: Gemini opposes Sagittarius and both are mutable signs.

3. DIFFERENT: Signs in opposition differ and do not share their TRIPLICITY or ELEMENT (fire, earth, air, or water) -- example: Leo opposes Aquarius, and one is a fire sign and one is an air sign

As practice, I would like you to explore the sign of your SECT LIGHT (Sun if you have a day chart, Moon if you have a night chart) alongside its opposing sign. So if you have a night chart with the Moon in Leo, I want you contemplate the Leo-Aquarius axis.

How would you describe the DIFFERENCES of your sign pairing? What are the two traditional rulers of each sign in the pair? Which two elements are on the axis?

How would you describe the SIMILARITIES of your sign pairing? What is the polarity of the pair? What is the modality?

Aries/Libra, Taurus/Scorpio, Gemini/Sagittarius, Cancer/Capricorn, Leo/Aquarius, Virgo/Pisces are sometimes called "dyads". The Pythagorean philosophers, ancestors of our astrological tradition in some ways, talked about the dyad as "the cause of things which are altogether similar and identical and stable [... yet] on the other hand, the dyad is the cause of things which are altogether dissimilar."

Both can be true!

Thinking about yourself and your own nature, can you see similarities between yourself and the sign opposite your Sect Light? It could also be interesting to hear how any planets (especially traditional planets) in the opposing sign shape your experience.

The dyad for the Pythagoreans was called "Erato" because they thought about the dyad in terms of Love.

Do you love your opposite? Can you?

RADIX, 4-week radical elections intensive

New Offering: Radical Election Diagnostic

FROM NOW ON Recording, 2025 Astrology Workshop

Attunement Sessions (signature natal chart offering)

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Elemental Knowing

Are you a fire-breather? An air-circler? An earth-bender? A water-weaver?

Each of us has our share in the 4 elements. Traits and talents, preferences and positions.

When we understand our elemental composition through astrology, it can help us flow with the shifting elemental composition of the sky. Time itself is elemental. It is a mixing of primordial substances.

Today we have more watery skies, as the Moon and Venus just entered Pisces. Whereas yesterday was airy. Can you feel the difference?

The way you sense and sensitize to the elements is unique. You have your own mixture, your own interface with the constellations of matter. This way of elementally knowing ourselves is as simple as it is mysterious, and as mysterious as it is powerful.

The elemental make-up of individuals is at the foundation of my recent research and offerings in the area of electional astrology — the use of astrological timing to support our actions, endeavors, and manifestations.

In this article I want to share with you some philosophical background on the elements and how they got into ancient astrology in the first place.

Before the emergence of Hellenistic astrology, the 4 elements were the philosophical puzzles of nature itself. How do the pieces make up the whole? What is underneath existence? What drives change? What are the roots of our earthly being?

I am beginning to share discoveries about the use of “radical” ideas in Hellenistic electional astrology. Radical means “root,” and radical electional astrology foregrounds and emphasizes the importance of the relationship between the nativity — the “root” chart — and the electional chart when the individual chooses to act.

It turns out, I have found, the elements are core to this rooted relationship.

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A New Class, and an Offering

If you’re a geek for this kind of thing AND you have a background in traditional elections through other coursework or independent study, you will be interested in RADIX, my new 4-week intensive on radical election technique, starting in two weeks.

Or, instead a class setting, you can also learn about your chart through the lens of radical elections by exploring my new offering — the Radical Election Diagnostic & 2025 Personal Report.

Having just sent out the first batch of these reports, I am now looking for 5 more people who want highly detailed insights into their birth chart and how your planetary support system can guide you toward specific times for your happiness & success. LEARN MORE

One more thing, before a philosophical romp through the elements in astrology: the recording of my recent year-ahead workshop in LA, FROM NOW ON: Building your future in 2025, is now available. As you have probably heard, we have a wild year ahead, and I’m helping you engage it with curiosity and grace. You can get the digital download packet here: DOWNLOAD

Alright, now: triads.

Geometry in Astrology

Geometry was my favorite math subject in school, which could have been an early giveaway astrology would cross my path.

Indeed, astrology is a deeply geometric craft, but not just in the obvious ways.

Of course, maybe the most obvious manifestation of geometry in astrology is the aspects. Whether we think of these connections between planets as shapes or conversations, their mathematical reality seems foundational.

The five classical aspects — also known as the Ptolemaic aspects — are the opposition at 180°, the trine at 120°, the square at 90°, the sextile at 60° and the finally the conjunction of 0°. (You can download my FREE 90-minute teaching on the aspects on my website: Get Download).

But geometry in astrology extends far beyond the aspects. It’s woven into the very fabric of how the zodiac signs are defined.

Modality/Cross, Element/Triad

The fundamental qualities of the zodiac signs are determined through two geometrically derived frameworks: modality(cardinal, fixed, mutable) and element (fire, air, water, earth).

During a recent session for Austin Coppock’s astrology course, my colleague Travis Black described modality as the “rate of matter through space.” I found this description apt. A sign’s modality reflects the pace and style of its energy:

• Cardinal signs are fast, volatile, and initiate new cycles.

• Fixed signs are steady, determined, and focused on seeing things through to completion.

• Mutable signs, with their adaptability and duality, deserve a more nuanced discussion—one for another day.

If modality describes how a sign moves, element describes what it moves. The type of matter.

In pre-modern philosophy and cosmology, the elements were not simply energy types. They were seen as the underlying substances of nature. Categories of matter. What stuff is made of.

Some things are purely elemental. The ocean or a lake or stream is… well, water. The mountain is earth, but beneath it their roils fire. And over the millennia, great gusts of wind — air — gradually erode the mountain into a new shape.

Elements in the Human Being

The elements were also thought to mix together in specific ways to compose different kinds of beings. Human beings, for instance, are made up of all four elements. The earth of our bones, the water of our blood, the air of our breath, and the fire of our soul.

Early Hellenistic astrologers like Antiochus of Athens incorporated this philosophy of the elements into their understanding of the birth chart:

“… since everything material is composed from these 4 elements or bodies, it is necessary that man, as participating in the same nature, also share in these elements. And [the ancients] assigned the four pivot points of the birth in accordance with the four mixtures.”

The Thesaurus, Antiochus of Athens. Trans. Schmidt.

In any chart, the four “pivots” or angular whole-sign houses will be composed of one fire, one air, one water, and one earth sign. Since these angular houses of 1st, 10th, 7th, and 4th are considered the most foundational to the person’s life, Antiochus underscored the resonance of the astrological chart with prevailing philosophies of how the elements composed the material world, including human beings.

The pivots or angular houses are in the shape of a cross, where each point of the cross is a different element within the same modality. In the chart above, all 4 pivots are mutable signs. By drawing down these 4 signs into the human form, the birth chart mixes the 4 elements into our being. The cross mixes the elements.

But what about the shape of today — the triad?

Whereas the cross within the circle gives us 4 signs of the same modality, the triad gives us 3 signs of the same element. These triangular groups are called “triplicities,” whereas the cross gives us “quadruplicities” where each point shares the same modality.

In the above diagram, each element shows its cardinal sign on the top vertex, the fixed one on the right vertex, and the mutable one on the left vertex.

The 2nd-century astrologer Vetius Valens is our first known instance where the triangular groups of signs were explicitly tied to the 4 elements. A century earlier, the astrologer Dorotheus of Sidon centralized the use of triplicities in his methods, but did not name them as “elemental” — though I suspect it may have been implicit.

Triads and the Roots of Our Being

More than five centuries before the first known Hellenistic astrologers, the philosopher Empedocles introduced the familiar four-element scheme, referring to them as rhízōmata (roots). This term highlights the elements’ role as the unseen foundations of existence, like how a tree’s roots sustain its visible form.

Even earlier, thinkers like Thales of Miletus and Heraclitus speculated on the archḗ—the primordial substance underlying all things. While Thales proposed water as the source, Heraclitus championed fire. Eventually, these ideas coalesced into Empedocles’ fourfold framework, where each element participates equally in the cosmic composition.

As a whole, humanity must come together as a perfectly balanced mixture of the four elements — just as the whole of nature does. But each of us, unto ourselves, is gifted with a perfect imbalance. We are all unique in our ways of fiery-ness, watery-ness, airy-ness, and earthy-ness. Our special mixture makes us each capable of different kinds of greatness, and different shapes of shortcomings that invite us to connect with others.

Even if the elements are the roots underneath things, we can still feel them. When you hear music, the base line grounds the listening experience even if the upper melody is what you remember. Roots are deeply within us.

I like to think of learning astrology as learning your musical groove. Alongside that self-understanding, you get to appreciate other grooves, other styles of music — other kinds of being. And through this, together we can make something more perfect, more whole.

For now,

Drew

Quick Links:

RADIX, 4-week radical elections intensive

Radical Election Diagnostic

FROM NOW ON Recording, 2025 Astrology Workshop

Attunement Sessions (my signature natal chart offering)

Free 90-minute Teaching on Aspects

Here’s a recap of my thoughts on Saturn in Aries, one of the most important shifts of the year ahead, which I also explored in an IG Live with . (follow me over there @anthrosophist)

• The best medicine for despair is effort

• Perfecting the art of imperfection

• The choice between hard and hard

• Personally and collectively re-defining courage

• Humbly committing to learning so that no experiment is a failure.

As the song of the sky reaches a new key, new harmonies are needed from our voices.

What is your harmonic role in the future?

Join me for live-streamed and in-person workshop on this topic this weekend!

FROM NOW ON: Building your Future in 2025: Get Tickets

UPDATE: The workshop was a hit! You can now pick up the recording here: 2025 workshop

Interested in setting up an in-person astrology session December 15-20? Email me drew@archeastrology.com to inquire.

Now let’s continue last week’s exploration of 2025.

The Balm of Jupiter in Cancer

Jupiter is a planet of solutions. The so-called greater benefic has a 12-year cycle and spends a year in each sign.

The types of benefits Jupiter brings you in a year can be expressed in two main ways, one collective and one personal: first collectively, Jupiter improves the topics of the sign he is in, and second, he boosts topics of the house he’s transiting in your chart, which is specific to you and people born with your same rising sign.

Here are the topics Jupiter will be improving for your in 2025 and 2026 based on your Rising Sign:

Importantly, Jupiter’s time in Cancer will be hot on the heels of Mars’s long retrograde visit in the sign, which won’t conclude until mid-April.

The ground that Mars tills this winter and spring will be planted and watered by Jupiter in the summer.

Put another way, the Cancer topics of your chart are being offered a chance for “short-term pain, long-term gain.” Effort and exertion in the coming months promise rewards later.

Mars & Jupiter: Planetary Fall & Exaltation

Where Mars is “fallen” in Cancer, Jupiter is said to be “exalted.” These technical terms use the metaphor of elevation to describe planetary experiences.

The Greek term for exaltation is hupsoma, meaning height or elevation, whereas the astrological word for fall is tapeinoma, meaning low to the ground, or humble.

