Ang Stoic Astrological Reports

[onawah]

“What's Your Story?” – The NEW MOON at 02°08′ LEO, Thursday, July 24, 2025, 19:11 UTC
Ang Stoic
Jul 24, 2025
https://angstoic.substack.com/p/what...m_medium=email

“'If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.'
~ Virginia Woolf

Greetings Fellow Travellers,

Another New Moon draws us into its customary darkness—a quiet, energetic pause in which the Sun and Moon merge, dimming external distractions just enough to remind us that any true beginning must first emerge from within.

And because this lunation occurs in Leo—a fiery sign ruled by the Sun itself—the impulse to recommit to sovereignty is heightened: it is the instinctive tightening of spine and spirit that insists the core integrity of any entity must neither be bartered nor blurred. Leo’s fixity reminds us that there is something inviolate in each flame. Leo, the storyteller, insists on controlling the narrative of one’s own kingdom—whether personal, dynastic, tribal, national, or ideological—a sovereignty we would never dream of compromising, one we would sooner consign the world to ashes than allow to be extinguished.

Yet this particular inception especially refuses to let our sovereignty be quashed or disrespected by prevailing monsters and cacophonies. The chart’s wiring—an exact opposition to outer planets like Pluto in Aquarius, a fire trine to the freshly retrograde Saturn–Neptune conjunction at the Aries Point, and a sextile to Uranus newly in Gemini—hauls the individual heartbeat into a sprawling, supernatural drama capable of competing with the best of them.

The epic scale of these planetary upheavals means that we are not merely burnishing our personal insignia or blowing our own trumpet hot and cold. No, we are—knowingly or not—being conscripted into a collective mandate to live and speak with unapologetic transparency, our distinct note swelling proudly into a symphony far greater than individual ego. Pluto’s recent arrival at Aquarius’s threshold follows eighteen months spent strip-mining Capricorn’s institutional rot (2008–2023), drilling now through the last load-bearing myths of a bygone era and unravelling corrupt grand narratives into algorithmic micro‑truths. Something different is emerging, and we want to play our part.

Consensus reality—once slow, centrally controlled, lumbering, and heavily policed—now shatters into trillions of splinters of bespoke data, each shard reflecting a mutually incompatible version of how the world works, eerily reminiscent of the cognitive whiplash felt in the final weeks before the Iron Curtain’s abrupt fall in 1989. What comes next is just as mysterious.

This One Is Special - Epistemic Rupture
The Leo New Moon of 24 July 2025, conjunct at 2°08′ Leo, holds a special intention sealed in darkness at 19:11 UT. It germinates inside an off-off-mainstream theatre, illuminated not by Broadway or Hollywood stage lanterns but by four outer‑planet projectors, each broadcasting its alternative frequency of existential unease onto a civilisation already trembling under its epistemic contradictions.

“They won't listen. Do you know why? Because they have certain fixed notions about the past. Any change would be blasphemy in their eyes, even if it were the truth. They don't want the truth; they want their traditions.”
~ Isaac Asimov,

When astrology refers to outer planets, it fundamentally speaks to realms of consciousness beyond conventional pathways of the human nervous system: transpersonal pulses churning beneath the surface of markets, governments, relationship dynamics, and neural pathways alike. Their combined supernatural geometry around this lunation illustrates the psychological architecture of a society poised to lash out at the pedagogues of its failing paradigm. If Leo instinctively seeks to uphold its constitutional narrative, it now does so with absolute permission—free from adherence to external doctrine or fear of consequence.



First, the New Moon forms an almost perfect trine to the freshly retrograde Saturn–Neptune pairing at the Aries Point (World Axis). Saturn, custodian of order, and Neptune, solvent of boundaries, make strange bedfellows; at 1–2° Aries, they co‑occupy the primal zodiac degree, where myth insists the heavens pour raw potential directly into human autonomy. After weeks of slowing to station here, they now head retrograde, telescoping backwards across recent history's fault-lines—bewildered by vanishing client lists, staged genocides, pandemic disinformation, weaponised "fact-checking"—questioning if the scaffolding of modernity ever rested on anything sturdier than Hollywood myth or Madison Avenue spin. The trine to Leo amplifies rather than soothes disquiet: the urge to roar convictions ricochets off Saturn’s mistrust and Neptune’s haze. This results in the epistemic trauma Jung warned of—a psychic rift when the mind’s executive committee (Saturn) and liminal dream-engine (Neptune) can no longer decide which perceptions to privilege or dismiss. Jung repeatedly cautioned that societies neglecting symbolic, mythic, or archetypal dimensions risk collective psychic retaliation through distorted or delusional symbolism. Many of us, especially empathic types, now feel a profound existential despair as materialistic chaos deepens.

Gnostic Revival
Because Saturn–Neptune will retrograde into late Pisces from September through December, this lunation trine tends to act more like an opening volley rather than a resolution. It sends society hurtling downhill into Gnostic re-enchantment: if official channels cannot provide stable meaning, the imagination will appropriate symbols from every half-remembered myth and form its own suitable narrative. We have already watched this mechanism at work: The mass psychosis began to metastasise as far back as when the official explanations for 9/11 began to feel like script revisions, then came the 2003 invasion of Iraq justified with fictions about WMDs, and when the orchestrated pageantry of Russiagate and the calculated obfuscation around Israel’s brutal policies were presented as sacred truths not to be questioned. In recent years, the Epstein mystery became the accelerant, the unmasked archon whose “suicide” ripped the veil of deception wide open, initiating millions into the absurdity of sanctioned narratives. COVID then exploded the whole matrix—its policy reversals and contradictory mandates turning face masks, lockdowns and vaccines into a secular sacrament for some and symbols of state submission for others. These weren’t just failures of governance—they were initiation rites into a new cognitive epoch, where the official theatre slipped, the actors broke character, and the audience realised the script was never meant to make sense and started looking to reality shows, longform podcasts and livestreams for their news and entertainment.

How’s your narrative holding up? Are you noticing how tightly you're gripping your personal story—how fiercely you're defending a sense of identity that may no longer resonate with anyone around you? And what about the others—are they still buying into your version, or have they already wandered off to reinforce their own?



Pluto and the Algocratic Agenda
Opposite the New Moon retrograding Pluto at 2° Aquarius, the solar system's tyrant-alchemist, is narrowing his dissociating gaze against the blinding intensity of Leo's central-character spotlight. Pluto’s Aquarius ingress has so far already ushered in an era of algorithmic sovereignty and predictive governance, albeit secretly; in opposition to our “content-creator” Leo protagonist, it behaves like a black mirror, forcing the Lion’s heroic self‑definition to confront the mechanised, data‑mined group mind. Where Leo shouts “I am,” Pluto murmurs, “All you are is a complex network of coded data—you can be hacked” This is the astrological corollary to our point here, that power no longer answers to facts: in the digital panopticon, the algorithm decides which stories trend, which vanish, and which get you demonetised (or even incarcerated). The harsh Plutonian gaze does not need to polish its nazi jackboots in Aquarius; it provokes, censors, starves out and cremates an individual at the flick of a switch, while citizens grow certain they are being sequestered, gas‑lit yet cannot prove it with the old currencies of evidence. All lines of question are cut. There is no course to appeal. The backlash, therefore, is not merely political but existential—Leo’s primal insistence on authentic self-expression rising in fierce rebellion against Aquarius’s sterile world of technocratic abstraction. Rule by algorithm is algocracy.

