It’s arrived. The Cardinal Cross astrologers have been talking about for years. First taste: the lunar eclipse in late June. Second taste: end of July/early August as warrior Mars entered Libra, quickly opposing Uranus, stomping on Saturn, and charging at Pluto. These aspects make astrologers shudder. At their best, they foster great determination and effort. At their worst, they’re explosive, violent, and combustible. Mars is a fiery lord. It’s hot here in the Northern Hemisphere. Six hundred fires are raging across Western Russia, elsewhere too. The skies in my Oregon town are smoky. Throughout this week, we’ve all been wicks, ready for igniting. Yet how we’ve blazed depends on what’s gone into the candle.

Someone who’s been feeling victimized may have exploded like Omar Thornton, the truck driver who brought weapons to his disciplinary hearing and became an instrument of death and mayhem. Those who’ve been hiding dark secrets may have suddenly been exposed, like Dominique Cottrez, who admitted to smothering eight babies, burying some in the garden while hiding others in the garage. Those filled with the importance of an urgent mission and allied with like-minded others may have seen a great success, like the team working in the Gulf who finally, after months, capped that leaking well. The name of their mission, “Static Kill” is an appropriate nod to the gods involved. Superhuman efforts are possible with the Cardinal Cross, given you enter the scene with focus, preparation, and a willingness to do your best, as did Masato Akamatsu with his amazing catch. Of course it’s much easier to simply lose your cool, as did New York state Senator Pedro Espada who threw money at angry protestors.

My own candle burned on a much smaller stage. No big dramas. No big efforts. Just a busy schedule and an asteroid belt of small events that threatened to undo me… missed appointments, client crises, emails that weren’t answered quickly enough. Many times I felt an inner mob collecting, eager to start a riot. But gratefully, my inner constable worked overtime, patrolling the corridors of my psyche, offering “Calm down, move along, no big deals here.”

It is the Leo New Moon. It’s our annual opportunity to celebrate our individual star power. During times like these, being a star may simply mean holding ourselves together, offering a kindness when we’re stressed, or digging deep inside our pain to finally extract an old psychological thorn. The celestial picture is always a reflection of our personal picture, which leads to my simple recommendation for this New Moon. With fresh eyes, observe the dramas in your life and say “Yeah, this is my action movie.” Maybe you don’t feel particularly big or handsome or sparkly enough to sell tickets and popcorn. But understand that you’re still a hero. All you need do is rise up and meet your life with the Best Self you’ve got at the moment. And don’t forget to applaud.

New Agers proclaim that New Ages are launching all the time. I confess I’m a little skeptical at the flurry of emails each week, proclaiming how Great Cosmic Forces are opening Windows, or spiriting us along like Soul cattle across some Mystic Prairie. But this year I can’t deny it. Yes… what you’ve been sensing is true. Things have been moving faster. The karma you’ve been sending out is bouncing back with lightening speed. Everyone’s issues have been rising up with a greater-than-usual intensity. It’s time to get on with it. We’re embarking on a spiritual revolution that’s very personal and immediate. Over the next three years, Pluto and Uranus, joined by Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars, will be triggering the contractions that birth a new world.

Before the new world comes, there’s always a “clean-up” period, preparing us for the future we might be sensing but can’t quite see. The bumpy ride of the past few weeks has hopefully scoured some of the rust off your armor. You’re being called up for a starring role in a new and personally relevant epic. Mars is finally direct. Trust your desire to get moving. Feel like a warrior with a sturdy jeweled sword. Sense the moment when this sword is in your hands and you know exactly what to do with it. But before that, remember that great warriors always take their strength from the higher forces they serve. Preceding the Aries adventures coming this spring, the Pisces New Moon calls us into our temples first, to commit ourselves to a higher purpose and to strengthen our faith. This is the month to get right with yourself.