I find great empowerment in reading fallen planets as benefiting from humility. The word humility comes from the same Latin word that gives us “human.” Though gods in their own right, fallen planets are temporarily humbled, brought down to earth.

When fallen in Cancer, Mars benefits from consistent effort and accepting small steps toward progress. Struggles flow from this planetary position when we expect too much from our efforts. But defeatism can be replaced with the perseverance of a humble routine. A sign-environment ruled by the ever-cycling Moon, Cancer teaches Mars the value of repeated action that leads to enlightened adaptation.

The more we do, the more we learn. This is a humble way to act and be. How can you apply this insight to the Cancer house of your chart, as laid out in the list of rising signs above?

Turning now to Jupiter in Cancer, Demetra George describes “exaltation” in Hellenistic Astrology in Theory & Practice Volume 1 as follows:

“An exalted planet is held in high esteem and treated as an honored guest relative to the topics of the house it occupies. His or her thoughts, positions, and actions have great influence over the behavior and deeds of others” (page 191).

Where we have humbly persevered in the coming months, we gain respect when Jupiter enters Cancer next June.

The time ahead can be read through the hero’s journey, from the ordeal to the reward.

In the hero’s journey, the transition from the ordeal to the reward is a critical turning point. The ordeal is the hero’s moment of greatest challenge, a confrontation with death or deepest fear. Emerging from this trial, the hero gains new insight, power, or treasure — the reward — that signifies transformation and a step toward fulfillment.

Mars in Cancer symbolizes the hero’s ordeal — a challenging period where courage is tested amidst emotional turbulence. In this sensitive, protective sign, actions are indirect, emotions cloud clarity, and motivations may be driven by instinctive protection rather than strategic thinking. This ordeal for the hero manifests as an inner battle against insecurity, fear, or clinging to the past. The hero must navigate the emotional currents of Cancer, feeling the weight of past wounds or unresolved family patterns. With Mars being retrograde as well, the struggle is not purely external; it is an internal reckoning with vulnerabilities and suppressed feelings. Like a hero fighting through a stormy sea, the challenge lies in maintaining resolve when emotions surge unpredictably.

During Mars in Cancer, the hero humbly learns that raw force cannot always conquer the waves, but adaptability, emotional intelligence, and patience are just as important. This phase demands the hero face the discomfort of the unknown. The ordeal might strip the Mars-in-Cancer hero of preconceived notions of strength, revealing the power of persistence and resilience rather than imposing will.

When the ordeal reaches its climax, the hero emerges — scarred but transformed. This sets the stage for Jupiter's transit through Cancer, a symbol of the reward phase. Exalted, the hero reaps the benefits of persevering through the ordeal. From the murky depths, the hero is lifted by a tide of worldly esteem. Respect is earned. Where Mars in Cancer called for bravery from below, Jupiter in Cancer offers security and a sense of belonging — the hero is a child of Earth & Starry Skies.

Jupiter in Cancer heals over the wounds of needing. Instead of a liability, vulnerability is revealed as a source of strength and connection. The hero’s reward is not just personal success, but a renewed capacity to give and receive emotional nourishment. Courage and compassion are united under the same banner. The reward may take the form of restored relationships, hope and inspiration, or a newfound sanctuary in a strange and exciting world.

Thank you for reading! I will be helping you work with these energies in your own chart and interpret their significance in your life at my workshop this weekend, December 14!

Register Here (live in-person and livestream tickets available; full recording will be sent to both kinds of ticket holders)

For now,

Drew

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That much is clear, whether you’re among the astrologically initiated or not. The astrology does bear it out though.

It’s a “before-and-after” year. You will remember before 2025 and you will remember after 2025 — a year of more-than-political transition.

The heavy hitters are on the move — Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, even Neptune. As these planets move through the zodiac slowly, it is very rare for all of them to change signs in the same year. Their near simultaneous shift in 2025 has astrologers the world over scratching their heads. What the hell is coming this year?

At both personal and collective scales, each of these major energy changes is more than a singular moment or event. It’s more like a process initiating, a seed being planted. You remember when you planted the seed, but it’s only the beginning. For the rest, we have years to come.

Open your mind to strange possibilities in 2025.

Pay attention to what, before, you may have thought not possible.

Dream of futures you’ve yet to dream. Dream big this year.

With the Sun now passing through visionary Sagittarius, take a moment to envision yourself and your kinfolk on the other side of next year better off than you are now.

Hold on. Better how?

Could 2025 even change your sense of what “better” means?

Sure — we all need food on the table and like to have some money in the bank. But what if “better” is getting bigger. What if it’s an energy? A pattern? A force for good that wants to be your ally?

If you like what you’re reading and the rest of the article, then you’ll love my workshop FROM NOW ON: Building your Future in 2025 hosted by Vivi Henriette at Art of the Zodiac on December 14 at Noon PST.

UPDATE: The workshop was a hit! You can now pick up the recording here: 2025 workshop

So without further ado: here are 4 major astrological transits of the year ahead.

1. The year opens with Mars retrograde, leading straight into Venus retrograde

2. Saturn enters Aries, with Neptune

3. Jupiter enters Cancer

4. Uranus enters Gemini

1) The year opens with Mars retrograde, leading straight into Venus retrograde

Translation: we’re remaking our personal lives, echoing the second half of 2018

As the two planets closest to Earth, Venus and Mars have a great deal to do with our personal sphere — our wants and how we go about fulfilling them.

Put simply, Venus is what you want, Mars is how you get it. Venus is the wish, Mars is the sacrifice you put on the altar. Blood, sweat, tears.

During Mars retrograde, we check in with our sacrifices. Where do we draw the proverbial line in the sand? What are you not willing to sacrifice to get what you want?

This can be frustrating. We often face questions of futility during the backward trek of the red planet. After enough banging your head against the wall, the alternative becomes more attractive: live to fight another day.

If you’re chasing a dream, a person, or a path that’s not for you, Mars retrograde will show you the energetic cost of continuing the depleting chase. When he turns backward, Mars reminds us the limits of our energy, and thus the power and importance of choosing our battles wisely. (This basically starts now, by the way.)

Where Mars retrograde brings frustration and futility, for Venus the cycle tends to precipitate soul-searching amidst disappointment. Venus retrogrades can also affirm love through the hard times, when love is the thing that keeps you going. (Cosmically speaking, isn’t it always?)

Interestingly, Venus and Mars retrograde the least frequently out of any of the planets — every 18 months for fair Aphrodite, and roughly every 2 years for our rogue fighter. Compared to the less-than-yearly cycles of Venus and Mars, fleet-footed Mercury enters this phase thrice yearly, while all of the others go retrograde once a year.

To help you reflect on what these periods have meant for you in the past, here are the dates of the last several retrogrades of Venus and Mars:

This year’s back-to-back Venus and Mars retrogrades create striking parallels with the second half of 2018. That summer, Mars traveled from Aquarius back into Capricorn, and Venus followed suit from Scorpio into Libra in the fall. This time around, Mars starts the year retrograde, concluding that cycle February 23 just in time for Venus to begin her own backward dance from March 1 to April 12.

In both cases, the first retrograde is Mars going from a fixed back into a cardinal sign, and the second is Venus going from a Mars-ruled sign (Scorpio in 2018 and Aries in 2025) into a place of her strength (Libra in 2018 and Pisces in 2025).

This is hardly the last time I’ll be writing about these upcoming transits. If you haven’t caught up on my writing on the current energy of Mars in Leo and how it relates to the Drama Triangle, here are the links: Part 1 and Part 2.

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2) Saturn enters Aries, with Neptune

Translation: we’re perfecting the art of imperfection

Aries energy doesn’t get enough credit for perfectionism.

All of that stereotype goes erroneously to late-summer Virgo, when in reality, I think, it should be shared with her springtime cousin.

If you know a secret doctrine of the seasons, this Aries-Virgo connection and its relationship to perfectionism grows clear. That doctrine is antiscia, meaning “opposite shadows.”

Antiscia connects signs that are essentially mirror images. Aries and Virgo are reflections of each other, signs of “equal light”.

Consider this: The first day of spring is the same length as the last day of summer.1

Put another way, signs connected via antiscia are equally close to the perfect balance of the equinoxes. Edging ever closer to equilibrium, both of these energies are “perfective”. They want to get it just right.

Aries and Virgo perfectionism look a lot different, though. We can explain this through the “modes” or “modalities” of the two signs. Virgo is a mutable sign, and Aries is a cardinal sign.

Virgo’s nature as a mutable sign is to iterate and improve upon what already exists. Cardinal Aries on the other hand is all about starting, so in terms of perfectionism, the improvement instinct of Aries means the sign embraces starting over, to get it right with a fresh start. With the immense energy the first sign of the zodiac possesses, this willingness to go carte blanche makes sense.

How does Saturn — the planet of time, the past, and preservation — feel about starting over? Well, that’s not exactly in his job description! Saturn is said to be “fallen” or “depressed” in Aries. Both of these traditional terms describe the planet being in a physically low place, compared to the height of the opposite position, “exalted,” associated with high esteem and respect.

Here’s what I think Saturn in Aries is bringing to the equation this year: you don’t get to choose between easy and hard; you get to choose between hard and hard.

There is no starting over. We have no choice but to build, imperfectly, with the past.

Along these lines, I was inspired by the writing of on Substack:

There is no perfection, only effort. And I would add, patience. Patience to accept the challenges dealt to me by the past. Patience for my boomer parents. Patience for my work to bear fruit. Patience for myself. Gratitude for the patience of the planet.

Gardener writes about his weaving practice: “My weaving is path dependent, because glob darnit, I never will weave back. If I do something wrong or have an issue that comes up because of a decision I made earlier in the weaving, I just live with the consequences and incorporate that into the weaving.”

He says this makes weaving more real to him.

Indeed, perfection is not real. It’s Neptunian illusion, it’s an ideal.

Perfecting the art of imperfection means being crafty with an imperfect inheritance. It means embracing trial-and-error and experimenting endlessly, knowing that even failed experiments are not failures if you learned something… even if all you learned is how to dance with your own disappointment. Maybe find joy in it. Learn how to be humble enough to accept mistakes. Humble enough to act.

Reminder to register for my year ahead workshop:

Register Here (live in-person and livestream tickets available; full recording will be sent to both kinds of ticket holders)

Stay tuned for the third and fourth points on Jupiter entering Cancer and Uranus entering Gemini!

I plan to share that with you in the next couple of days.

For now,

Drew

Looking for astrological insight on 2025? Check out my other recent articles, and consider picking up my 3-hour workshop to help you situate yourself in the changing tones of the future.

The plant tells the wise gardener when it is time to prune. What was strong sags. What was green, yellows. Not every shoot is to finish the season.

As pruning brings plants prosperity, on occasion you need to make cuts to grow. The tangled brambles of who you once were cast shadows. But to thrive, somehow the light of the future has to get through the thicket.