Uranus In Gemini: Instant Transparency
The lunation’s ventilation shaft—the conduit through which theoretical discontent becomes insurgent praxis—is Uranus, newly ingressed at 0° Gemini, forming a sextile to the lunation and a trine to Pluto. Uranus here behaves like a high-velocity stream of unprecedented data pouring directly into the intuitive faculties of the collective nervous system, fracturing entrenched linguistic codes and precipitating a swift, hyper-literate rebellion. This is precisely how ideas go viral; equally, it demonstrates how effortlessly ordinary citizens can be recast as personas non grata within mere moments. On a mundane level, this manifests as a memetic arms race, vividly illustrated by the recent scandal involving the Coldplay kisscam CEO "cuddle-couple," whose embarrassing images spread globally within hours, accompanied by torrents of rapid-fire satire, cryptic disclosures, and entirely new dialects spontaneously erupting in threads of collective indignation.

Obsessed with the Coldplay kiss cam story? I was too, until I realised the sinister truth at the heart of it | Arwa Mahdawi | The Guardian
Uranus fuels the Gnostic craving for hidden truths while simultaneously providing the digital infrastructure needed for swift and coordinated dissent. Its trine to Pluto ensures a frictionless conduit from revelation to confrontation, enabling disruptions to multiply, mutate, and proliferate uncontrollably. Whether these disruptions are morally or legally justified is beside the point; their true potency lies in shattering illusions of institutional invulnerability, exposing elite hypocrisy, and accelerating the collapse of trust in once-sacred narratives. The sextile to the New Moon electrifies Leo’s creative impulses, transforming charisma into incendiary potential. This is algorithmic alchemy unfolding in real time: outrage sharpened into strategic narrative sabotage, irony fused seamlessly with righteous fury, offhand jokes and semi-serious slogans ("Epstein didn’t kill himself", "The Moon is a Hologram", "History is Photoshopped") crystallising into rallying cries under which millions now mobilise.

Rocking The Cradle
Together, the Pluto–Uranus–Saturn/Neptune matrix forms a cradle configuration, a sixth‑harmonic womb enclosing the New Moon. Cradles nurture and agitate simultaneously; they promise support, but only for those prepared to grow teeth during gestation. For the collective psyche, that gestation looks like the slow recognition that consensus reality has already flatlined. For individuals—especially those with planets in early fixed or mutable signs—the cradle offers a choice: remain foetal within collapsing institutions or bite through the membrane and craft an epistemology robust enough to face the roar of cosmic ambiguity.




Here, the Leo New Moon’s deeper instruction emerges. In classical lore, the Moon records ancestral memory; a New Moon, therefore, wipes and reformats our hereditary stories under the supervision of the Sun, ruler of conscious will and of Leo itself. Throw in a direct opposition from Pluto and the re‑format feels less like your typical journaling exercise and more like forced encryption: we cannot unsee the corruption of our civic operating system, but we can decide which programmes to salvage, which to delete, and which entirely new code—Uranian, iconoclastic, polyphonic—we dare install. Epistemic trauma, then, is not a mere terminal diagnosis; it is the pre‑dawn tremor before full-scale creative insurgence.

Notice how the outer‑planet timelines correlate with the bullet‑pointed diagnosis of societal breakdown. In the coming months, Saturn–Neptune’s retreat into Pisces will mirror the public swing from righteous outrage into listless escapism, mimicking the “public too overwhelmed, worn out and dishevelled to fight back.” Yet their second ingress into Aries next year ensures that such apathy and escapism are temporary; anger will reignite precisely as those planets regain the Aries Point, triggering a fresh wave of accountability demands. Something is happening now, but only as a precursor. By this time next year, Uranus in Gemini would surely supply the cognitive weaponry—rapid, decentralised, meme‑driven information warfare—answering the need to “reclaim how we know.” Pluto in Aquarius presiding like a ruthless examiner starts to fasten down with: “any ideology not built on genuine sovereignty will sink under its own data shadow”. Science, media, jurisprudence—every captured domain serving as dissemination of factual, useful information—corresponds astrologically to Aquarius and Gemini; both are under the scalpel now. Their leaders sense the tide turning and double down on suppression, thereby accelerating the backlash. Will we ever learn the truth about Epstein’s clients, JFK, UFOs, or who is behind the endless wars and atrocities Middle East? Probably not—but perhaps it’s enough to realise the official narratives no longer hold, leaving us free to walk off (en masse) and reclaim our own story.

The revolution is near. I’ll leave it to you to imagine and write how it rolls out.

Getting Our Story Straight (for now)
For the individual navigating this maelstrom, the Leo New Moon offers a ruthless yet invaluable strategy: resist the seductive belief that you alone possess the hidden truths to redeem reality, but speak your own truth with unwavering authenticity; accept that privacy is all but a mirage and choose carefully how you wield the disruptive power of language, understanding each utterance as a potent spell; and engage consciously with Neptune’s dissolving currents—meditation, creativity, and active dream-work, not as escapes, but as tools to process paradox without succumbing to delusion. None of these promises safety or certainty, of course; astrological cycles never do. They map the pressures under which our free will must work. Leo’s gift now is to help us reclaim authority over narrative, identity, and integrity—boldly declaring personal truths as the stage sinks beneath us, knowing that every authentic voice hastens the return of genuine communal wisdom. The cosmos is listening closely; your moment to roar has arrived."

[onawah]

GEMINI: Aquarius Full Moon Reading
First Quarter Moon at 09°♏32′
July 30, 2025
ASTROLOGY OF NOW

"Last Thursday’s Leo New Moon, locked in a bare-knuckle opposition to Pluto now retrograding at the gate of Aquarius, showed us what monsters we have become by our compliance to the dim, harrowing darkness that breeds our collective shadow. By lacking the courage to stand in our integrity, every shred of Leonine excess—the self-aggrandising bombast, our narcissistic entitlements, the lust for melodramatic dominance, the cheap, shallow theatrics, and the compulsive urge to be adored has engulfed this planet into a bunch of wannabes and yet nothing and no one amounting to very much at all. Pluto amasses the entire collective in a no-holds-barred ultimatum to give up all sovereignty for a low-grade ego-driven mask that obscures systemic rot. So long as you ‘perform’ the image of honour and heroism, you can carry on being subversively abusive. It’s time to look at what sick little monsters we’re becoming when we focus only on what’s best for ourselves.

The very few who, on this Moon, set their intention on standing strong, on being unflinching, certain in the face of certain doom, are the only ones left holding any kind of line. Under that Leo New Moon, most folded—flashed their teeth for approval, chased their bits of clout, put their asses up for sale into curated servitude. That’s what Pluto does, even to Leo, hands you some beans if you become it’s snivelling little sycophantic bitch. But the few who felt the quake beneath the pomp, who didn’t blink when Pluto yanked the curtain—those few have begun to harden, not into stone, but into resolve and have begun the interminable and irrevocable process of being transformed. Shining in your true light asks for more than performative displays, more than a mere aesthetic rebellion—but a mighty expression—raw, ferociously untamed, spine-locked conviction. Because when the system demands submission masked as virtue, and the cost of non-compliance is exile, only the brave stay standing. And though they have the power to transform, to lead the masses, they will be the ones who write what’s next.



