I was as surprised as everyone else that Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize this morning. It’s a peculiar recognition: not for tangible accomplishment but for something abstract. He was honored for changing the tone. For capturing the world’s attention and building hope. For moving in the direction of greater international diplomacy and cooperation. The decision of the Norwegian Nobel Committee was apparently unanimous and reached with ease. But I suspect the prime mover was actually Saturn, with his tongue in his cheek perhaps, as he readies himself for his Libra robes.

“Peace” is a Libra word; Saturn will be entering this sign soon (Oct. 29). The award will certainly be a burden to Obama, as is any Saturn gift. But it’s also a mandate for the rest of us. It’s time to take our ideals seriously and start living up to them. The only zodiac sign with an inanimate object as its symbol, Libra is an air sign too, emphasizing the movement of breath and thought. The implication is that ideas—justice, balance, artistic aesthetics—may be as potent and vital as living beings. And while our passions might be roused now, it’s important to look deeply into the ideas that are guiding our choices. How can we live our values, without polarizing into one or the other camp? Saturn saddled the most visible world leader with this mantle, but the rest of us will soon be wearing it too. Saturn will be in Libra until October 2012. Our personal and global success may depend on how actively we work toward genuine harmony and peace. Let’s hold good thoughts. And make sure Obama does too.

Mercury stationed direct on Tuesday the 29th–the day my internet went out. A car down the street spun out of control and my neighbor’s house fell out of escrow. Astrologers say that life gets better when Mercury goes direct. But Mercury awakens from its sleep time slowly. The ideas we race forward with may yet be unstable—or even upside-down. (Indeed: The Democrats failed to pass the health care public option in committee, but did agree to fund abstinence-only education, something proven not to work!) During the days of Mercury’s direct station, we are still dreamers awakening from a dream. Go forward carefully, and wait for that moment (you’ll feel it) when your mind is clear, your will is strong, and your feet are touching the ground. Enjoy your competence. And make plenty of progress before Mars goes retrograde in December!

When your brain feels like cotton candy. When the hair salon calls wondering why you’re not there for your appointment today. When, smiling on the freeway, you sail past your exit. And your friends never got your email because you didn’t actually send it. This is the sleep time of Mercury’s cycle. The dog leash is in the refrigerator. You omit essential ingredients from a recipe you’ve made a hundred times before. The cable goes out. The internet goes out. Enjoy this Rip Van Winkle time. Soon enough (September 29) Mercury will be direct and your fine mind will be whirring again. Until then, find a good chair, settle in, and stare blissfully into space, like an idiot or a mystic.

Today brings the third of five oppositions between Uranus and Saturn. What have we learned from the planets this week? That humans can really annoy each other. Of course we’re supposed to act like this isn’t true. But then sometimes–perhaps when the planets are aligned just so, or more likely, when certain neurochemicals flood our cell receptors–disgust shoots out (Uranus-style) and the the fuddy-duddy forces of decorum get to wring their hands (Saturn-style) at the decline of society. Joe Wilson calls the President a liar and is sanctioned. Serena Williams threatens a line judge and is punished. Kanye West interrupts Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech to complain that Beyonce didn’t get it–and even Beyonce turns against him. Obama calls Kanye a jackass.

I like to think the planets want more from us, however, than embarrassment and forced apologies. The secret to all oppositions is that for that precise moment when two are opposed, they are looking in a mirror. The eruptions of the outraged Saturns are mirror images of the raw Uranian outbursts. When the two come round to realizing there is no difference between them, an opposition becomes a conjunction. Seeing the Uranus/Saturn opposition as a conjunction allows us to divine its truer purpose: to so utterly change our structures that we humans genuinely progress.

If we use Uranus/Saturn properly, we just might figure out how to pull ourselves back from the 2012 brink that the Mayan calendar implies is the end of our world. I did find inspiration for that this week too–in a story not as widely reported. Saturn (the Grim Reaper) took a Genuine Innovator (Uranus), someone who actually did change the world, although I never heard of him before.

Norman Borlaug died at 95. Many credit him with saving over a billion lives; by developing wheat with a higher yield, he single-handedly helped to avert a global famine. Borlaug often said that his real interest wasn’t wheat, it was improving people’s lives. Now that he’s passed from this world, it’s up to us to continue holding his humanitarian aspiration. When I’m asked to take my part in visioning a brighter future, I’ll take my cue from Borlaug, who in his Nobel prize acceptance speech outlined a simple formula for what a better world be: one where everyone has enough to eat, opportunities to learn, well-paying employment, comfortable housing, nice clothing, along with effective and compassionate medical care. It’s simple–but revolutionary. May we call on Uranus and Saturn to help us get there.

A senator kicks an angry protestor out of a town meeting. LA burns– an “angry fire” devouring dry brush with a vengeance. A model’s mutilated body is found in a dumpster. An anti-texting PSA, depicting a graphic head-on collision, goes viral. Around the world it travels: with its blood, screaming, and death. Good news: an abducted girl is found–after being held captive for eighteen years by a sex offender and likely serial killer. These are a few of the late August news stories, as the Mars/Pluto opposition, exact on August 26/27, is in orb.

Mars represents force; Pluto is power. When these two meet, there’s heat. Wills collide. And shadow stuff–violence, destruction, anger, obsession, sexual depravity–erupts into the headlines. But for most of the planet, Mars/Pluto is much less dramatic. A wife gives her husband the silent treatment. Two mothers get into a spat and forbid their children from playing together. A customer yells at an underpaid clerk. An irritated taxi driver narrowly avoids an accident. These don’t make the news. Nor do the countless positive and invigorating results of Mars and Pluto’s meeting. But take heart. Passion was renewed in various corners of the world. Babies were conceived. Someone stared down a bully and stood up for herself. Someone else woke up with renewed vigor and committed to a difficult project. How has your Mars been doing this past week? Get acquainted. Be aware that Mars goes retrograde in December. So face yourself now, find the better warrior of your nature, and get moving.