Prudent clipping is no celebration, as the sharp edge of change is unpleasant. But quickly, new growth rises after the shears. Generous are the reductions of the wise.

What aren’t you anymore?

The last time Mars turned retrograde in a fire sign was the day the sky turned red.

September 9, 2020 was surreal in Northern California. Massive wildfires and thick smoke shrouded the region in an eerie, orange glow as the sky darkened. Fueled by extreme heat, dryness and winds, the fires caused widespread destruction, displacing thousands, straining emergency services, and highlighting the escalating threat of climate change.

Astrologers could not help but note that September 9, the day the sky turned red, was the first day of the red planet’s retrograde in the fire sign of Aries. The gods keep it real, don’t they?

When you set a fire in your life, not everything dies. Fires are intense, but not evil. Like pruning, they are also part of growth cycles and they can cultivate long-term resilience. Wildfires clear out dead vegetation, returning nutrients to the soil and creating space for new plant growth. They also help maintain ecosystems by encouraging the germination of fire-adapted species and supporting biodiversity over time.

What survives the fire can grow stronger. It is the same with nature and with us: fires will always come. The question is how they come, and how responsibly we tend the aftermath-terrain.

Recapping the Drama Triangle

Drama is an interpersonal fire without responsibility. The unlearned would call it a “wildfire,” not knowing that all fires are engineered. We only got here because somebody did or — more often — didn’t do something.

Dramatic communication is smoky with groans of doubt, red with sighs of resignation. I can’t do this anymore. But you do, because drama is all talk and no action.

A conflict model devised by psychologist Stephen B. Karpman, the Drama Triangle describes a dysfunctional communication pattern among three roles: Victim, Persecutor, and Rescuer.

• The Victim feels powerless and shifts responsibility for their situation onto others or external forces.

• The Persecutor criticizes or oppresses the Victim, using control or aggression to assert dominance and moral superiority.

• The Rescuer steps in to "save" the Victim, but ends up fostering dependency instead of helping them access their capabilities.

The roles are not static, as we shift we between. In fact, this motion actually perpetuates conflict and prevents resolution, fueling the drama’s fire. Alternation between roles can create a temporary illusion that the dynamic has changed — or that we are “winning” — bringing a sweeter hit of adrenaline. But that gets old too, and we switch back.

There is no growth in this; only semi-sweetened decay. It feeds our deluded sicknesses of mind that tell us we’re not good enough, or that we’re perfect.

“Perfect” and “hopelessly flawed” are the preferred postures within the Drama Triangle. The Persecutor and the Rescuer both project themselves as capable and morally correct. On the other hand, the Victim dwells in lack and shame while seeking validation for their powerlessness and host of flaws.

Mars in Leo as Posturing

The volatility of the Drama Triangle gives the ego whiplash — one moment you’re perfect, the next you’re trash. Homer called Mars/Ares alloprosallos (αλλοπρόσαλλος). The god of war does not choose sides. He swings to one side, then the other. In the end, his only loyalty is to the conflict itself.

Be on alert for this behavior. Don’t be loyal to your conflicts. Be loyal to yourself.

Being loyal to the conflict manifests as “postures” that roar, but have no teeth. Posturing is a self-righteous mode of doing nothing. If I make you feel something, then I’ve won — even though nothing has changed.

These postures are illusions that the players unconsciously uphold as a way of denying responsibility for their unhappiness. Static dissatisfaction becomes normal. And we tolerate it because we convince ourselves we have no choice or ability to pursue wellness and growth.

Politically in the US, this dynamic fuels drama on both sides. On the left, a defeated and hopeless pervades. Commiseration mingles with anger and disgust. But where’s the action? Then on the right, flagrant cries of Your body, my choice batter the airwaves for the sole purpose of eliciting rage and fear. The devil just wants to make you feel something. Numbness and paralysis are where the Drama Triangle ultimately leads.

As the planet of action grinds to a halt in the coming weeks, I imagine Mars on stage, tightening into a backbreaking pose. Screaming. Writhing. It’s painful to watch — and that’s the point. It wants you to feel something, and doesn’t care if you do nothing. That’s the disempowerment of posturing.

So do something. Step outside the dynamic, with yourself and with others. But do so undramatically — otherwise you’ve gone nowhere.

Here are 5 reminders to reduce drama and reclaim your power amidst the dramatic currents of Mars in Leo.

Reminder #1: You don’t have to go it alone, but you do have to be willing to.

Stepping out of the Drama Triangle doesn’t have to mean losing connections. You can be a leader, inviting others to step out of the dynamic with you. You can enter an empowerment dynamic together.

Emphasis on can.

You should also have a plan for if you’re not followed. Changing your behaviors will change your interpersonal reality — eventually for the better, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Be clear about your expectations of yourself and others. Then follow through, and hold the course. A great city will rise up around you.

Reminder #2: Discomfort is a sign you’re doing it right.

When you exercise, you learn the difference between pain and discomfort. Pain is a warning sign. It says, pay attention! Something is wrong here! Check your form. Ignoring pain and repeatedly using improper form almost inevitably results in injury. But in the short term, bad form can enable heavier lifts, giving the superficial impression of success.

The postures of the Drama Triangle are like bad form. A Rescuer may make a “heavier lift” for a Victim’s short-term benefit, but eventually they will wear themselves out as the Victim continues to feel disempowered and incapable of helping themselves.

Discomfort, on the other hand, is desirable: it flows from healthy challenge. It is usually more difficult to lift using good form — at least at first. Proper form (i.e. non-drama) empowers the lifter to grow stronger safely, even if each lift is not as impressive on the surface.

We can also learn the difference within our emotional bodies. Doing the hard thing — i.e. setting the boundary, taking responsibility, being honest and clear about what you can and cannot do — is also not easy at first. But as the muscle grows, so do you.

Whereas drama is heavy, practicing empowerment dynamics should make you feel lighter once you push through initial discomfort. Seek healthy discomfort and you will end up feeling less burdened.

Reminder #3: Don’t apologize just to feel something.

Apologizing can be another form of posturing.

We may think apologies are about the past and remorse — but a good apology is also about the future and subsequent actions.

If our primary motivation for apologizing is feeling bad about what we did, the apology is probably going to continue the selfishness that led to the problem. Instead, we should apologize to align with others on a vision for better outcomes. Say what you will do differently in the future, as well as what you will do if you make the same mistake again.

But what if you don’t intend to change? Then own it and be honest. I’m sorry my actions brought you pain. I don’t want to hurt you, but I do not see myself changing this part of my behavior. What needs to change between us since I am not going to change this? Empower people to accept you as you are instead of gaslighting them.

Reminder #4: Don’t blame someone for being exactly who they told you and showed you they are.

If a dynamic is not satisfying anymore, maybe it’s because you changed — not because they did. Endings don’t have to be explosions.

Near the end of college, I had built up a lot of resentment toward a friend. Instead of addressing how I felt or ending the friendship respectfully, I created an extremely dramatic situation that demolished the entire friend group.

It’s easy to blame others for how we feel instead of taking responsibility for what we want and seeking it out elsewhere. We’re not bad for wanting things, even if it’s wanting to move on. Celebrate your growth as much as you mourn what falls away in the process.

Reminder #5: You always have choice. The most important one is to love yourself.

One of the surest signs we’re in the Drama Triangle is feeling like we don’t have a choice. Being plugged into drama makes us forget that we’re making choices all the time. Look at them. Are they choices you respect?

Making choices you respect is a powerful way to practice self-love.

In All About Love, bell hooks writes:

“Love is an action, a participatory emotion. Whether we are engaged in a process of self-love or of loving others we must move beyond the realm of feeling to actualize love.”

We must choose to love ourselves and others by doing things that express and affirm this love every day. Love is a practice.

Loving ourselves is not egoic, and it is not a feeling. But thinking we are or could be perfect is both of those things: it’s egoic, and it’s just a feeling. It means nothing.

Mean what you say. Move from posture to action. Follow through. Be the change you want to see in the conversation. Or don’t! You’re not a worse person for living in the Drama Triangle. But deep down, you know you deserve better. Give yourself that gift.

For now,

Drew

This is the first piece in a series about the winter’s biggest astrological storyline: Mars retrograde in Leo and Cancer. What is drama and why do we get into it? What can we do when our pride and shame are getting in the way of our joy?

I invite you to read astrology between the lines. At least in this first part, I’m not spelling out for how the dynamics I’m describing reflect the astrology of the Mars retrograde. More of that in Part 2, set to drop Monday.

With Part 2, I will also announce an affordable way to work with me for support throughout this challenging and spiritually important transit.

What I learned about misery working for El*n M*sk

Before I went full-time with astrology, I was a salesperson at an electric car company you may have heard of. It was the EV-maker owned by an uber-rich-guy-who-shall-remain-nameless. (Hint: he’s in the news a lot these days, even more than he was then.)

Wide-eyed and fresh out of college, I wanted to make a difference. High paying consulting gigs didn’t excite me, but this company’s mission did: accelerate the world’s transition to sustainable energy. That mattered. I jumped on board with enthusiasm. I had found purposeful work.

Then, on the evening of February 28, 2019, my mission-driven motivation took a hit. Work was abuzz as big news was expected from the company. Even the public was tuned in because the announcement was supposed to make a huge splash.

Rumor had it that the moment we had all been waiting for was here: the announcement of the $35,000 vehicle that was going to finally bring EVs to the mass market. All of our work had led to this moment. All the end-of-quarter pushes. All the late nights.

As salespeople greeting customers in showrooms, taking test drives and closing deals, we were in the habit of receiving major corporate announcements like this at the same time as the public.

Finally, the announcement came through in an update to the website. It was true! The $35,000 EV was coming! We did it!

But when we kept reading, something was off: “To achieve these prices while remaining financially sustainable, [company name] is shifting sales worldwide to online only.”

The store went silent. We all looked at each other. What does that mean for us, the in-person salespeople? What will happen to us when sales move online? We asked our store leaders. Having just found out too, they had no idea either (though they didn’t seem pleased).

Half the staff was laid off the next week, including yours truly. (But don’t worry — that’s when I signed up to take Chris Brennan’s Hellenistic astrology course! I may not be the astrologer I am today without that layoff.)

It was a huge blow to morale. With the $35,000 EV, the company had achieved something monumental thanks to our hard work, yet at our personal expense.

A few months later, after diving deep into my astrological studies and picking up my old college job to make ends meet, I was hired back to my old role selling cars.

But it didn’t feel purposeful anymore, and I wasn’t alone in that feeling. The company culture, once buoyant and enthusiastic, had been taken over by a stale air of misery. It was as if we’d all realized that no matter how much we fought for the company, none of us mattered. They could call us “family” all they wanted, but that couldn’t change our ultimate expendability.

Corporate greed and moral posturing, for spring? Groundbreaking.

After a while, it wasn’t the mission keeping me there anymore. And it definitely wasn’t the money. So why did I stay for so long?