By next Friday’s first-quarter Moon in Hades-ruled Scorpio the throttle will already be welded to the bulkhead. Collective momentum slams us hard into an uncompromising checkpoint, where the intoxicated growl of Leo’s overblown swagger smashes hard against Scorpio’s subterranean hunger for total possession; the air will taste of singed pride, half-digested vendettas, and the metallic tang of systems grinding under their own corruption, forcing every compromised participant—every zombified performer, spectator, saboteur—into a single, brutal reckoning with the walls they built, the appetites they fed, and the power they ceded while all the while applauding their own illusions of control.

I’m in awe of the rare few who rise to the occasion—those who wield that Scorpionic venom as surgical truth-serum. It may, at first, resemble a frightful act of self-sabotage, threatening to nail these courageous souls to a cross for daring to speak. But once the lunar tide turns, denial of one’s integrity becomes a set of shackles, and any voice still waiting for permission is swallowed whole by the very machinery it refused to confront.



Then, as the quarter Moon locks its volatile midpoint onto a South‑Node Mars in Virgo—the atmosphere mutates from theatrical scuttlebutting to full forensic assault, because that distraught warrior, already addicted to fault‑finding and covert dominance, now receives a live current, scrutinising every motive, indexing each weakness, and converting half‑baked vendettas into itemised kill‑lists; competition stops being sport and becomes a meticulous surgical procedure to purge, violently cleanse, executed with a manicured modicum, spreadsheet accuracy, and zero tolerance for loose threads. This activated hunger for pristine victory drives the blade deeper than any Leonine flourish ever could, carving through pretence, through alliance, through one’s own flesh if necessary, for the single, merciless reward of knowing that no rival, real or imagined, survives the thoroughness of this audit.

And then there’s Venus, who, having drifted into Cancer, ushering her usual promises of comfort, nourishment, kinship, and candle‑lit amnesty, immediately finds herself head‑butting against the cold masonry of the Saturn‑Neptune complex—one planet demanding hard limits and accountability, the other dissolving every promise it makes—so that any quest for peace, love, and mungbeans shatters on impact as euphoria and sadness take turns at the wheel. Nurturing gestures warp into obligations, and though nostalgia reopens raw fissures, sentimental vows buckle under reality‑testing gravity.

As we then head into the mother of all Aquarian Full Moons (Aug 9), those brave few who can stand firmly through Leo’s humiliating rite of passage now undergo an emotionally altering struggle: it’s a choice between the soft escape of curated comforts or holding the line as affection morphs into trial by water and stone. Only those capable of loving without possession, protecting without control, and dreaming without nightmares will keep their hearts from becoming collateral in the next cosmic showdown. All relationships are under stress if we are stopping short of being present, authentic and without signs of mental derangement."

[onawah]

“BROKEN GLASS”: The ARIES SUPERMOON at 14°♈08′ — Tuesday, October 7, 2025, 03:48 UTC
October 7, 2025
ASTROLOGY OF NOW
https://angstoic.com/2025/10/broken-...2025-0348-utc/


"Greetings Fellow Travellers,

Two weeks on from the South Node Solar Eclipse at 29° Virgo, and the world has not brightened so much as become intensely darker, more divided. The light that has returned did not return kindly. October’s somewhat late harvest moon swells into the largest, brightest moon of the year—our first so‑called supermoon since November 2024—and it arrives not with ceremony but with the blunt, shocking truth you only see when the ambulance pulls up and someone finally gets taken from you. There’s a lot to unpack here.

We have just trudged, eyes still bleary, through a stultifying, ego-humbling pair of eclipses: the totally occluded Pisces full moon followed by the partially obscuring Virgo new moon—a harsh alternating current testing whether our faith and need for control are opponents or simply different faces of the same compulsion. Pisces asked us to trust what cannot be proven and let the great unknown and the unknowable do its quiet, divine work; Doubting Virgo demanded to see evidence, receipts, transcripts, statistics, the obsessive reassurance that facts will keep the roof from collapsing. Both lunations aligned to the nodal axis have somehow synchronised our personal story with the collective narrative, insisting that what we decide alone somehow registers on the seismograph of the world. Every soul matters in the course of our collective evolution. We are all, in some way, complicit in the direction of humanity.

Now, as the Sun crosses the Libra equinox into the social half of the zodiac, the contracts of coexistence return to the front of the desk. This is the season when our capacity to engage meaningfully with others proves directly proportional to the faith we place in them—trust becoming the only real currency of relationship. Under this Harvest Moon, the first full moon after the equinox, we see with unflinching clarity that we reap exactly what we sow. Yet that trust is hard to place with Neptune drifting back over the Aries Point, blurring the line between faith and fraud. Saints and zealots, mystics and charlatans all seem to shimmer under the same light.

And with Saturn back in Pisces, close enough to define Neptune’s overarching blur, the existential ache deepens. Certainty can easily seep away; faith can quickly evaporate to mist. It’s disorienting—literally grief mixing with disbelief, what’s left of the rational mind tempted to shut down and call it wisdom. There’s a narcotic comfort in hopelessness, in claiming you’ve seen too much to believe in anything. But Saturn, retrograde as he is, won’t let the spiritual numbness pass for mastery. Here, at the final stages of Pisces, he makes us sit inside the dissolution until we can tell the difference between genuine surrender and just giving up.

And yes—though we are technically post-eclipse—this first cardinal lunation feels like the closing chapter of a much longer movement. The Aries–Libra eclipse series that has gnawed at us since 2023 formally ended with March’s Aries solar eclipse, yet the questions it raised never left the room: how do we stop performing compromise long after it has become denial; how do we stop calling codependence “community” because we are terrified of owning our own autonomy. Is it our own? If not, do we truly own anything? Or are we owned?

If you needed one more sign that indecision, complacency, complicity and fence‑sitting have exhausted their alibi, take this Aries “Supermoon” as the formal notice. The season of people‑clinging is done. Action is necessary—even if, to begin with, it’s only a rash reaction. Better to lunge hard with a raw, violent cut than endure another round of ‘elegant paralysis’.

In The Wee Wee Hours: The Crack of the Full Moon



The Moon’s culmination at 14° Aries has no patience left. It’s the second before rupture, the meniscus at full stretch—one more breath and the long-banked fury spills like hellfire. This is the body’s appetite for the unedited line, the deep intramuscular memory of survival that refuses to wait another moment to be taken. Directly opposite, the Sun in Libra still presides, prising at proportionality, civility, justice by calibration and grace. But we’re sick of it. We’ve been teetering on ultimatums and trade-offs for too long. This polarity has trained our nerves to numbness, but tonight it stops being theory. It bursts into Sturm und Drang wherever we contort ourselves to avoid saying no; it flares at the dinner table where someone’s charm keeps strangling the one sentence that would make things real. It ignites the place where activism curdles into hostility and diplomacy into sheer terror. Aries shows how urgency erupts into aggression; Libra, how diplomacy calcifies into complicity and silence. Between them lies the bare question: can you stand to stay in this without extinguishing yourself?

