Dear Star Babies,
The dog days of summer are upon us, running back and forth, panting against the sticky floor, seeking relief in big cool bodies of water and glistening bodies in the dark. Monsoon season, thunderstorm season, break up and make up and hook up season, basically—Leo season is here, roaring through the night and into daybreak. It’s all happening.
But we are not isolated in our journeys, and where we strain to care for others and build the world we want, the cosmos moves with us. The lunar eclipse in Aquarius, the solar eclipse in Leo, the night sky opens and closes so that we might face ourselves—our own darkness and our own potential for light.
Take these words as touchstones, as solace, as a meditation to carry until autumn comes.
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Strength, we're taught, is independence. Strength, we're assured, has a masculine quality, a stoic will to carry on. Strength, some might have you believe, is learning to be hard, impermeable, without give. But you and I both know strength is more nuanced than all that. How does a palm tree bend in a storm so as not to break? It roots deeper and wider into the earth.
In the dark black earth, only you know the depth of your own root system, Cancer. And that is a secret strength—a divine feminine thing. You know, in your heart of hearts, that when you take care of others, you feel strong, And it's your choice to keep your strength a secret, it's your choice to withhold when your needs are not met. But, beware of standing rigid in the wind as if you've got something to prove about the past, about why you are the way you are. When a storm comes, it doesn’t ask the trees what's come before. In a storm, you bend or you break.
On August 7, the full moon was in Aquarius, and on the 21st there will be a lunar eclipse. During a lunar eclipse, the earth's shadow obscures the moon. Aquarius is Leo's biggest teacher and pushes you toward the collective mind when you are stuck in personal drama. This time around, the full moon didn't give you your lessons without a little self-reflection. This time around, the shadow of the earth, its daily spin, its everyday trouble, might have you wondering why everything feels so charged—so large and looming. It's large because the moon is large and your life is large too, whether you can see it or not is not the point.
Take time this month to sit with what you've learned about who you are and who you want to be in the communities you build around you. This is about love in the big sense of the word, about building and strengthening something that is bigger than you. This is about the sacred. Prepare for the new moon in Leo at the end of this month, which will be a solar eclipse. With what actions have you honored your word? What actions will you take now in honor of your sacred self?
One of my favorite coping mechanisms is making up a story. I'm sure you know how it goes. Yes, this person in your life makes you doubt yourself, but it's really only because you're prone to doubting yourself because you weren't really validated as a kid. And anyway, they don't mean to say the things they say to you the way they say them; they're just critical because they're pushing you to be better and so, really, there's no point in telling them how their words affect you—you should probably just go home and work on yourself forever so that no one will have anything to be critical about.
Well, stories that excuse you from demanding emotional respect from others and practicing emotional respect for yourself can keep you going for a long time, but mostly going home and organizing your anxiety-tinged resentments in size order. Don't you think it might be worth it to try something else this month? While Mercury is in retrograde in Virgo, it's no time to have big conversations about feelings, but that doesn't mean you can't show up for yourself and bear witness to who you are in the present tense. Stay when you want to leave, Virgo, honor your emotions rather than analyzing them away.
It's bigger than you, isn't it? For the first time in a long time, you can stand at the shoreline of your emotions and see that the ocean isn't yours to understand. When the waves come, when they crash against you, when they topple you over or make you change your mind and turn around, they are waves and you are you—always. This is a form of surrender, a kind of wholeness exactly when you feel like you might fall apart.
There will be days this month, Libra, when you feel prepared to take on any sorrow—any uncertainty. You will amaze yourself with your resilience, psychic mind and strange endurance. Hold on to the self you recognize in those days, memorize her posture, her self-belief, her tenacity. When the tide rises without warning, when the waves are coupled with rip tide, you can summon her, and she will get you through.
You've probably got a really good reason for ignoring your intuition. You're probably still recovering from Saturn hanging out in your house, making you go above and beyond to prove your worth in every aspect of your life like you weren't already full of self-doubt and existential dread. Like, is it just you or did your intuition start speaking another language at some point and now you're scrambling just to learn the conversational basics? "I need to," "I want to," "I need directions"—who can fault you for ignoring what you can barely make sense of?
You know more than you think you do, Scorpio, and definitely more than you're willing to admit to yourself right now. With Mars in Leo this month, not to mention Sun in Leo, and then the new moon in Leo end of the month, it might do you good to take a page out of the book of great Leo Congresswoman Maxine Waters and Reclaim Your Time. Maybe you and your intuition can do some kind of trust fall exercises or bonding experiments, journal more, make plans with people who make you feel like yourself, go to the ocean and float on your back for a long time.