My co-workers, myself, and even our bosses shared a common persecutor: our corporation, with its callous, uncaring actions that threatened to unleash chaos for us every day. What did it matter if Stockholm Syndrome was the biggest thing uniting us; at least we were united.

They say misery loves company. But do you love being misery’s company? That’s a question I think we’ll be answering this winter.

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The Drama Triangle: Persecutor, Victim, Savior

Why do we choose to endure unpleasant, even miserable things? Is it just inertia? Do we stay where we are because the dull pain of the familiar is easier than seeking uncertain joy? I think that’s part of it. When I was selling EVs, seeking other work would have taken a great effort, especially on top of continuing my regular schedule.

But I could have done it… no, something else kept me tethered to my corporate dystopia: Drama.

Unlike pain, suffering, or other hardship, the experience of drama is specifically interpersonal. By definition, we cannot be dramatic by ourselves. We need someone to plug into drama with us.

Drama happens when our pain feels un-witnessed and un-recognized.

Drama is what secretes from us when our pain is not properly held.

It distorts relationships. They grow sticky and sickly sweet.

I stayed at my job because it was a place where I felt seen for my struggle and my sacrifice. Among my co-workers and even my bosses, my interpersonal reality vibrated at the frequency of vampiric commiseration. We were all Victims and Rescuers, personally victimized by El*n M*sk (the Persecutor), and saving the world, or at least saving each other.

The Drama Triangle facilitates a psychological split. The better we get at drama, the more coherently we can split ourselves across the three dramatic archetypes of Persecutor, Victim, and Rescuer.

This model of drama shows how shifty it is. Drama is the flowing, volatile current that carries us between the vertices of the triangle. The angle of drama is to have you collapse the multitudes you contain into a gross, 2-D simplification: incapable (Victim), yet also impenetrably good (Persecutor and Rescuer).

Just like people who do drugs usually do more than one, most of us who live in the Drama Triangle play more than one role. Predictably, we oscillate between Persecutor, Victim, and Rescuer. This motion adds moralistic fuel to the fire, as we relish the smell of pure fumes.

To my mind, there is a reason the Drama Triangle points down. It’s because drama is heavy. It is an unforgiving, gravitational thing. It drains potential. Like a drug, after the high comes a low and then a familiar craving.

As shown above, the downward gravity of the Drama Triangle ultimately distances us from our power as Creators, the Victim’s antithesis. The Creator is “motivated by learning, optimism, and the desire to create rather than destroy.”

I think being a Creator starts with living as if wholeness is possible.

Dramatic Darts

Every drama is the same and every drama is different. Like history, they don’t repeat, but they do rhyme. Listen closely to a dramatic conflict and you will hear dramatic darts whizzing by.

Drama is the interpersonal condensation of unprocessed pain. The following narrative goes to demonstrate how a personal hardship can turn into drama between partners, and how this leads to the hurling of dramatic darts.

Suppose you lose your job and struggle to start looking for a new one. As time goes on, your inaction puts stress on your partner and your relationship. Eventually you do commence your employment search, which is really important because you have always made more money than your partner, but to make up for the lost income your partner started working more on their side hustle in the meantime. Your partner makes comments about how tired they are. You say you’re still looking and that you’re having a hard time. But I’m grateful for how hard you’re working on your side hustle to keep us going.

A couple months go by, and your partner’s side hustle has grown to take up even more of their time. You finally find a job. You’ve held out for a role at the same pay you were making before, but your new schedule has made it even more difficult to spend time with your partner. You see they are actually enjoying their work, which they’re able to do on their phone. But they’ve continued to make comments about how tired they are. One night, when you get home from work and they continue to work on their phone, you bring up the issue. Now that your income is back, you ask your partner to cut back on side hustle hours. They passively acknowledge what you’re saying, then brush it off and get back to their phone. Feeling unrecognized, you throw a dramatic dart:

I feel like we never spend time together anymore, you say. It’s like you won’t pay attention to me. You’re always so tired anyway — can’t you just work less now that I make enough money?

This dart hit all the notes of the Drama Triangle. First, you position yourself as a Victim: I feel like we never spend time together anymore states a problem apart from any power you may have to fix it. Then you get persecutory: It’s like you won’t pay attention to me, blaming the partner for your negative feelings. Finally, the third role is activated: since you’ve recovered your larger income, you want to go back to being depended on financially. In Rescuer mode, we feel connected when we are depended upon.

As expected, your partner reacts poorly to this dramatic dart that was dipped in all three poisons: They say: Well, I may not make as much money as you do, but at least I enjoy my work and don’t come home complaining about it every night. And besides, they go on. This never would have happened if you hadn’t held out getting a job for so long. Partner has gone full Persecutor!

You are speechless, but you’re not tracking the dynamic and won’t stop the impending explosion. So you raise your voice and throw another dramatic dart. You know I was depressed! I was burned out from my last job, and I didn’t want to go for lower pay. Your partner returns fire, I worked double for months while you sat at home playing video games.

A back-and-forth barrage of daggers and disappointments ensues. A full blown eruption is spewing volcanic rage and ash.

It’s all drama. It’s about who is to blame. It’s about who is capable or incapable. It’s about who is saving whom. And in the end, it’s about not being responsible for feelings we’ve been having all along, and not communicating honestly about them.

We could mistakenly get the impression that drama is honesty’s homecoming, but it is actually her continued evasion. Dramatic darts are not honest. They do puncture, but they are not honest. They only continue a pattern of vampiric non-responsibility. The force they’re hurled with takes root in the real pain refusing to be acknowledged, even to itself. Hence the split of the Drama Triangle.

The crazy thing is: sometimes we live for drama because we forgot to live for anything else. It’s consensus. It’s fast food. It’s the Matrix.

I like to think about drama the way Toni Morrison talked about evil: she said evil is “predictable. It needs a tuxedo, it needs a headline, it needs blood, it needs fingernails. It needs all that costume in order to get anybody's attention.”

Morrison goes on: “But the opposite [of evil], which is survival, blossoming, endurance, those things are just more compelling intellectually if not spiritually, and they certainly are spiritually.”

Drama is barely interesting (thought I guess it’s interesting enough for me to write this piece about it!) But, like Morrison’s evil, drama is not spiritually compelling. So, what will we create instead? The path of Mars retrograde in Leo and Cancer is lined with dramatic darts. But we can choose to cut against the grain and blaze a new path.

That’s the topic of Part 2, set to drop Monday. I’ll connect these themes and relational dynamics to the astrology of Mars retrograde while offering several specific strategies to help you remain in integrity with your pain, and your power.

Also I will announce a special opportunity to work with me for support during the Mars retrograde.

For now,

Drew

This got me thinking. I’d just missed my flight to Crete, and had to wait until the next day for another. While travel and freedom are not the same thing, they both resonate through the archetype of Jupiter.

I looked at the current transit of Jupiter: the gas giant is currently in his sign of exile, Gemini, conjoined Mars and square Saturn. Configured strongly to both malefic planets is nearly as bad as it can get for good old Jove. Of course my international travel hasn’t gone without a hitch.

I talked about this configuration in a recent article in terms of untangling and re-wiring unhelpful thought patterns.

Today, inspired by the student’s question, I want to reflect on Jupiter’s current condition in terms of freedom. The journey will take us into freedom’s relationship with fear and faith, the astrology of the pandemic, the ongoing atrocities in Gaza, and the charts of three civil rights leaders.

Jupiter’s Condition as a Travel Omen

Most readers of an astrological persuasion seeing my story about missing my flight would likely link the mishap to the current Mercury retrograde. And they wouldn’t be wrong.

But Mercury, small and near, governs the function and disfunction of local movements and technological misfires. Scheduling snafus, bus delays, and internet outages; this is the stuff of Mercury retrograde. When it comes to traveling abroad on the other hand, the key celestial omen is far-ranging Jupiter.

When international travel ground to a halt in 2020, Jupiter was in drastically bad shape. The usually expansive planet was ‘grounded’ (pun intended) in its traditional sign of fall, Capricorn, and conjoined the ringed planet of restriction, Saturn.

Pandemic restrictions on travel kicked off when instigating Mars joined the two slow-moving giants in Capricorn in March 2020, adding another burden to Jupiter. Mars continued to rain fire on the jovial one, spending an inordinate amount of time — 6 months from late June all the way until early 2021 — squaring Jupiter from Aries. The square aspect is one of the most difficult.

When a planet is challenged by transit as Jupiter was then and as it is now too, its basic significations are inverted through its struggle to deliver on its planetary promise. Innately lofty and inspiring, Jupiter’s extreme beleaguerment in 2020 registered in the collective psyche as fear and despair. More concretely, there was no foreign travel.

Now, I don’t mean to compare my own present inconvenience with the pandemic, but seeing Jupiter’s current predicament did remind me how important his condition is for qualifying the level of friction we experience when we are seeking to go far.

Jupiter, Fear, and Freedom of Movement

Our freedom to move or not move as we wish is a sign of whether or not we are free.

Article 13 of the International Declaration of Human Rights addresses the freedom of movement: it states:

Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each state.

The declaration also affirms the right of individuals to leave and return to their country.

A lack of freedom can be expressed as restrictions against moving, or as the requirement to move. This latter experience was reflected in the realities of Jews and other ethnic and sexual minorities in Nazi Germany. We are also seeing this in real-time in contemporary Gaza.

For months, Gazans have been told to move, and move, and move again, or else die. That they are not free is signified by, among other things, the fact that they cannot stay where they are.

But they are also imprisoned. Prisoners, whether within a besieged state or within cell walls, are defined in part by the restriction of their movement.

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Implicit in these pictures of (non-)freedom is an antithetical expression of Jupiter: fear. Fear can keep us indoors, or lead us to flee for our lives.

Musician and civil rights activist Nina Simone said, “I’ll tell you what freedom is to me: no fear!”

Simone had Jupiter in Virgo, a sign of the benefic’s exile, in the 8th house, conjoined Mars.

Jupiter and Faith

Simone traveled to Barbados after being boycotted, she said, by the music industry. We might read this journey of exile as mirroring the condition of Simone’s natal Jupiter, in its sign of exile or ‘detriment’. Her songs were often boycotted in southern states, but it was particularly her 1964 song “Mississippi Goddamn” that she said upset the higher-ups at the industry level. Some of the song’s lyrics:

Hound dogs on my trail
School children sitting in jail
Black cat cross my path
I think every day's gonna be my last

Lord, have mercy on this land of mine
We all gonna get it in due time
I don't belong here, I don't belong there
I've even stopped believing in prayer

Faith is archetypal of Jupiter, and the struggle to keep it is emblematic of his affliction in a chart.

Jupiter’s two places of ‘detriment’ are Gemini and Virgo. Contrary to faith, these places emphasize reason. They are ruled by rational Mercury. Guests in Mercury’s signs can receive the planet’s tools of calculation and logic. They are invited to see how things ‘add up’.