“When did we see each other face-to-face? Not until you saw into my cracks and I saw into yours. Before that, we were just looking at ideas of each other, like looking at your window shade but never seeing inside. But once the vessel cracks, the light can get in. The light can get out.”
― John Green, Paper Towns

Under the supermoon’s glare, the shield of patience burns off fast. Every pretence turns brittle, every little white lie gnashes its teeth. Whatever we’ve paraded as spiritual tolerance has too often been the terror of exile dressed in white; what we’ve called due process is mostly the body buying time before it admits the truth. This fiery Moon won’t indulge it. If you’ve been bound to a person, a creed, a party, a cause—held there by guilt, nostalgia, or the faint narcotic romance of belonging—expect the inner infant to awaken and scream. And with ruler Mars in Scorpio, the severing won’t be operatic; it will be quiet, surgical, final. The courage required is not to attack but to stop consenting to shrink. To snuff the breath that keeps false senses of peace and tranquillity inflated. This cardinal Moon isn’t pressing you to be cruel; it’s daring you to leap into full-throttle voltage and let those built for dimmer lights quickly adjust or go blind in your wake.

Insurgency vs Contracts: Uranus–Juno and the hard‑angle rectangle

There is a tripwire stretched across the chart tonight, and it sings when the wind rises. Uranus retrograde at the first degree of Gemini stands opposite Juno just entered Sagittarius, and the line between them pulls taut over the Sun–Moon axis, setting up a volatile hard rectangle in the eighth harmonic—that intricate weave of semisquares and sesquisquares that rattle the hinges of any trap door, if indeed that trap resembles anything of a “binding contract” betwen two parties. Juno is sacred covenant—marriage, partnership, the social glue that keeps it together—and in Sagittarius, she demands vows that can travel, promises that grow rather than petrify. Uranus in early Gemini is the insurgent mind—the rebel intellect that refuses to let language become a cage, insisting that true loyalty exists only where learning and speech remain free.

Now add the nervous prods: Sun sesquisquare Uranus—the diplomat’s composure short‑circuits; Moon semisquare Uranus—extra radicalisation to the gut won’t wait; and you have the relational field fizzing with mismatched expectations about loyalty, commitment, boundaries, domestic policy, the subtle economics of who adapts and who is forever “understanding.” Minor squabbles mask deeper breaches. The instinct to run is strong. So is the temptation to clamp down hard with edicts and laws and call it “care”. Neither will do. What the rectangle demands is the awkward, lucid conversation where the contract is re-read in the language of the living—where “forever” is translated as “with room to keep becoming”—where fidelity stops being a museum job and becomes stewardship of two evolving lives stepping toe-to-toe in the forever-present tense.

Do not underestimate the octile family. Those 45°/135° kicks are cumulative. They accrete as the humming unease that wakes you, again, every hour, on the hour, and usually at an hour you’re least up for it. They are the itch beneath the plaster, the tap‑tap‑tap that becomes the crack. Under this figure, you will see through all the scripts that only function if you remain the “good one”: any partnership glued together by your perpetual apology; the slightest movement that feeds on denunciation; the family system where dissent is treated as betrayal, and “peace” means playing along to avoid conflict. The rectangle refuses to play exorcist for you. It will keep rattling until you take the key to unlock the demon you have always owned.



Custodians and cutters: Venus, Malefics and Benefics
Venus in Virgo—that endless striving for moral purity through service—now meets the South Node, and with the malefics closing in, the lesson bites. Saturn in Pisces, applying a tense watery sesquisquare, tests the limits of sacrifice: how long can devotion hold before it sours into self-betrayal? Mars in Scorpio, from the shadows of another water sign, presses with surgical precision, cutting at whatever cords still bind love to obligation. Together they expose the trappings of virtue—how easily the nobility of “duty of care” becomes the currency of enslavement, how quickly humility turns to bondage. You can’t buy freedom by being indispensable. If you can’t stand alone, you’re still owned. Yet from another watery sector, Jupiter in Cancer sends a soft, sustaining sextile, reminding that solitude need not mean scarcity: the well refills when you stop drawing from others’ rations. The entire configuration demands a forced reconciliation between service and servitude, between love freely given and love begged for or martyred. Stand still long enough in that silence and you’ll hear it—the sound of a leash finally dropping to the floor.

The Subterranean/Supernatural Mind: Mercury–Pluto; the yod to Uranus/Neptune; the outer string shifting the era



Mercury entering Scorpio turns the chat into an interrogation room. He’s the CIA code‑breaker, the brain-surgical scalpel. Squared to Pluto in Aquarius, your private thoughts feel data-mined by the technocratic mainframe—platform oligarchs, underlords of supreme surveillance by algorithmic wiretaps on your every keystroke. At the same time, Mercury is squeezed into a yod between Uranus in Gemini—Artificial (or is it Alien?) Intelligence, hijacking language at machine-learning speeds, while Neptune in Aries gaslights at the ♅/♇ midpoint, a slow erosion of self until nothing reads as ‘yours’. But hang on… can intelligence truly become property?



We’ve been living through this for months—and will for many more—as the process grinds on, slow and exacting, until every fragment of culture, myth, and magic is pared down and repurposed into a different world altogether. Between the mental shock, pulverisation and blur, Mercury’s brief is brutal and clear: trace every thought to its natural source, sever the pre-written script, reclaim your own tongue. The work is to dig beneath the feed for an uncorrupted signal—not to float above the system, but to slip inside it and reclaim the circuitry from within. Retrieve the thought before it becomes hacked and monetised; speak from somewhere uncolonised; cut through the static with words that still bleed human. Or perhaps our human intelligence is already evolving—toward a higher frequency, imperceptible by any machine—the language of telepathic empathy, where meaning travels without interference or detection, heart to heart, beyond digitised code.

Trojan Horses, Broken Hegemons and Twisted Faiths: Chiron/Eris, the geopolitical mirror, and the choice that will not wait
Between Chiron and Eris, the midpoint of Aries is a wound that won’t scab. They sit there, retrograde and restless, pulling at the oldest thread in the human fabric—the quarrel between injury and pride, justice and revenge. This is not abstract pain; it’s ancestral, fossilised, written into scripture and bone. As Jupiter slows in Cancer, preparing to station square to their conjunction throughout November, the pressure swells across generational dynasties and tribes, reviving those myths we thought were long forgotten – ones that explain who deserves land, whose god approves which cruelty, who must die for whose promise. This square exaggerates everything: faith becomes law, law becomes blood-libel, and the firstborn son is once again offered up to prove a father’s devotion.

The metaphor is biblical because it follows a biblical pattern. The story of Abraham, shared and disputed by all three Abrahamic faiths, still frames the world’s most devastating irony: that reverence for divine authority can demand the sacrifice of one’s own offspring. Judaism, Christianity, Islam—each claims a higher mercy, yet each inherited the same perversely incomprehensible trauma script: that loyalty to God must be validated through the suffering of the innocent, the offering them up to demonstrate our faith to a patriarchal deity. Jupiter’s square to Chiron and Eris presses that bruise, forcing every civilisation raised on that myth to admit what it has done with it. The wars we wage over holy ground are not new conflicts; they’re reruns of a test of obedience that never ended, a ‘holy edict’ that western humanity has never had the courage to refuse or defy. Those who try it become martyred.

