Virgo brings a precise, analytical, and useful energy to our September New Moons. We’re invited to survey our lives and sort what’s useful from what’s not—like the Virgin, separating the wheat from the chaff. Virgo brings a humble willingness to work. We feel an urge to get newly organized. Sometime in my middle years I gave up on “New Me” lists. My goals are more modest now: “Virgin, I pray, please help me clean out my garage.” At the least, my refrigerator might get scoured. Or the shed at the back of the house cleared, or maybe a bathroom drawer. Whatever it is, I know I’ll enjoy that delightful moment when the space sings with new energy. That’s my Virgo New Moon ritual. May the Virgin make something new for you too!

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.

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.

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 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!

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.

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.

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.