When Simone sings “I’ve even stopped believing in prayer,” we can imagine it’s because prayer doesn’t seem to work. Evidence is lacking. Without that proof, Jupiter in Virgo can be left faithless, contrary to its nature. Despite every effort of faith, the hounds keep trailing and the jailers keep jailing.

The experience of Jupiter in Capricorn, known traditionally as its fall or depression, is different when it comes to our experience of a “higher power.” Think about it: Capricorn is a sign that loves power. The resources of Capricorn fuel hierarchy and respect for those who have come before. Accordingly, the ‘depressing’ experience of Jupiter in Capricorn revolves around faith put in teachers and traditions that prove fallible—extremely human and not god-like.

Trapped within human hierarchies, Jupiter in Capricorn eventually faces the pitfalls of people on its quest to know god. Teachers once trusted prove to be untrustworthy, if not wholly frauds, and the loss of faith in god arises through a loss of faith in humanity.

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Malcolm X had Jupiter in its fall, in the 1st house of his Capricorn rising nativity. A devoted man of the Muslim faith, X was the principal spokesperson for the National of Islam in the 1950s and early 1960s.

He took this position after being inspired by the teachings of Elijah Mohammad, the leader of the group and its prophet. When allegations of sexual misconduct came against Mohammad, X was pressured to help cover up the scandal, ultimately leading him to step away from the organization and begin his own in 1964. While X continued to push for civil rights using religious platforms and ideas, he had to distinguish himself from the structure of the NOI with which he became disillusioned. The fall from grace of a teacher or religious order is a common experience of people with Jupiter in Capricorn.

Huey Newton, a founded of the Black Panther Party, rejected religion outright. After attending mosques of the Nation of Islam, Newton said:

"I have had enough of religion and could not bring myself to adopt another one. I needed a more concrete understanding of social conditions. References to God or Allah did not satisfy my stubborn thirst for answers."

Newton’s Jupiter? Gemini in the 8th house. Newton didn’t wait for god to fix anything. He went out and sought change by his own two hands.

Seeing Newton’s Jupiter in detriment, in a Mercury-ruled sign in the 8th house recalls Nina Simone’s 8th house Jupiter in Virgo. The comparison of these two positions demonstrates of Jupiter in detriment highlights the importance of aspects in shaping Jupiter’s manifestation.

Simone’s Jupiter in the 8th house was conjoined Mars. Jupiter in the 8th commonly brings material benefits to others with whom the person is intimately connected. Simone’s business manager was her husband. Later in life she said he treated her “like a workhorse.” As her manager, he was responsible for managing her money, including her taxes, an 8th house topic. When Simone eventually returned from her exile in Barbados, she found out her husband had not paid her taxes and had actually made off with her money. As a result, she was wanted for tax evasion. These difficulties with money and the shared responsibility of money are characteristic of a debilitated Jupiter in the 8th house conjoined a malefic, with an extra layer of deception, as Neptune was also in her 8th.

Newton’s Jupiter in Gemini in the 8th, though in detriment like Simone’s, was blessed with much more favorable aspects, being trine Venus in Aquarius in the 4th house. Additionally, his Jupiter was not aspecting either Mars or Saturn, which were both in Taurus, averse to the sign and thus not imposing direct burdens on the planet of generosity.

Jupiter’s nature is to solve problems, and it can do this even in positions of adversity like detriment. Newton’s influence within the Black Panthers led to the establishment of a wide range of community or ‘shared’ resources (8th house), especially for families (Venus in the 4th house). These included “food banks, medical clinics, sickle cell anemia tests, prison busing for families of inmates, legal advice seminars, clothing banks, housing cooperatives, and [an] ambulance service” (source).

Newton called himself a “revolutionary humanist,” a label that resonates with the humanity of the sign of the human twins. Interestingly, Jupiter’s places of dignity are all ‘bestial’ signs, signified by animal figures: Cancer, the crab; Sagittarius, the centaur; and Pisces, the fish. Meanwhile, Jupiter’s signs of detriment are known as “human” signs: the Virgin, and the twins. Mercury’s rulerships share this distinction with Libra, the scales, and Aquarius, the water-bearer.

Rejecting Simplification in Traditional Astrology

These examples begin to demonstrate the differences between Jupiter in detriment and Jupiter in fall for people who fought for freedom and their approaches to faith.

While I have focused on civil rights leaders who have Jupiter in signs of traditional debility, it is important we not reduce the condition of Jupiter in a chart to ‘whether or not’ someone is free. Nothing is that simple, in astrology or in life. If we meet a chart seeking simple answers, we will only ever find insufficient ones.

Rather, we can reflect on Jupiter’s position in a chart as a place (its house topics) and a way (its sign) that the individual is called to discover liberation. When Jupiter is “strong” by sign and by house, this can indicate the conditions for this discovery are more favorable than restrictive, and there are gifts along the path. We may read a level of socially given “privilege,” as the person is supported in discovering freedom in ways the larger society supports and recognizes as uncontroversial, even upholding the status quo.

Critics of traditional astrology say that it lacks humanity. Our technical delineations of ‘detriments’ and ‘depressions’ can ring as unhelpfully judgmental and reducing the human experience to oversimplifications. We have to prove that this is not what our tools are for. It really does depend how we use them.

Traditional astrology gives us refined tools for interpreting gifts and challenges. Often, categories of detriment and fall get confused and melded, even though they describe different kinds of experience. We have to note not only when something is debilitated, but how it is debilitated, and the resources that are available even within this state.

We can use the tools of traditional astrology to perceive struggle, highlight resilience, and chart paths to fulfillment. But we cannot do this well if we oversimplify situations. Our charts are as complicated as our lives, and our technique can grow to hold this complexity and richness.

In astrology and in life, it is never a simple question of ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ ‘free’ or ‘not free.’ It’s about qualifying our experiences with rich specificity—the realities we face and our resources for facing them.

Returning to the student’s original question: “Does a strong Jupiter give people a sense of freedom?”

None of the chart examples of civil rights leaders featured a “strong” Jupiter, and yet their sense of freedom was unshakeable. They understood the position given to them in society, and they pursued better conditions.

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Freedom is not a given. Angela Davis says “freedom is a constant struggle.” Indeed, it is conditioned by social and political factors, and it is distributed as unevenly as material resources like food and water.

If freedom is a social condition, sensing freedom is a human and perhaps even universal condition. Deep down, I think, we all know the extent of our freedom, just as it is in our humanity to know the taste of fresh fruit or to feel the touch of wind on our face. We can be deprived of freedom, but eventually the soul will always remember its place among the stars.

Debilitated planets are not your doom. They build your character. On your better days, you can appreciate what you’ve been through, and maybe even lend a wise, helping hand to someone else who, just like you, is doing as beautifully as they can in our wide and wildly imperfect world.

I’ll conclude with a quote from Toni Morrison, a Jupiter in Cancer, opposite Saturn and co-present with Mars:

My books are open for September: Birth Chart / Attunement Sessions || Elections || Tutoring

In my last post, I talked about the “nets” of our beautifully complex brains, and how the astrology of the moment has set the stage to untangle them through great effort. Read the full article here.

In the spirit of the Mars-Jupiter conjunction in Gemini, multiple metaphors came into view: the untangling of nets, plus the more electrical image of “re-wiring”.

As the Full Moon in Aquarius approaches, the air is growing electric. New software is ready to download. Can your hardware handle it?

In this piece, I want to share some ideas about this lunation, while also conveying a view of how, truly, the whole of the cosmos is within each of us, and what that means for our being-in-the-world.

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Before going further, I wish to take a moment to invite you to an exciting virtual conference next month, Astro Magia, which brings together leaders in the fields of astrology, magic, and the history of esotericism.

I will be speaking there on the use of sound to create sacred space, combining theory with the history of Ancient Greek music, ritual, and dance.

Use my code I7NE4ZB to receive 10% off the registration fee. This is good through Sunday UTC.

Our brains are as electrical as they are biological. Trillions of tiny electrical charges compose the symphony of the senses—from the sight of our eyes to the touch of our toes. It all comes back to the brain, the central circuit where we process, feel, and decide.

Just as the brain is the main hub of our body’s electrical or “nervous” system, the heart is the center of our circulatory system, pumping blood and delivering nutrients to maintain the organs and various vital functions.

My proposition is this: that these two great centers of the body—brain and heart—mirror the cosmic order of the Sun and the Moon.

One of the heart’s main functions is to coordinate “circulatory phases,” where it alternately fills with blood and pumps it out, much like the Moon waxes and wanes throughout the month, swelling with light and then disseminating it.

The brain, like the Sun, has a wakeful state and a sleeping state, analogous with the natural cycle of day and night.

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Indeed, our bodies contain the whole of the cosmos. Not an “image” of it. Not a “reflection” or “emanation”. The whole fucking thing. Yes, I mean that literally, albeit in an Orphic, not strictly physicalist way… I’ll explain what I mean by that distinction in future writing.

Because our bodies contain the whole of the cosmos, events in the cosmos, whether in celestial spheres or on earth, reverberate within us. It all happens together, for there is no separation.

And nowhere is this cosmic resonance more obvious than in the ebb and flow of the Moon’s cycle.

Connecting the Great Centers: Build or Demolish?

Your head and your heart — are they on the same page?

If the astrology of the moment is any indicator… probably not, but they could be. I think of this full moon as a moment of infrastructural ingenuity, where we see more clearly what harmonizing the two centers might mean.

Is this the time to build a new bridge, stabilizing a pathway between head and heart? Or to fortify an existing one? Maybe, but it’s likely to be a more chaotic process. As disruptive, idealistic Uranus tightly squares the full moon axis, you may decide to bring in the demolition squad if the full moon shines a light on a bridge that is beyond repair, or simply not up to the task of channeling the “new you.”

Sometimes the hardware that’s served us well for so long can’t run the new software. With Saturn retrograde being the ruler of the lunation, many of us will face what needs to be subtracted and un-done before we can rebuild.

Whatever the case may be, it’s time to get real about reality, and that means embracing the inevitability of change, even for the things we thought were certain. The full moon is in fixed signs, known for constancy, but it is square Uranus.

Ruler of time, this time & all times

This will be our third full moon in a row ruled by Saturn.

So often, the stone-cold gas giant gets called the planet of “reality.” But this doesn’t mean he’s just the planet of “the present reality.” Saturn is the planet of all realities—past, present, future, as well as the vast expanse of the multiverse. More aptly, then, Saturn is the planet of possibility. Indeed, everything that is, is not, and could be rests and becomes within the body of space-time.

If Saturn is all times, this can explain why it rules both Capricorn and Aquarius, which we might gloss as the sign of the past and the future, respectively.

Saturn’s fixed air domain offers resources for maintaining the ideological structures necessary to actualize realities beyond and outside the confines of the here-and-now. Saturn is a lot more dynamic and ever-changing than you might think.