As the headlines continue to stream in from the Middle East, we see the myth re-enacted in real time—tribes extolling ancient wounds as moral licence to provoke murder, leaders invoking divine right while civilians vanish under rubble. The supposed “rules-based order” continues to fracture under its own hypocrisy. The United States, exhausted hegemon, can no longer distinguish deterrence from delusion; its outposts and satellites cling to the moral geometry of empires long dead. Meanwhile, the majority of the world continues to call for proportion, international law, a ceasefire, and sanity—and is being blindly ignored. The Aries lunation amplifies this impasse. Jupiter in Cancer stirs nationalist sentiment and the ancestral memory of a homeland, while Chiron–Eris in Aries weaponise grievance; one promises belonging, the other demands scorn and vengeance.

Inside that bizarrely incomprehensible global theatre, our personal experiences mirror the political. The exact same psychological machinery also drives our private wars. Each of us has our own tribe, our own holy scripture, the sacred stories that we tell about our own exiled ancestry. Very few of us can claim indigeneity without some pain. Under this October sky, Mercury in Scorpio sifts through the wreckage of collective thought like a forensic analyst, seeking to uncover how our most deeply recessed ideas mutate into obsessive orders and paranoid delusions. Its square to Pluto in Aquarius exposes the new priesthood—technocrats and machine-learning algorithms coding fresh commandments. Uranus in Gemini scrambles organic language into alien new forms; Neptune in Aries, at their midpoint, warps perception until conviction blurs into hallucination. And we? We’re left to wonder whether the voice demanding sacrifice is divine, digitally programmed, or simply deranged.

This is where the astrology stops being metaphor. It’s already happening: the fusion of ancient zealotry and algorithmic surveillance, of sacred text and coded bias, of priests replaced by programmers who don’t even believe in souls. The rage of Eris finds new delivery systems; new golden apples; new Trojan horses. The wound of Chiron gets data-mined for profit. Jupiter’s impending station ensures that everything blows up—belief, propaganda, and transgenerational guilt—until we either reclaim the story or drown in it.

I need to warn that from this point on, the ethical dilemmas become increasingly acute. Every action under this lunation carries a heavy moral drag: do you speak, or does speech amplify noise? Do you resist, or does resistance feed the algorithmic rancour? Neptune’s return to Pisces (Oct 22) could spark a new spate of witchhunts. The heavens don’t give a clean answer, only a warning. Chiron and Eris are unmasking the Trojan horses of faith and technology alike—how both surreptitiously smuggle domination inside the promise of salvation. Even Judaism, once a vessel for spiritual endurance, is being hollowed out and repurposed as cover for Zionist conquest, just as other creeds (Democracy, Capitalism, Progressivism, etc) are being conscripted to sanctify their own empires. Jupiter’s square drags these hypocrisies into daylight, forcing belief itself to stand trial for what’s done in its name.

Expect tense weeks ahead—politically, spiritually, psychologically. Expect decisions made in such haste and fury that can’t be walked back. This is not a time for passive hope or righteous certainty; it’s a time to look directly at the myths we’ve inherited and ask whose children they’re still demanding. The Moon in Aries will not negotiate; she moves swiftly, blade in hand. And as she passes over that wounded conjunction, the air itself feels charged with an epic reckoning of biblical proportions.

Whatever we do under this light—whether we protest, defend, retreat, sacrifice our firstborn, or reach for grace—will resound far beyond intent. The old gods are watching through the eyes of new machines. Act only in ways you can live with when the feed goes dark and there’s no one left to applaud or absolve you."

[onawah]

“The Hill You Die On”: NEW MOON at 28°11′ SCORPIO, Thursday, November 20, 2025, 6:47 UTC
November 20, 2025
ASTROLOGY OF NOW
https://angstoic.com/2025/11/the-hil...-2025-647-utc/



"Every life has a hill worth dying on. The trick is recognising it before you waste yourself defending the wrong one.

Greetings Fellow Travellers,

It’s been a whole month since I’ve posted a Substack—mainly because my workload for both clients and subscribers has become quite consuming. I figured I needed to focus on priorities, lest I burn myself out. But another reason, perhaps harder to admit, is that I fear that with so much coming to a head in our lives and in the world at large, I’d need to work around the clock to do these broader-audience newsletters any justice.

We have long crossed the Rubicon, the threshold of tolerance, the tipping point. We are now between worlds. Those of us prepared to take the odyssey into the next level of existence are already milling around with strange ideas and horrifying concepts, each mustering to their respective camps, arming themselves with whatever supplies and internal instruction are necessary to accomplish the great crossing. Others are either oblivious or bogged down in the crossroads of despair.

Whether we realise it or not, Scorpio season marks our approach to the moment of truth—and leading into it, we are saying goodbye, perhaps for the final time, to those people, places, behaviours, patterns that, much as we loved them, are holding us back from accomplishing what the full transition requires: a new life, one with more meaning. We need at least that much to survive and prosper.

When the light stops doing us favours.
That’s how you know Scorpio season has properly arrived. Whatever you’ve been avoiding—in yourself, in others, in the arrangement you’ve been tolerating—steps out from behind the shadows and lurks ominously, as if it’s about to crawl on you. The Scorpio Sun behaves less like a bright, illuminating light and more like a seething-hot cauldron over which alchemists toil, throwing salt, sulphur, quicksilver, vitriol, antimony, lead filings, dragon’s blood, pulverised obsidian, and whatever volatile tincture they believe will force a hidden essence to reveal itself. Concentrated heat. Directed purpose. The kind of intensity that melts through pretence and exposes the raw nerve, with little pomp or ceremony.

What impurities rise to the surface now aren’t new to us. It’s what our gut knew all along while our mind practised its clever little denials. Motives become readable. Weak seams tear under intense pressure. The bonds we thought were solid turn out to be noxious, interdependent habits dressed up as loyalty pacts. The preservation of privacy becomes a power unto itself. The less we say, the more we observe, and we discover which connections can withstand scrutiny and which were always just hanging by a thread of mutual convenience, waiting to expire.

This is the brutal annual review of things we believed were vital to our existence but can no longer justify themselves. Winter is approaching. It’s a harsh, unforgiving season, because if it saps your life-force, it’s gone. Scorpio’s unavoidable death sentence is handed down in silence. Only those that can survive the ultimate test are allowed to come with.

The Fixed-Sign Standoff


By late November, the pressure generated by fixed water intensifies. Mercury, having briefly tasted the liberating fire of Sagittarian truth, reverses course and burrows back into Scorpio’s underworld. When it meets the Sun near the 28th degree, unexpressed thoughts become fully weaponised. Language carries a toxic, corrosive subtext. Every undisclosed detail, every unfinished investigation, every redacted document, omitted fact, and conversation you’ve been putting off—all of it converges on a single pressure point: something demands closure. Whether it’s you, them, or the machinery operating in the background, the motive toward an ending becomes unmistakable.

Meanwhile, Uranus has slipped back into Taurus for the final time, reactivating seven years of hard-won stagnation and immobility. Every refusal to be domesticated, every insistence on bodily and financial autonomy, every fierce claim to self-determination begins pulsing with that unmistakable electrical edge.

Here’s where it gets interesting—and by interesting, I mean potentially explosive.

Scorpio wants total merger on its own terms. Full control. Taurus ain’t going nowhere. Doesn’t care for your progress. It’s happy the old-fashioned way. Fine where it is on the farm. It values its empirical sovereignty, the right to exist unperturbed within one’s own skin. When the Sun and Mercury consolidate in Scorpio while Uranus electrifies Taurus, any lasting stalemate must make way for biological necessity. Neither yields. The result is structural: jarring hairline fractures erupt into irreversible decisions—the kind of split that bypasses anger completely and awakens the rage of transgenerational survival instinct.