It’s crazy out there. The traffic jam of transits, retrogrades, and eclipses make this the wrong time for pushing your little boulder up the mountains of the world. But the Capricorn New Moon is an exquisitely appropriate time to rearrange your inner world–dynamically, dramatically. It’s an especially fine time to take down your inner know-it-all. Capricorn is home territory for your inner “should” Master, the one who knows what you should and shouldn’t be doing, the one who cares what other people think and keeps your personal rulebook up to date. Sometimes this is a good thing, a wonderful thing. My poet friend calls this voice “the coach in the head,” and sorry are those lacking a strong one. They never wake in the morning to do a hundred sit-ups or recite 108 mantras after a half hour of meditation; they always leave the last knob unpolished on the rail; and they never close the big deal or in any way dazzle the boss or co-workers.

Since we’re in late degrees of Capricorn, you may have been hearing from your inner coach these past few weeks. Ask to see the rulebook he’s been clutching. Take a good look. The Capricorn New Moon is an annual event, which means that every year it’s worth reviewing the rules you use to judge yourself. Do you really need them all? What I’m proposing is the opposite of a New Year’s Resolution. I suggest that the Capricorn New Moon is the perfect time to review your expectations and toss out all the ones that have been ruining your happiness. They’re irrelevant—if, like me, you’re not anywhere near the life you thought you’d be leading when you first dreamed them up. This is not about failure. As Byron Katie says, “Reality is always kinder than the stories we tell about it.” My New Year’s Resolution for 2010? Just one: To get rid of all those negative stories I’ve been telling myself for far too long.

I’m familiar with the feng shui principles of clearing clutter and beautifying my home to improve my good fortune. So it was a “duh!” moment when I realized that for months it’s seemed like my money has been rolling out the door–and sure enough, in the wealth quadrant of my house, the patio door no longer automatically swings shut. Not only is it letting in flies, it’s presumably letting out all my wealth! In the relationship quadrant, a fence board has lost its mooring and left a small gap. At the same time, I’ve been complaining about the gaps in my relationship with Robert, feeling that we’re as disconnected as my fence. It’s not that the patio door or fence are causing my troubles. Rather, everything is connected, so fixing one can help shift the energy of the other. Getting the fence re-nailed, for example, might be easier and more beneficial to my love life than one more “relationship” conversation!

I am grateful to MoonCircles ally Simone Butler for her timely (very Cancer New Moon-ey) suggestion to combine feng shui principles with new moons. Simone conducted a one-year research study with 30 people who agreed to perform the appropriate feng shui aspirations and rituals at each new moon–connecting the house activated by the new moon in their chart with the corresponding sector of their home. Eclipses, Simone discovered, brought the most potent effects. So I encourage you during this month’s solar eclipse to try a little feng shui magic–especially since Cancer rules “home.”

First: find the house in your chart where 29 degrees of Cancer falls. You need to know the basic meanings of the houses in order to discern which area of your life this house rules. Next, identify the corresponding room or rooms in your home, using the feng shui bagua (click to see). Superimpose it over a real or imagined map of your home, by lining up sectors 8, 1, and 6 with the wall containing your home’s front door. Once you’ve identified the appropriate room, assess the quality of the energy there. Clean and reorganize whatever feels most congested. What are your aspirations for this part of your life? Add some new beauty to this room as you meditate on your aspirations. If you’re confused about which house in your chart or room in your home is relevant this month, you can order Simone’s lovely feng shui report or check out her article in the latest issue of The Mountain Astrologer. As for me, the eclipse activates the 11th house of my chart, which corresponds to the “helpful people” sector in my home. That’s my office, which I’ll be diligently cleaning so it sings with new energy when the new moon arrives!

It’s another Cancer New Moon. “Be nourished” is a favorite slogan of my Cancer rising friend Rebecca, who has introduced me to so many delightfully healthy foods that often in my kitchen I sing impromptu prayers of gratitude. I thought of Rebecca this week when I read Roger Cohen’s excellent NYT Op Ed about a longevity study done with rhesus monkeys. Apparently, the 27-year-old monkey on the left (see photo above) has spent his life on a restricted calorie diet–which means he’ll live longer than the 29-year-old monkey on the right, who’s spent his life feasting on whatever he wants. Peer into the monkey’s faces (”Canto” on the left and “Owen” on the right) and you can’t help but agree with Roger Cohen:

Canto looks drawn, weary, ashen and miserable in his thinness, mouth slightly agape, features pinched, eyes blank, his expression screaming, “Please, no, not another plateful of seeds!” Well-fed Owen, by contrast, is a happy camper with a wry smile, every inch the laid-back simian, plump, eyes twinkling, full mouth relaxed, skin glowing, exuding wisdom as if he’s just read Kierkegaard and concluded that “Life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backward.”