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Reimagining Saturn with the Orphic hymn to Kronos

Kristin Mathis’s translation of the Orphic hymn to Kronos completely changed the way I thought about Saturn, and how I began to understand my being-in-the-world within the body of space-time. I hope this excerpt from her evocative take on the ancient hymn inspires a new (and indeed very old) way of understanding the planetary deity:

Aquarius & Leo: An Atomic Vision

In his Aquarian form, Saturn opposes the leonine throne of the Sun, the cosmic nucleus. Relative to this positively charged core, Aquarius forms an atomic edge-space, a frontier of possibility swirling in a storm of electrons. These cloud-riding outsiders even carry a ‘negative’ charge, just like the malefic Saturn.

It gets trippier. What an atom is — its solar identity as a certain kind of substance, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, etc. — is determined by the number of protons in its central nucleus. However, what becomes of that atom — meaning how it interacts with surrounding substances beyond itself — is governed by the arrangement and behavior of its electrons. The edge is a zone of determination.

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At the scale of both the atom and the solar system, the core does not actually have the final say on becoming. The periphery does. In this outer layer lie the makings of destiny, where Saturn reigns as judge supreme.

Refracting these scales into our personal lives, we might say that who we are in our hearts may not be the main factor in our fate. Rather, how our light is structured, arranged, and filtered through our external behaviors can be of even greater importance. Hence the call to align our centers — getting our mental processes and communication on board with the core of our being is a matter of claiming our destiny.

As I began to explore in my last article, accreted mental structures and thought patterns can funnel us into outdated behavioral modes that delimit growth. The element of fire is faster than air. This is why sometimes our heads have to catch up with the truth blossoming, effulgent in our hearts. With the help of Uranus, this full moon promises to quicken that process.

Uranus stages threshold moments. Whether you’re on the threshold of a new chapter in your life, a new relationship, or a new version of yourself, remember that nobody expects you to have all the answers right now — and if they do, they can probably wait. With the full moon coinciding with Mercury’s retrograde cazimi, this one’s probably more about refining the right questions than deciding on answers. Sometimes that’s all the moment calls for. Then, stay the course of honesty as you put the puzzle together. There are no greater lies than the ones you tell yourself.

What are you willing to sacrifice for authenticity? Can who you are becoming exist within the life you currently have? These could be good places to start.

Listen to your heart, and trust your head to catch up.

Until next time,

Drew

*Ron Weasley voice* Air is completely mental!

Jupiter is in Gemini, a year-long opportunity that comes around every 12 years. It asks: can your thoughts set you free?

This month is when that thesis gets put to the test: in August, the gas-giant planet of growth and solution-discovery gets caught in the crossfire of Mars and Saturn, two planets that promise challenge and stress to what they touch.

It’s easy to rain on the positive-thinking parade. And this month, all the more. “Change your mind, change your life” reeks of spiritual bypassing. It can’t be that simple, can it?

Let’s take a patient (Saturn) and incisive (Mars) look at the sorts of solutions Jupiter could offer in the generative, mental domain of Gemini, and add to this what these so-called malefic planets bring into the mutable equation.

Altogether, I see this as an invitation to challenge and re-wire old thought patterns through great effort. Mars spurs Jupiter in Gemini into necessary action, raising an urgent need to communicate and problem-solve in less-than-ideal circumstances. Meanwhile their ruler, Mercury, retrogrades from its grounded exaltation in Virgo back to heart-centered Leo, where the direct station on August 28 will conclude the month with, hopefully, an alignment of head and heart.

There’s a lot to unpack, so let’s dive in.

Our thoughts are like intricately woven nets.

In the brain, a thought happens as a neuron fires—lighting up with electricity. In any moment, our brain could look like a thunderstorm, or a firework-filled sky, or the birth of a star.

Everything in the cosmos repeats at different scales—from the vastness of galaxies, all the way to the remotest corners of your brain.

So it is with thoughts. Like in nature and in ecosystems, every happening in your brain happens with other happenings. Thoughts bridge to other thoughts, feelings to other feelings. A web of nourishment is created. Are your thoughts nourishing you now?

Neurons fire in assemblages called neural networks. We can call them “nets”. Throughout these nets, thoughts happen together. In tandem. In dialogue. Feelings, too. The interconnections created through this net-working are responsible for the complexity of our mental and emotional lives. This is why, to borrow psychological language, we have “complexes”. Truly, our brains are not simple things.

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Gemini is the mutable air sign of the zodiac. As a sign-environment, it is rich with mental (air) resources for entertaining complexity and transition (mutable). When a planet moves through such an environment, it gains a level of access to these resources, even if they are unfamiliar to it.

Gemini’s thought-processing powers are unique among the air signs. Whereas the fixed air sign of Aquarius offers resources for stabilizing and maintaining existing thought patterns, and the cardinal sign of Libra elucidates new directions and applications for mental activity, the mutable sign of Gemini somehow manages to keep one foot in both worlds. The late classical astrologer Rhetorius used the word metacosmic to describe a quality of being in between worlds, a transitional quality that reflects on what is in decline while being on the threshold of something else.

Gemini energy allows us to entertain present existence in the same breath as the emergent and the new. It’s great at not throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

What is less a strength of Gemini is decisiveness. It can waffle. It says, are you sure? The trick is, eventually you have to choose. This is the trick being faced by Jupiter in Gemini. Which solution to pick? It might be that none of the options are that appealing.

But if decisiveness is a shortcoming of Gemini, Mars joining Jupiter in Gemini can help with that.

But… how to put this… decisiveness comes easier when you have no choice. You won’t know just how brave you are until faced with a crisis. That hard thing becomes easy when it’s the only thing. Suddenly, Mars makes warriors of us all.

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As Mars and Saturn lower the boom on Jupiter in Gemini, it may feel like things are too complex to grasp or there’s simply too much for our minds to handle and respond to in action. Yet the urgency to do so is there, with the arrival of Mars. Right now, we need strategies to calm and cool the mind. Mars brings heat and the potential for anxiety.

As Saturn in Pisces squares off with the forming conjunction between Mars and Jupiter, our threadbare nets may be too tattered and torn worn by time and use. What if it’s time for an upgrade? It’s unlikely you can “take a break,” but is there something from which you can take a break? Something that’s not helping? Mars and Saturn are are energies that can help us push out what’s not working, if only to make room for a solution that’s yet to be discovered.

Saturn, especially retrograde as it is now, may indicate a feeling of being too beleaguered to repair the situation. Or we may struggle to see through the fog and identify what’s at the heart of the issue (Mercury’s direct station in Leo will help with this at the end of the month).

Solutions we’ve identified may encounter new headwinds, and it may feel difficult to stay positive, or to see anything but the worst in a situation. Presented solutions can feel insufficient, or inappropriate, or completely ineffective.

While we should be realistic about the quality (or lack thereof) of the options available, we also need to be ready to make the best of a bad situation. And this does start with mentality: focusing on what you can do, not what you can’t. Better yet, focus on what you’re really good at. Or how you are improving, even if circumstances are not.

Our nets are complex for a reason: life is. We need our complex, interconnected brains to catch or grasp complex things—social situations, political and ecological realities, important relationships, and more. But just because the powers of complex understanding is available to us through nets doesn’t necessarily mean we’re using them to their potential.

A few, very basic thought-feelings can stunt the immense potential we hold. I’m not enough. I am afraid. I am alone.

These core insecurities can funnel the vastness of our experience into set pathways, limiting our power to grasp what needs grasping, and notice ways in which the lives we deeply desire and deserve may actually be within reach.

It takes years for these nets to solidify in ways that don’t serve our wishes, but they can be changed much faster than that. Sometimes it takes something just short of a crisis to force our hand.

Indeed, astrologically, certain moments serve as choke-points for change, where we either do or don’t. It’s not always dire, as opportunities do come back around. (And to be clear, we don’t need the astrology to tell us change is possible. But it’s still good to be aware of these celestial invitations as they’re happening.)

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Now is one such moment. Sparks are flying in the air signs with the electrifying combination of Mars and Jupiter. That gives plenty of juice here for a surge in mental activity that could override pre-existing patterns. On autopilot, the electrical charges in our nets flow seamlessly from one thought to the next, like a river running downstream.

This conjunction of Mars and Jupiter could short-circuit the autopilot in a way that’s good. But it’s delicate. You could turn the energy inward and blow a fuse. Or you could have the courage to finally say something you’ve wanted to, relieving pressure. Or you could upset someone. You could break a promise (Mars severs, Jupiter is oaths). You could slay Hydra, or at least cut off one of its heads…

Such a Herculean effort will likely be required. It won’t happen overnight. The scope of this month’s hurdles are likely to play out for the next few months at least (I’m not talking about the election, but I’m not not talking about the election). Such is the pace of deep change.

Saturn is bearing down on the activating Mars-Jupiter conjunction, by square from Pisces. Saturn is the planet of patterns and accretions. Now in a swifter portion of its retrograde cycle, Saturn is ready to unpack imaginative complexes and untangle self-defeating doubts, if not fully re-wire them. Mars-Jupiter says this is urgent work, while Saturn says it must be slow to be lasting.

Don’t treat the next couple weeks like a “do-it-all-now” solution. Sure, make in-roads. Have conversations. Clarify what is not working. Make a list.

The water element that Saturn brings to the table counters and challenges the mentally stimulating energy of Gemini to slow down. While this is not an easy square to navigate, water can help us feel things that have been intellectualized at the expense of our emotional processing.

While these energies are all happening within each of us, they are also flowing between us. So, some of us may be playing more the role of Mars-Jupiter, and others Saturn. This likely reflects personal situations where two sides are approaching a matter from different angles. One is trying to be “rational,” while the other is in the throes of a long-term (Saturn) emotional process. Work together as best you can. Empathy is a capability for every sign of the zodiac.

Next weekend, Venus moves to oppose Saturn while the Mars-Jupiter conjunction is still tight. This brings relational dynamics into focus. Difficult conversations may come to the fore regarding valuable and necessary adjustments (Venus in Virgo) that need to be clarified (Mercury rx) for the health of our heart (Mercury rx conjoining the Sun in Leo).

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I write this as the Moon conjoins the South Node in Libra. Whereas the Mars-Jupiter-Saturn combination lasts for one to two weeks, this lunar moment is fleeting, but still reflects a longer term cycle of the Aries-Libra eclipses. That cycle is implicated in the current, shorter-term transit because the rulers of the eclipses (Mars, ruler of Aries, and Venus, ruler of Libra) will be forming a square.

As a whole, the 18-month eclipse cycle with the South Node in Libra has called into question the health of relationships that do not support independence and true reciprocity and balance. Peace hasn’t felt so peaceful, has it?

There will be a final Libra eclipse with the South Node still in Libra at the end of September. We are building to that, and August is a key moment in that story. I wrote about the Aries-Libra eclipses in a past article that you can read here: The Peace of Release

The South Node in Libra is a purgative influence for relationships and relational dynamics. I know so many people going through break-ups and divorces because that ended up being the way what was toxic needed to be released from those entanglements. I know even more who have decided not to date for a while. Independence is a beautiful thing, and so is meaningful connection. But connections can be meaningful and, nevertheless, unsustainable. Releasing relating that’s not working makes room for greater fulfillment. In that respect, we have a lot to look forward to once the South Node departs Libra early next year… and then there will be a new dragon to confront.