The clash happens in the body. In the bank account. In the power lines of your most intimate relationships. In the way you speak about yourself and refuse to be spoken for—refuse to be told what matters on terms you never agreed to. Two fixed imperatives collide—totality versus inviolability—and something breaks. It’s a hard press, but usually any pattern that’s been slowly suffocating you longer than you’d care to admit will unceremoniously snap. These two fixed signs seldom yield. The loss is unrecoverable.

And underneath this opposition, a Grand Water Trine is pooling—Jupiter in Cancer, Saturn in Pisces—creating an almost dangerous fluency of feeling. Emotional intelligence amplifies into something bordering on prophetic, but the danger is mistaking that seductive flow for permission. Water this deep and wide can drown you before you realise you’ve stopped swimming.

The Hades Moon
Just as this opposition peaks, the Moon enters Scorpio—the sign of her fall—in the small hours of November 20th.

The Moon hates it here. Scorpio denies her every lunar comfort: safety, the ease of moderation, the luxury of cyclical rest. Instead, she is stretched to the extremes of her volatility and must operate under relentless pressure, where every feeling becomes a form of exposure, where her emotional body is forced through treacherous territory with zero interest in offering comfort or kindness.

When the Pluto-ruled Moon joins the Sun-Mercury conjunction, something dangerously unhinged occurs. Like setting out on the year’s most treacherous night—heavy skies, black as pitch and bereft of stars, roads glazed with black ice, hungry wolves circling the treelines, desperate bandits with nothing left to lose. The emotional underworld stops cooperating and starts issuing commands. You feel it in your bones before you can actually put words to it: something’s gonna turn nasty… there’s a drop in the barometric pressure of the soul, a psychic fissure splitting the hours wide open. The body knows something irreversible is being decided.

A bad moon rising only negates, never negotiates.



The intention formed here emerges from parts of you that cannot be reasoned out of themselves. It’s refusal masquerading as agreement; a biological stance that others will experience as disturbing, disruptive, threatening—especially in relationships where power must be shared or values must be preserved.

That’s the violent nature of this lunation: the fundamental refusal to pretend we’re anything otherwise. The refusal to be kind when your own kindness has been weaponised against you. The refusal to maintain someone else’s comfort at the cost of your own integrity.

Either you betray yourself to maintain peace, or you disrupt the peace to maintain your position.

What Actually Dies
Let’s be clear about what this season is actually killing off, because it’s not what the Instagram astrologers tell you.

It’s not your “old self”—that marketing palaver designed to sell you transformation as a product. It’s not your trauma either. That stays, unfortunately, although it might loosen its grip a little. It’s not even your ingrained psycho-sexual patterns—those ****ers have nine lives minimum.

What dies is your tolerance for the half-life. The ennui. That unbearable numbness of being.

The gormless relationship that’s 70% functional but makes you feel 30% dead inside. The bull**** job that might pay well but corrodes your soul in daily increments. The family dynamics where love and manipulation share the same syntax. Those besties that require you to perform a version of yourself you outgrew fifteen years ago. In fact, any internal narratives that keep you small, grateful, accommodating to the external—as if your life force was a renewable resource instead of finite currency.

Scorpio season kills your ability to tolerate the deterioration and decline. It shows you exactly the hill you’re willing to die on.

The Shadow Qualities Nobody Mentions
Every sign has its shady side, but Scorpio’s shadow is all pumped up and ready to be sold as wisdom and power. Let’s identify these properly:



The compulsion to test loyalty through an intentionally staged crisis. The psychological operations. The way the need for intensity to fill that gaping black hole of abandonment becomes addiction, how you mistake intoxicifying chaos for exhilarating aliveness. The secret scorekeeping, the emotional surveillance, the way you keep track of every slight while feigning that you’ve transcended petty concerns. The uncanny knack for finding everyone else’s weak spots while fortifying your own beyond any hope of genuine intimacy. The way you weaponise vulnerability—theirs, not yours, then store it in your catalogue as arsenal. The gaslighting tactics.

And perhaps most insidiously: the way you mistake suffering for significance. As if witnessing, exhibiting, or inflicting pain was the only reliable currency, the only proof that something actually matters.

These shadows will never transform through just “positive thinking”. They transform through being caught in the act, called out without flinching, held accountable without being demonised. Scorpio season hands us the mirror. Whether we look is entirely our call, because our Scorpio side is where our ego clings to its greatest overestimation of itself.

The Clean Power Alternative
In its highest expression, this season offers something rarer than transformation: the ability to call it for what it is, without flinching.

Do you dare voice the desire without apology? Can you state the non-negotiable terms of your shared existence without flinching? Will you choose repair over revenge—not out of timidity, but from the supreme confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re capable of and therefore has nothing to prove?

I know. It’s complex. We’re obstinate creatures. But we must learn to yield a little, quietly, when the moment demands it. Turn toxic secrets into compost rather than bioweapons. Convert from prehistoric fossil fuel—all that inherited sludge of grudge and grievance—to something cleaner. Solar power. Self-generated heat. Use this pressure to build the next cycle instead of revenge-fantasising about the last.

Clean power looks like this: knowing what you want, saying it once, meaning it completely, then acting in alignment regardless of who approves. Without explanations. Without justifications. Without performative intensity to mask your anxieties about inadequacy and scarcity.

The Sun in Scorpio doesn’t need to convince anyone. It simply burns at the exact temperature required for the operation at hand. At New Moon, it incinerates all residual cellular toxicity retained by the Moon—clears the slate so we can face the extraordinary changes that lie immediately before us.

The Actual Instructions
Stop pretending you don’t know what needs to go. You know. You’ve known for ages now. The only question is whether you’ll act on that knowledge or spend another year negotiating with reality.

Stop asking for permission to protect your life-force. Permission was never required. And stop slipping into petty deceit just to pacify the creature riding your spine. Feeding the monkey only makes it hungrier; it will never thank you, and it will never leave you stronger.

Stop mistaking intensity for intimacy. One is theatre—adrenaline, spectacle, self-immolation. The other is presence: steady, unguarded, and impossible to fake.

And finally: stop treating “transformation” like a spiritual bypass. Sometimes, the most evolved thing you can do is admit that some things simply need to end. There’ll be no lessons here. No silver linings. No gratuitous social media posts ranting about growth. Just the clean cut, the closed door, the silence where the bull**** used to be.

That’s Scorpio season’s gift—not transformation as product but as process. Not the digital butterfly emerging from the analogue chrysalis but the moment the embodied caterpillar surrenders to dissolution, trusting that what comes next will be worth the temporary annihilation.

What comes next, for you specifically, depends on where this pressure lands in your chart.

ARIES ♈ | TAURUS ♉ | GEMINI ♊ | CANCER ♋ | LEO ♌ | VIRGO ♍ | LIBRA ♎ | SCORPIO ♏ | SAGITTARIUS ♐ | CAPRICORN ♑ | AQUARIUS ♒ | PISCES ♓

In this fortnght’s instalment of horoscope messages, I cut straight into the marrow of your situation—the Scorpio–Taurus dilemma playing out across your axis of power and possession, and the heavier machinery shaping it. Jupiter and Saturn–Neptune are locked into a Grand Water Trine, amplifying emotional intelligence into something almost prophetic—but also dangerously seductive if you mistake intensity for truth. Uranus sits at the apex of the resulting Grand Kite, the release valve, forcing breakthrough where you’ve tolerated stalemate for years. Venus and Mars sharpen the relational field, exposing where desire strengthens and where it corrodes. And the square between Jupiter and Eris presses on the larger cultural wound—our inheritance of conflict, contested identity, and weaponised truth.