Is a life without chocolate or prime rib worth living? What price are you willing to pay for more years? Another NYT article posed the same question in a different context: What if you’re unlucky enough to have advanced kidney cancer? The drug Sutent might add six months to your one or two remaining years, but it would cost you $54,000. If you had the money, you would probably pay it. But if it bankrupted your family, would you still do it? Or if a hundred strangers in your health insurance pool took Sutent and their extra six months meant your premiums would keep rising, would you consider this money well spent? These are difficult questions–how much is life worth? I don’t have an easy answer. But I am bothered by what seems like the unquestioned assumption of our heroes in lab coats–that having a longer life is the greatest prize.

I think again of my friend Rebecca, with Ascendant, Moon, and Saturn in Cancer. One day I watched her preparing a delicious treat for a dying client. With such care she ensured that each fork-full would be nutritious and tasty. This is Cancer at its best, not just protecting life, but making sure it’s worth living. And so at this 29 degree Cancer New Moon, knowing we are not immortal, let’s commit to living what’s left of our lives well. That means truly nourishing ourselves–the dreamer, the poet, the lover–and of course the monkey–in us all. May you be well.

Family vacation—two words that have long inspired such terror in me, that when I told my 16-year-old son we’d be driving to the IONS conference on global transformation with my partner Robert and his kids, I was shamed by his bright reply: “Oh boy, my first real vacation!” Had I been ruled by my past that long? I remember childhood vacations, trapped in a car made miserable by my parents’ bitter relationship, with my sister and I drawing furious lines in the back seat, “This is my side, don’t cross it!” Every town was a nest of tension, arguments and disappointment as my mother glared, “You’re supposed to be having fun!”

At least that’s how I remember it. Cancer rules the moon, family, and memory, and now, being over fifty years old, I understand that memory is flimsy and unreliable. Who knows what really happened. It’s the stories we tell ourselves about the past that become as durable as the crab’s shell, as confining as a prison. It’s what I keep recalling about family vacations that makes me terrified.

So now I embark anew, having what I lacked as a child: a hard-won ability to break through self-limiting perceptions with fresh awareness. It’s spiritual work to say: “Oh, that was then, it doesn’t have to be true now!” And it hasn’t been. We’ve traveled three days and over 900 miles, two adults trading off at the wheel, with a sixteen-year-old, a seventeen year-old, and a twelve year old in the back seat. We’ve all melted down at least once, but unlike my traumatic past, where wounds festered and joy dissolved, this time, everyone recovers quickly, forgiving and forgetting, and having fun. What a concept! So at this Cancer New Moon, I have a simple yet wonderful thing to celebrate: a summer vacation with my family. May your Cancer cycle begin just as remarkably.

Like doctors who neglect their health, most astrologers ignore their own charts. This means I’d forgotten an astrological milestone was coming. I’m a Sagittarian, yet my progressed Sun has been in Capricorn for thirty years, and now it was entering Aquarius. On the very day it occurred, I impulsively signed up for Facebook. Aquarius is the sign of social networking and that’s how progressions work: even without looking at your chart you go ahead and change.

Capricorn climbs mountains. It keeps pushing for better results. It’s the stern parent who expects way too much. And that’s where I got caught. Between all those years of Capricorn and the just-opened door of progressive Aquarius. I didn’t know what to write for my Facebook bio. Capricorn would have typed a complaint: “I’m someone who hasn’t lived up to her potential—I’m not as rich, thin, or accomplished as I should be.” But Aquarius didn’t know what to say. Zero degrees of a new sign is like that. It’s empty and full of promise, like the vineyard that halted me one day while walking my dog. “Yes,” I thought staring at the bare vines, rows and rows of staked hope, “that’s just how I feel. Something is coming, but it’s not here yet.”