My hunch is that this month marks the tipping point of that longer cycle. Here, if we face facts (Gemini, Virgo), we might actually be able to change our minds and orient toward solutions with the fullness of our hearts. And trust ourselves.

Good things rarely come easy. This month is no exception.

For now,

Drew

Sometimes when Mercury stations retrograde, I have nightmares. Not because I’m afraid of anything truly terrible smiting me down, or even of losing files, or misunderstandings, or other stereotypical drivel.

No, my Mercury retrograde nightmares are — or used to be — that certain *ahem* debates in the astrological community will be summoned from the dead, for the umpteenth time.

Now, I’m all for necromancy if that’s your thing. But there are some things best laid to rest once and for all.

You know what debate I’m talking about…

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House systems.

Ok, ok. Before I lose you. Houses are important, yes.

I mean, no: they are SO important. In fact, astrology without houses is barely astrology.

Houses are the main way astrologers locate topics and life situations. Without the *grounding* the houses provide, the energies of the planets in the signs would just float untethered—matter without form.

So, if I acknowledge the deep importance of houses, why am I down on the house system debate?

Because it’s framed as a choice, and a mutually exclusive one at that.

Consider this quote from Kate Bornstein’s book Gender Outlaw, which I encountered through the always-on-point Instagram story of astrologer Michael J. Morris (@cowitchcraftofferings) earlier this year:

“The choice between two of something is not a choice at all, but rather the opportunity to subscribe to the value system which holds the two presented choices as mutually exclusive alternatives. Once we choose one or the other, we’ve bought into the system that perpetuates the binary.”

Gender? House systems? I’ll admit, we could be in the land of apples and oranges here. But there’s wisdom in these words, cutting across disciplines and to the heart of false dichotomization.

Borrowing Bornstein’s words, what is the value system that presents Whole Sign Houses and Placidus, or Whole Sign and Equal Houses, as mutually exclusive alternatives? Why can they not co-exist? Just as a person might feel more “masculine” one day and more “feminine” the next?

Since when was the choice of house system an identity marker?

The first step is not punishing yourself. I can't tell you how many students I’ve worked with who tie themselves in knots about choosing the “right” house system because they’ve internalized this idea, firstly, that there is a right choice, and secondly, that there are social consequences waiting for them if they make the wrong one. What a load of crap! I hold space for communities of diverse thought and practice, and I invite you to do the same.

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Even ancient astrologers like Valens integrated multiple house systems in their practice. Valens actually embraced the need to interpret the chart through, as he says, “many paths.”

For many and countless are the contingencies for human beings, which are established not through one teaching or though one star, but rather through many.

And since the 12 places are signified for each nativity, and most things will be discovered through these and the nature of the stars, one must observe the pivot-positioning and the changes of the places; for often two places coincide on one [zodiac sign], or else a pivotal figure is shown in the manner of a declining figure. And this happens by the opportunities of the Hōroskopos.”

Valens, Anthology Book V (trans. Schmidt)

Valens goes on:

“As with the Hōroskopos in Gemini, the Midheaven in Aquarius by degree. This place, then, possesses the relation concerning activity and reputation... and also that concerning a foreign land and god since zodiacally it is found in the 9th from the Hōroskopos...”

ibid.

Consider this chart which conforms to Valens’s example, where a Gemini rising chart features the MC in the 9th sign, Aquarius.

Surprised? Don’t be.

Ancient astrologer across the board acknowledge that, in certain charts, it is necessary to consider Whole Sign House positions in addition to another calculation. Another passage from the later author, Rhetorius, shows us that there could be additional interpretive nuances when planets are conjunct the MC across either the 10th Whole Sign or a different Whole Sign house.

“The Moon chancing to be in sect in the MC sign with [the MC itself] will produce great rulers, kings, rulers of life and death. [But] chancing to be [merely] in the sign of the MC house [it makes] those who are great in their actions and in those efforts with which they are entrusted or which they do for their own benefit, those who receive money.

Rhetorius, Compendium (trans. Holden)

Here Rhetorius draws a distinction between when the Moon is in the 10th Whole Sign when the Midheaven is also in the 10th Whole Sign, versus when the Moon is in the same sign as the MC that is not the 10th. Based on the delineation of the two kinds of Moon-Midheaven conjunctions, it seems that the Moon in the 10th Whole Sign and with the MC makes individuals of great power (e.g. “kings”), while the Moon with just the MC, and in a WSH like the 11th or 9th, makes individuals of great effect. Almost like the non-10th WSH MC person has to work for it a little more.

If you’re a visual person, here are two charts to illustrate the difference: Nick Jonas and Jenna Bush Hager.

Jonas’s Moon is in Taurus in the 10th, with the MC. This is a “kingly” signature according to Rhetorius. He definitely makes the courtesans go wild.

Bush Hager, daughter of GWB and co-host of the Today Show, has her Moon in the 11th Whole Sign, which also houses the MC.

Isn’t it interesting that house systems can co-exist in a delineation, and that this has in fact been the way since the beginning of our tradition?

I’ll be sharing way more about this topic, philosophically, mythologically, and practically, at my talk TOMORROW IN NEW YORK at 7 PM.

Don’t worry. You can also stream the event: LIVESTREAM TICKETS. You’ll also get a recording of the event so it’s fine if you can’t attend live.

Signing off, for now —

Drew

If you’re in the New York area, come to my talk and request an in-person consultation.

Astro Magia Conference

September 13-15. Use my code “I7NE4ZB” for 10% savings on a ticket until August 11. See the stacked lineup of speakers including Demetra George, Chris Repucci, Elodie St-Onge-Aubut, and JM Hamade & Register Here

(look at this promo image they made! special thanks to local SF legend Michael Kerschner for the beautiful shot)

I’ll be speaking on Ancient Greek music, dance, and the socio-sonic constitution of the divine.

New York Tour, mid-August

Talk on the Floating MC

Tuesday, August 6 at 7 pm EDT

The choice of house system, ultimately a personal one, has grown so polarizing in today’s atmosphere, but it doesn’t have to be. Being polyamorous with house systems is our past, and our future. Learn how ancient astrologers like Valens borrowed techniques from multiple house systems to create holistic interpretations.

Hosted by the New York Theosophical Society

Free In-Person & Donation-Based Online

Get livestream tickets here

In-Person Consultations

Have you ever had an astrological consultation in-person? I’m offering guidance in the flesh from a private residence in Brooklyn.

Request a Consultation

UK, Greece Tour

Astrological Association Conference

August 28 - September 1 in Birmingham, UK & streamed online!

Check out the other speakers & talks here: CONFERENCE 2024

I will be making my first international conference appearance, this summer in the UK, with two talks:

The Orphic Sun and the Elements of the Soul
In the Orphic hymns, the Sun rings like a melody from youth, deeply familiar yet strange. Predating Hellenistic astrology, the hymns contemplate the Sun through even older ideas about fate, love, and the eternal soul. This talk explores the Orphics’ capacious solar archetype and its power for practice today.

Roots of the Planetary Joys
In Classical literature, the Planetary Joys are a widely attested but scantly explained scheme assigning each planet to a house of “rejoicing” (chaira). Multiple influences structure the joys, spanning mythology, observational astronomy, and relation to other schemes like the Exaltations, thus demonstrating the staggering syncretic deftness of our discipline’s forbearers.

While in the UK, I will also be attending the Faculty of Astrological Studies Summer School at Oxford.

I’ll also be visiting my friend Sabrina Monarch in her new abode in Crete! It will be my first time in Greece, and breathing the Mediterranean air that my ancestors breathed.

Sabrina is a brilliant astrologer who draws on multiple astrological lineages. Check out her K*ckstarter campaign: MAGIC OF THE SPHERES

Recent Podcast Appearances

WITHIN ORB: I joined astrology legend Jenn Zhart on her podcast, Within Orb, talking about the sociology and astrology of life, death, and the journey of the soul.

LISTEN HERE

THE ASTROLOGY PODCAST: Did you catch my appearance on Chris Brennan’s podcast alongside my partner-in-mysticism, Kristin Mathis? We talk about the convergence of gods, starlore and poetry in the Orphic hymns, which may have turned out to be one of the key intellectual and spiritual ancestors of Hellenistic astrology.

LISTEN HERE

I hope everyone has a summer of clarification on the path to meeting your soul’s true desire.

Yours in Earth and Starry Skies,

Drew

It’s mutable mayhem, again. 

These always seem to be the transits I comment on. It’s probably because of the innate instability in these signs that I find endlessly fascinating. Also it is a useful energy to check in with when we feel stuck or tickled by a need to shake things up. Why do we consult astrology if not for guidance on the changes we need?

The mutable signs are Pisces, Gemini, Virgo, and Sagittarius. Right now, these zodion host 5 of our 7 traditional planets–the bodies in our solar system knowable by the naked eye. Mercury, Venus, the Sun, and Jupiter are exploring the put-it-to-the-test sign of the Twins. Squaring off with this pile-up in the tactile air sign is Saturn in contemplative Pisces, staging a standoff between the abstract and the actual. 

Does it feel like things are moving too fast and too slow at the same time?

This moment is all about the complicated nature of transition. As the last sign in each season, the mutables are transitional. Like commas mark movement between ideas in a sentence, mutable energy is a lot about the “ands” and “buts” of life—the additions and the caveats.

But a sentence can only last so long before you lose the thread, and this is the quandary of handling mutable energy. Before you tie up your message with a bow, you have to cut the ribbon. This could feel like a loss, but it’s the only way the gift gets given. Eventually you have to push send.

Commas and ribbons, messages and gifts… Am I mixing metaphors? Probably. I blame the sky!

The point is: along with the open-ended impulse of the mutable signs, they also contain a contradictory, built-in pressure to reach a conclusion, make a final cut, and reach a settled state.  

It’s a lot like the difference between speaking a poem aloud and writing it down. Poets can use homonyms, words with different meanings but the same sound, to multiply the possible interpretations of the poem. Listening to it, each member of the audience can resonate with the meaning that is right for them in that moment. Writing the poem down is different, though. It forces the poet to reduce the sneaky double entendres of speech. When the pen hits the paper, a choice has to be made: which word is it? Which meaning are you committing to? Which choice will be remembered by the page of your life? 

This conundrum is where mutable energy often places us: holding on to multiple meanings until the moment of truth. Two things can be true, but eventually, we at least have to choose what to emphasize.

Saturn in Pisces as an Ellipsis

I really liked that punctuation metaphor. Saturn in Pisces is not a comma. It’s an ellipsis. A mysterious ending. A silence of implication. Say less. Mean more.