Nothing beats the joy of watching my dog Jupiter come running through the field, ears flying and tongue flapping on his happy face! I said this to myself an hour before he was suddenly and mysteriously limping in pain. I’ve visited the vet too often this year, and no matter what the malady, it’s always a minimum $300. This time it’s arthritis, which I’m confident we’ll resolve, as we have his other troubles. I’ve heard that dogs absorb their owner’s karma, dutifully taking karmic bullets for their masters, in which case Jupiter has been working overtime this year, with skin infections, epileptic seizures, and now arthritis in the hip. He’s taken pills, worn a cone, and will soon get massages and energy treatments. I am grateful. Even so, I couldn’t resist throwing a tantrum in the veterinarian parking lot after laying out yet more money I didn’t have to spend.

I have a Leo moon, which means I’m emotionally dramatic. But it’s in the 12th house, which means I try to compose myself with spiritual dignity and pretend I have no feelings. Those of us with 12th house moons have a long journey with our feelings. First we learn that no one wants to hear about them. We stop our crying to study the emotional rise and fall of our caretakers, endeavoring to keep them happy so we might be so. This is about as efficient and successful as a Rube Goldberg machine. So finally, much later, after we’re well-launched from our childhood home, we learn to take our eyes off others and begin the excavation of old energy in the body, digging up and releasing everything we pretended not to feel. This can take a long time, but it’s a wonderful initiation into the intricasies and power of the emotional life. The 12th house becomes a temple and we the priest or priestess who finally takes our feelings seriously. That means no emotion is too small to warrant tending–with a little insight, sympathy, humor, and creative ritual.

When I got home and contemplated my bank account, rather than shovel disappointment into the receptacle of my heart, I placed a black candle on my altar and briefly wailed, “Oh woe is me! Oh woe! I had to pay another $300 to the vet! Oh woe!” Then I lit the candle to hold vigil for my grief. Within an hour my grief had moved lightly on, and the next day, Jupiter was again joy-ing my heart as he went running through the field.

Nah. Mars never did get as big as the Moon… back in August 2003 when it came within 35 million miles of Earth, its closest approach in 60,000 years. But now, every August, sure as the blackberries start ripening, the “Spectacular Mars” emails start circulating, and I hear from excited clients wondering how this whole Mars thing will affect them. The truth is that Mars draws close to Earth every two years and it was relatively closer in August 2003. I remember watching it from a lawn chair with a martini in hand. Mars hung low in the night sky, a fuzzy reddish-orange star. Even a second martini couldn’t grow it anywhere near the size of the Moon.

Mars rules action, aggression, and war. In March 2003 Bush invaded Iraq; in May he declared his mission accomplished; by August, as Mars stared down at us, the chaos was in full swing, remaining so even as Mars wheeled away. In August 2009, Mars is not so big. Sidling near Venus in the morning sky, he’s on the other side of the Sun and can’t be seen without a telescope. Still, I wonder about his annual August appearance now… in the faux solar system of the internet. Perhaps every year till we die we’ll see this breathless email in our inboxes: “No human alive will ever see Mars this big again!” What shall we do with it? See it as an opportunity to remember what horrors rash macho action can bring? Or simply observe how Mars is traveling through the culture? This year he seems to have mustered an army of angry (and insurance-industry-fueled) warriors who like to disrupt town meetings, shouting “Down with government health care!” But perhaps our internet Mars wants something grander. As the lion gives way to the grain goddess every August, maybe we could grow our inner warriors bigger than the confused child of our moons. Wouldn’t that be something… if we could use this internet Mars as a reminder to stand tall and fight for something truly awesome?

At the least, we can always learn more about the state of our inner Mars, which April Elliott Kent is facilitating this August with her “Mars Needs Women” research project. Learn more here (scroll down the page).

On the day Jupiter’s conjunction to Chiron was exact, amateur astronomer Anthony Wesley discovered a dark scar in Jupiter’s clouds. NASA confirmed that something, perhaps a comet, had hit the planet and exploded. Astronomers are delighted with this visual treat–and so are astrologers. Once again the play between life and myth does not disappoint. Mythological Chiron is the wounded healer and many of us on the day of a personal Chiron transit will receive a wound. We’ll cut ourselves while chopping the vegetables, we’ll trip and skin our knees or simply suffer a paper cut. Injuries call us to attention. Have we been unconscious and now snapped awake? The wounded body part may be symbolic too (for example, a jammed toe can suggest fear of stepping into the future). Wounds can also represent a deeper mystery, as in the case of Chiron, a sacrifice to placate more powerful forces. What the wound implies for the planet Jupiter I cannot say. For us below, the symbolism is no doubt varied and wide, but given Chiron is a medical healer and Jupiter signifies optimism, at least one possibility is that Jupiter’s scar depicts the injured hopes of those in the US who’ve been praying for health care reform. The media reports that the “public option” is off the table. I’m glad Obama has finally come out fighting.

Neptune is just a degree away from the Jupiter Chiron conjunction and couldn’t help getting itself into the news this week as well: those weird electric-blue clouds over Europe, like an ocean in the sky, reminding us of this beautiful god who rules the sea and dreams.

It should also be noted that it is one day after the eclipse and the violence and mayhem predicted by the most dire astrologers did not occur. I found the eclipse quite energizing and, judging from those around me, it did indeed seem to coincide with a desire to make sudden reforms (as Bernadette Brady suggested in her book Eagle and the Lark ). Speaking of reforms… US health care, anyone?

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.

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