That was two months ago and I still haven’t created my Facebook page. But with the New Moon in Gemini, I promise this cycle I’ll do it. Every year I aim to do something new during Gemini’s cycle. Perhaps I’ll even find that I like Facebook (though I don’t quite get the fascination). At the least, the Capricorn ghost inside me will be able to cross one more thing off her list.

Recently a famous guru visited our town and offered “darsan”. A couple hundred of us descended on the church, then knelt and crawled to the little rug where we offered our bent heads to her transformative touch. I admit it: I felt nothing. But I did feel something a couple weeks later in the YMCA parking lot. As I opened my car door, a toddler appeared (his mother was standing nearby). He had the biggest bluest eyes I’d ever seen. “Washoonaym” he said. After a confused moment, I realized his meaning. “It’s Dana,” I replied, “And what’s your name?” He didn’t answer, but turned again with great enthusiasm to his mother, “It’s Dana!” He clapped his hands with glee. His mother and I smiled at each other and as I walked away, I heard him say again, “Her name is Dana!” His mother softly instructed, “You should have told her your name.” But I was already gone… in the bliss of being touched so deeply by this little guru whose teaching was just what I needed. His giddy un-selfconsciousness was like a Zen stick on my head, rousing me from my usual self-concern. It said: Forget yourself and savor life! Feel the joy of meeting everything fresh! Now as I consider my vows for this Taurus New Moon, I wonder what it would be like to greet each stranger, everyone and everything, with the same un-selfconscious enthusiasm as that little boy had shown me. To step out my door and shout “It’s a blue sky!” Or in the afternoon at Starbucks “It’s the guy making coffee and his name is Aaron!” And if I could see you reading this, I’d want to say “It’s you! It’s you! I’m so glad you’re here!”

…the fairies,
the world’s kindness, flit through landscapes,
trying to make things right.
–Denise Duhamel
The Pisces New Moon is a good time to look for grace. I recall a friend telling me about driving with her daughter down a mountain road–when the car strikes a patch of black ice and spins out of control. Time slows as she surveys her options. If she steers left, they’ll hit an oncoming vehicle. If she steers right, they’ll plunge down the mountain. She becomes aware of a tree which seems to have suddenly lit up. Feeling powerless to head towards it, she asks the tree to pull them to itself instead. In an instant the car is smashed against the tree, totalled. My friend and her daughter walk away without a scratch, the tree loses a small patch of bark. I wonder if that was a special tree, or if the trees around my house can do things too. Do I have to wait for an emergency? Or can miracles happen anytime? Like today when I’m skidding with insecurities, will the dogwood across the road pull me to safety? Its branches nod: “The day is good. Free yourself!” Oh yes.

It is fashionable to be enraptured with Nature these days. I feel guilty for not spending enough time being delighted by the miracles of snow on the surrounding mountains, wild geese traveling in pairs overhead, the birds eating midwinter apples on the ground. But the Aquarius New Moon—and Jupiter’s exuberant leap into Aquarius, where he’ll reign for all of 2009—have inspired me towards something much less fashionable. Aquarius rules technology and I am moved now to sing its praises. I give thanks to all those quiet angels who uncomplainingly charge my world with magic. In the time a bird drinks from my fountain, invisible hands bring a movie to my iPod, download six new books to my Kindle. I can hold them all in my palm! Daily my robot vacuum cleans my floors. And the minute I wonder about anything, Google has the answer. I haven’t watched a commercial or worried about when a TV show airs in years. My DVR faithfully records what I want and lets me watch it when I want. Even when Mercury retrograde sent my fifteen-year-old television set to the dump this month, just one day later the internet brought me a new one—at the lowest price available! I couldn’t have imagined living my life this way twelve years ago, when Jupiter was last in Aquarius. It’s difficult remembering when the computer wasn’t a part of everything I do, though it wasn’t till 1997 that the internet really bloomed.

Of course there’s more to Aquarius than technology. This sign is wild, unconventional and unpredictable, also progressive and humanitarian. Too it’s the rising sign of our new Blackberry-loving president. May Jupiter bless him and you and me this year!

About Dana



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