These forces will define the terms under which you choose, shed, or secure what matters next."

[onawah]

SUN @ 29º SCORPIO
November 22, 2025
ASTROLOGY OF NOW
https://angstoic.com/2025/11/sun-29o-scorpio/



"The rot starts and ends with the lies you tell yourself. You had your chance to come clean. When this day is through, only those who held the line will be spared the quiet self-disgust that greets the rest.

The second you prioritise your own bull**** over what’s actually real, you lose the ability to recognise truth anywhere. Self-deception doesn’t just **** with your judgment—it guts your entire sense of self-respect. And once that’s gone, the fall shouldn’t come as any surprise. Just look at the champions of delusion, their pathetic slide into petty grudges, performative outrage, and whatever cheap distractions keep them from seeing the hideous monsters they’ve become.

Utter rot.

Gangrene of the soul.

There’s a reason grifters and the self-deluded always act the most “offended”. Their offence is homespun narcissistic theatre—a fantasy wound they concoct to dodge the real injury, the one they’re secretly busy inflicting on themselves. They blow up minor slights into full-blown catastrophes because performing outraged indignation is easier than admitting they’ve built their entire world on convenient lies. It’s the mark of the psychopath. And once that pattern locks in—lying to yourself, lying to everyone else, confusing indignation with integrity—what follows is the corrosive path of hostility, isolation, and a kind of spiritual savagery dressed up as righteous anger.

If yesterday’s New Moon showed us anything, it’s who around us has made a pact with the dark side—who’s effectively consigned themselves to mete out satanic shillery, trading truth for whatever twisted currency keeps their delusional bubble afloat.

This anaretic Sun doesn’t give a **** about your performance. It cuts straight through your Machiavellian tactics. If you’ve been running from a truth you refused to face at any point this past month, this is where it runs you down. And if you’re actually brave—not merely feigning bravery, but genuinely willing to break bad—you’ll quit the theatrics and deal with the wound.

In a few hours, the Sun moves into Sagittarius, lagging behind Mars like there’s unfinished business between them. Venus follows on December 1st, though none of them actually meet until they converge in a rare triple conjunction at 19º Capricorn on January 9th—directly opposite Jupiter, caught in the crossfire of a T-square with the final Chiron/Eris conjunction. Mark it now as a day of judgment, when all the consequences of our collective bull****ology hit in full force.

Now get set for some fireworks.

Now’s the time to bust out some of those intentions…"

[onawah]

"Impaired Judgement” — The LIBRA NEW MOON at 28°♎21′, Tuesday, October 21, 2025, 12:26 UTC
Ang Stoic
Oct 21, 2025
https://angstoic.substack.com/p/impa...-the-libra-new



"'Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us, something is out of tune. '~Carl Jung

Greetings Fellow Travellers,

Keeping this one brief, going into deeper nuance inside the individual horoscopes, but the backdrop matters. This is the first normal Libra New Moon since the Aries/Libra eclipse run began in 2023 — our first clean chance in three years to attempt equilibrium without the downward drag of karmic backlash. It’s not been good for Libra. We’ve learned plenty about imbalance since then: how inactivity and peacekeeping curdle into self-betrayal, how courtesy and hesitation harden into complicity, how a culture addicted to optics can’t tell harmony from inertia and moral decay. We’ve become a civilisation of soft apologists and professional blamers — well-mannered, well-informed, and, at the risk of being offensive, half-asleep at the wheel.



The Moon and Sun at 28° Libra oppose the freshly re-exact Chiron–Eris conjunction in Aries — the wound and the rage of the uninvited, the ones civilisation prettily excludes. The first point of tension since their Mar/Apr 2023 conjunctions, Jupiter in Cancer now squares both Chiron (see article: https://angstoic.substack.com/p/jupi...ealer-of-faith)
...and Eris (see article: https://angstoic.substack.com/p/jupi...-of-the-wisest)
...demanding belonging yet inflating tribal sentiment into a morally and ethically divisive spectacle. The collective outrage that foments into swelling protests is neither new nor final. So this is not a New Moon for Libra niceties; it’s more like a court hearing. We must decide what “fairness” costs when truth itself has become a highly subjective or partisan line.

So what does a Libra New Moon do amid this? It filters a world of chaos through our contact with others: contracts, conversations, alliances, decisions. Yet Libra at 28° is no longer tentative but reaching the terminal stages before things turn drastic in Scorpio. We’re past mere idealisations and grand abstractions, we demand acts that tie us together—what we will say and sign, what we won’t. Late‑degree Libra is fed up with the niceties and chit-chat, the indecisions and the flip-flopping; it wants terms of engagement that could stand up in court.

We try again, though the conditions are harsher. The air hangs thick with a gunk of unfinished verdicts — Gaza’s brittle ceasefires, Ukraine’s grinding stalemate, widening class revolts, festering racial traumas and resentments, ideological fracture, and the deep nausea of a civilisation that knows it has been lying to itself for too long. Things are wearing insufferably thin, and as the Sun approaches Mercury/Mars in Scorpio, it is about to rupture.

In mythic terms, Libra’s scales are trembling because every sign in this configuration is cardinal: force meets force, conscience meets consequence. And the string of outer planets buzzes like cosmic transformers at the edge of history — religion, governance, technology, and language all auguring massive conversion. The zeitgeist feels feverish: cultural revolutions written into computer code, faith transcending mere temples and biblical scriptures, human compassion running on fumes and an activism that refuses to rest.

Neptune retrograde at the Aries Point is the epochal undoing of collective glamour. Like the end of “The American Dream”, it shows us who believed too much in the dominant narrative, who lied to themselves, and who must now reorient their spiritual compass, not toward escape but toward presence. Idealists will fall. So will the grifters. Their schtick becomes a transparent ploy, a fiendish plot to fool us all. But from that fall, something truly sacred might begin—not based on illusion or the promise of fame, but on the humility of shared human longing.

And yet, paired with Uranus retrograde in Gemini and funneling through a yod on this Libra lunation while squaring Pluto in Aquarius, that revelation becomes disquieting. The dream (Neptune) and the machine (Uranus) are conspiring to rewrite what perception itself means, and Pluto’s cold circuitry ensures the rewrite is enforceable. We’ve entered an era where visual proof dissipates: seeing no longer guarantees believing. AI’s seamless simulations now rival the divine tricksters of old, creating images so convincing they collapse rational discernment itself. What began as inventiveness now corrodes ontology. We can believe nothing; we must dispel all evidence as proof when every clip or artifact can be fabricated and every confession synthetically rendered. Trust becomes the rarest commodity. This is the Yod’s quiet ordainment: to learn presence in this convoluted cavalcade of distortions, to locate truth not in evidence but in the steady throb of an emerging new conscience.