Sometimes the things you know in your soul cannot – or should not – be put into words. With so many planets in Gemini, you probably feel a strong impulse to articulate that deeper, soulful message. I say – show, don’t tell. Honor those depths with your actions. Wait to speak. The words will come, and when they do, they won’t be shallow.

Today I am sharing a piece I wrote for a publication out of New York called The Ingress, edited by Howard Moore.

It is about how the Orphic hymns helped me activate my magical practice, and is written assuming you don’t know anything about the Orphic hymns, making it a great introduction if you’re unfamiliar with the brilliance of these ancient sacred texts.

I’d love to hear how the piece resonates for you or about any potent experiences you’ve had with the hymns so far. Sound off in the comments!

Brilliant translator of the hymns and my Orphic collaborator, Kristin Mathis and I have launched our class on the hymns, STAR: An Orphic Initiation. Here’s a little blurb about the class:

STAR is designed to deep your relationship with the gods, intellectually, spiritually, and in your sensing body.

For more information and to register, visit archeastrology.com/star.

If you need to set up a payment plan, you can easily do so here: STAR Payment Plan

Feel free to email me with any questions about STAR at drew@archeastrology.com, although I’ll be off the grid starting Saturday until the end of the first week of May, so I appreciate your patience with replies.

Alright, without further ado, here is the piece. I hope you enjoy it, and it sparks something within your soul.

Meaning and Magic in Ancient Greece’s Orphic Hymns

By Drew Levanti

The Orphic hymns are a collection of 87 poems from the ancient Greek world, likely composed in the first few centuries BCE, but possibly earlier. They were written in ancient Greek and originally set to music, with each sacred song invoking a god or natural force. The hymns constituted the rite of initiation of the Mediterranean mystics known as the Orphics. Named after Orpheus, the esteemed Argonaut, psychopomp and, in some tellings, son of Apollo, the Orphics revered their patron’s divine powers of music and poetry. The ancient astrologer Manilius praised the supernatural song of Orpheus as follows:

“... with the rising of the Lyre, there floats forth from Okeanos the shape of the

tortoise-shell, which under the fingers of its heir (Mercury) gave forth sound only after

death; once with it did Orpheus impart sleep to waves, feeling to rocks, hearing to trees,

tears to Pluto, and finally, a limit to death.”

—Manilius, Astronomica, Book 5, 1st century AD, trans. G.P. Goold.

The powers of transcending death and magically orchestrating the natural world itself arecentral to Orphic mythology. The fallen poet’s severed head is said to have floated, still singing,to Lesbos, inspiring the first Sapphic lyric.

Like poetry, and indeed music, the hymns refuse singular interpretation and become potent assacred texts layered with esoteric meaning. Many of us know the feeling when we find out, after quite some time, that a beloved line of a favorite song is actually not the lyric we thought it was. When this happens, one doesn’t have to abandon the meaning of the misheard. After all, it was nourishing for so long — is that not the point?

Wordplay is characteristic of ancient Greek, so in their original language, the hymns are laced with double meaning that creates forked paths to divine understanding. If you have an ear for it, double entendre in the hymns can illuminate mysteries in the tradition.

The hymns were intended to be heard in multiple ways. For example, ta hiera is commonly translated as “holy things,” but it is also a homonym meaning “the snakes.” In an Orphic context, hiera refers to the mysteries themselves. Sacred and snake-like, the mysteries’ esoteric content unfolds in a serpentine rather than straightforward manner in the initiates’ awareness. The term’s double meaning may have only occurred to the initiate once they experienced the initiation rites, which deepened their sense of the mystery language. In the hymns, what starts as a mishearing can turn out to encode a divine idea.

While the original Greek’s facility for these layered significations makes the hymns exceedingly difficult to translate, it also enlivens them with esoteric depth. In the class that renowned translator Kristin Mathis and I teach on the hymns, the snake is revealed as an animating motif in the Orphic view of various gods and cosmological principles. For instance, the python-slaying Sun god Apollo is known for his temple cult at Delphi, where the Delphic Oracle deliveredcryptic prophecies. Alongside these “holy words” or “snake speech” (hieros logos), solar astronomy was also practiced at the temple, where the twists and turns of the god’s yearly motion across the horizon made the snake visible at the cosmological level. Once the initiate sees that everything is so interconnected, what could it possibly mean to mishear?

Tuning the Self: Magic in the Orphic Hymns

From their roots in the mystery tradition of the Orphics, the hymns have grown into a pervasive tool in the practice of astrological magic today.

In fact, I first encountered the hymns in my own adoption of magic. I discovered that reading them aloud could “attune” me to the planets each one called. I noticed how meditative it could be to read the hymns, how they put me in the state of mind as if I was the planet. For instance, when I read the hymn to Jupiter, my voice bellowed like thunder and I found myself laughinguncontrollably. When I read the hymn to Mars, a fiery fury crept in; to Venus, I would delight inthe sensuality of the language and the beauty of the images, and I would accompany therecitation with my own improvisation on piano.

In these ways, the hymns served as tools for putting up my antenna: The shifts in my consciousness amounted to receiving the embodied knowledge of the planets. It’s one thing to know the planets in theory, or at an intellectual level, versus knowing them in practice — as gnosis. The poetry of the hymns allows the reader to enter a gnostic trance.

For me, an obvious impact of Orphic magic manifested through the hymn to Helios, Greek Titan of the Sun. It was 2020, early into the Covid pandemic. The Chicago summer was hot, yet the atmosphere was cold. It was like the light of the world had gone out — our fire dimmed by fear.

The Sun overhead reminded me of another, fiery path.

Each Sunday, I invited the Sun “in” with the Orphic hymn to Helios. As I invoked the golden-eyed king, the front room of my apartment became a hearth, and I showered in cleansing light. White and golden as the god himself, simple offerings lined my six-candled table: bread, butter, honey.

Within that inner sanctum, sympathetic and warm, sunlight did to the air what sound can do tothings. Vibrating like the lyre, the space hummed with a frequency familiar yet strange — areminder of the heavenly order, ever tuning from the center. Sunbeams bent, somersaulted,accelerated, centrifugally lifting the chariot of my heart. Sol was rising.

And my light was growing in turn. Having recently transitioned to doing astrology full-time, I also spoke at two conferences that summer. In one talk, I traced the trickster figure of Mercurythrough culture — including M.C. Escher’s puzzled drawings and Bugs Bunny’s performance of drag. The other talk was about electional astrology, and I staked a claim to a cavalier approach.Everywhere, it seemed, I was daring — fearless and bold.

Looking back on this story, I hear my Aries Sun and stellium loud and clear, but at the same time I know this was the work of more than my birth chart’s wrote unfolding. Indeed, that thesevisible developments in my life came during a time of solar devotion was more than merecoincidence. Through my weekly time with the Sun, I was cultivating our kinship. I was trulyrealizing the solarity of myself, making manifest the Sun within.

The practice that the hymns helped me create is known as theurgy. This class of magic can beconsidered contemplative and “inner,” distinguishing it from thaumaturgy, an approach to magic that is outward-looking. 

The object of theurgy is not the objective — that is, not the realm of causes and effects. Instead, theurgy takes as its object the subject: the work is the self. Translating as “god-work” or “god-working,” theurgy is a practice of making the self receptive to the divine. The gods are not requested or commanded, but revered and invited. Our purpose is not to impel the planets to do this or that; rather, we give the gods a very simple and potent gift: our attention. Through the simple act of being present with the god, their virtues seep into our being.

In thaumaturgy, on the other hand, relationships with spirits become instrumental — directed and focused on outcomes. It can be like asking, or petitioning, a powerful friend for a favor and— hopefully — receiving a benevolent answer. Within this practice, the Orphic hymns commonly serve as a source of empowerment, as hymnal praise pleases the god. 

In my work with the Orphic hymn to Helios, solar effects were indeed produced in my life, butthis was not the result of a petition or a particular ask. I was just spending time with the Sun. It can be this simple.

Becoming a Star with the Orphics

Astrological magic is often like this. We can ask the planets for things, especially whensupported by an auspicious transit, but benefits don’t always have to come from waving theproverbial magic wand. Instead, we can use the contemplative space and hymnal practice toenrich our life with the planets’ virtues. Deeply rewarding on its own, this theurgical practicetends to bring desirable outcomes anyway, without the explicitness of thaumaturgy.

This idea of embodying the virtue of a planet can be traced through the Orphic tradition, which, from the beginning, has inspired initiates to “become” stars. We see this in the Orphic conception of the afterlife.

For example, instructions for navigating the Underworld were inscribed on Orphic funerary objects, notably the Lamellae, or thin sheets of gold. Just a few fingers tall, these tiny plates that were buried with deceased Orphic followers bear scripts for navigating underworld interactions. In one, Persephone appears as an embodiment of an underworld stream, asking “Who are you?” As translated by Kristin Mathis, the initiate replies, “I am a child of Earth and Starry Sky, and I belong to the family of the Heavens.” Speaking those holy, initiatic words, or hieros logos,readies the initiate to unite with sky-strewn kin — the stars.

This also gets to the Orphic conception of the soul as fire, the very substance of the stars. Thephilosophical currents that founded the Orphic tradition saw the cosmos as a dynamic balanceof the elements, with fire and water as its polar extremes. The pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus conceived of the stars as fiery amalgams within the amniotic ocean of the sky:

… [the stars are] bowls turned with their hollow side toward us, in which the bright exhalations are collected and form flames…. Brightest and hottest is the flame of the Sun… and the monthly phases of the Moon occur as its bowl is gradually turned.

Within this dynamic tension of cosmic light and darkness, of bright star and dark sky, Heraclitusconsidered the individual’s soul-fire as potentially eternal, but only if the life is exceptionallyvirtuous. This is not Platonic reincarnation in which the unique soul is immortal. Soul is immortal for Heraclitus — at the universal level where cosmic balance is always maintained—but individuality ends at death, with only those few virtuous exceptions. Most souls areextinguished en masse; then new souls are nursed from the water. Failing to join the stellar afterlife thus assures the dissolution of the individual’s unique character. An individual’s soul substance disperses across many other beings and incarnations, all composites, none the same. To maintain the soul’s ontological identity after death, its fire must remain fire, releasing directly to the stars.

Is it possible that the earliest conceptions of theurgy and astrological magic, as reflected in the

Orphic hymns, aimed to achieve the soul’s immortality? Maybe, but the point to take away is that this tradition views the air, the Sun, the stars and the Moon as one and the same with us.We are all One.

The Orphic hymns remind us that the planets and their spirits are not outside ourselves, butradiate from within, spiraling tendrils of earthly and heavenly wisdom, yoked in the double helixof life and death. This is not a magic of hierarchy or ascension, or of angels and pearly gates. It is the magic of reverent song, the chills down your neck when the music reminds you that you are not alone in your experience of beauty, or of pain, of love or of loss. And you never have been.

These hymns are about the unity of body, mind, spirit, and the whole cosmos. Or even better,they are about remembering that this unity has never been broken. It is always already now.