Oh, it’s lifting our game of perspective— insisting that we draw on every sense, every inner instrument measurement and evaluation, not only when engaging with the chaos streaming through our feeds, but in our vis-à-vis interactions with those most familiar, trusted, even beloved. Discrimination is no longer optional; for better or worse, it’s the primordial tool for ensuring our survival.

Still, the task remains deceptively simple: measure, don’t mirror. Speak in proportion. Restore balance where it exists, not where it flatters. Each honest negotiation, each recalibrated alliance, every sentence that abandons its trite pleasantries for the exactitude of spirit becomes the quiet sacrament of this New Moon. The rest — the pitiless wars, the ever-watching algorithmic systems, the relentless flood of fresh disclosures — is only the static that fills the air when we forget to keep that practice alive. "

[onawah]

SAGITTARIUS SEASON: Nov 22-Dec 21
November 24, 2025
ASTROLOGY OF NOW
https://angstoic.com/2025/11/sagitta...nov-22-dec-21/


[image: a well-known photograph of two boys standing in the ocean at Diamond Beach, New South Wales, Australia, watching a massive bushfire approach the shore. The photo was taken by local photographer Martin Von Stoll in late 2019, and the two boys are his sons].

"Nice — watch things heat right up now that the Sun’s joined Mars in Sagittarius.

And let’s not forget Juno, goddess of contracts, vows, and the politics of partnership, who’s been in Sadge since 1 October, quietly turning every fervent conviction into a pre-bedtime experiment.

Soon enough we’ll see Mercury re-enter on 12 December, then Venus on 30 November, all piling in ahead of the Sagittarius New Moon on 20 December. Needless to say, you’ll hear a lot of pumped righteous proclamations, moral tiki-torch crusades, academic dick-measuring about church and country— the usual Sadge bravado—heck, you might even feel a little inflamed yourself about truth, justice, my flag vs your flag and “just what’s right and wrong with this world”.

Fine. Nothing like a good, overheated, everywhere-all-at-once argument. Just don’t be expecting much clarity. The real arbitration still lies in the deep, deep waters: with Saturn sitting at the end of Pisces, about to turn direct at 25° in five days, and Neptune drifting at 29° Pisces for something like three months, sure… plenty of fire, plenty of noise, but the verdicts are coming from somewhere more stealthy, mysterious as ****, like nuclear-powered submarines during a full-blown missile crisis.

Pisces is far less impressed with laws, religious dogmas, pompous swaggering and cocked-up posturisements. Pisces don’t give a **** about anything you can sermonise or legislate —they only want the truth beneath the truth, the thing that cannot be coerced or preached into existence. Can’t even be named, actually.

They don’t want words. Don’t need to hear or speak when they can just ‘feel’ into it. They do their dissolution thing, not with doctrines and bruhaha but with silent, covert, subtle little splashings. They sniff out where the stream’s been sullied, then drift off into a world of absolution while we’re all hunting for accountability. And they’ll happily lie low and watch the whole moral circus burn itself out while they sit wide-eyed in the undertow, pulling every certitude back into the abyss. They’re slippery like that…

And if it does come down to a contest? If the whole thing escalates into an international ****fight?

If it does come down to a contest— if this month turns into a straight shoot-out between fire and water (and yes, both dispositors are sitting strong)— Jupiter exalted in Cancer, swollen with emotion and a pull for tribal belonging, but square Eris and Chiron, so every principle has a wound in it, every conviction a transgenerational grievance.

Neptune ruling from the anaretic degree of Pisces like some half-drowned oracle, has Saturn bogged in the same swampy bed, shaking the foundations without offering a single clean rule to stand on.

(He will offer you seven thousand shekels if you’ll shill for him, though.) <–— IMPORTANT!

Sadge has the good reason, you see? The ordained-by-god scripture, the holier-than-thou outrage, the exalted fervour, the sponsorships.

Pisces has the tide, (and the knowing that it’s all coming to an almighty end, soon).


things by Dec. 14
And if you’ve ever watched Fire meet the sea, you know exactly how that ends:

not with victory, not with defeat, but with steam —-that strange hissing moment where fire meets vastness and realises it isn’t the dominant element after all.

We can get further into the blow-by-blow of it all, but I’d rather hear what you think for a change.



**Remember: lead strong by asserting your unquestionable beliefs, leave in absolute doubt, confusion and utter resignation. "

[onawah]

"Connecting The Dots" FULL MOON at 13°03' GEMINI \
4 December 2025, 23:14 UTC
Ang Stoic



"Greetings, fellow travellers,

I’ll be honest with you. It’s getting harder to show up here and pretend we’re just chit-chatting about planetary weather.

The holidays are rolling in again – the neighbourhood house shrouded in fairy lights, credit cards slinging (mostly online these days), that whole annual performance of good cheer and season’s merriment while something heavy drones on beneath it all. Peace on earth, goodwill to men, but please don’t look too closely at the warmongering ****show that’s gradually sapping the life-force out of you and everything you’ve built.

I’m tired. Not the sleep kind. It’s the kind where you’ve seen the pantomime one too many times, and now all you notice are the wires pulling at the marionettes that bring the story to life. Maybe you know what I mean. Maybe that’s why you’re here.

This Gemini Full Moon lands right on that point of exhaustion. Gemini is the information – the repetitive feeds, the headlines, the endless scrolls, the delivery system by which data travels. Sagittarius is the meaning we’re desperate to make from it all. And right now, with Saturn and Neptune liquefying through the last degrees of Pisces, the space between information and meaning has become a kind of no-man’s-land where almost anything can hide.

There’s a deeper friction here, too. The North Node in Pisces has been pulling us toward surrender, toward faith, toward releasing Virgo’s obsessive grip on facts and details. That’s the evolutionary direction – away from the anxiety of analysis, toward something more intuitive and whole. But this lunation cuts directly across that axis. Gemini-Sagittarius is at odds with Virgo-Pisces. The Full Moon insists we deal with information and meaning right now, even as the nodes implore us that the real work is learning to relax, let go of the need to know at all. It’s a mutable cross, and we’re pinned to it – caught between the call to discern and the call to dissolve.

I don’t want to tire you out with a long-winded analysis on the astrology; I have appropriately reserved that specifically for your individual horoscope messages. But let’s walk through the greater questions around this together. I don’t have all the answers. But I’ve been pulling at this thread for thirty years, and I think it leads somewhere worth going.

Here’s something we forget: humans have always dreamed their way into explaining things they scarcely understand. It’s what separates us from the other species. Not that we dream, but that we have the means to communicate them, and from them come up with stories. Sometimes those stories are true. They hold meaning and provide purpose. But for the most part, they’ve been pure illusion. We are a species that is hallucinating.

Not clinically, of course. Epistemologically. For most of history, we knew almost nothing. A dark little village, a vast horizon, above a handful of stars, some hand-me-down stories from the elders. That was the whole world. Everything else – why the crops failed, why the baby died, what those lights in the sky were doing – we made up. We had to. The gap between what we could empirically observe and what we needed to understand was so vast that we filled it with gods, monsters, and authoritative nonsense about kings and their respective kingdoms.

This is the Gemini-Sagittarius problem in its oldest form. Gemini pinpoints the dots. Sagittarius tries its best to draw a line between them, form symbols, make up stories, then call it truth. But when the dots are sparse, that line is mostly an invention. A rough estimate, at best. Mostly projection. Mostly, whoever holds power to be convincing is the wise-guy telling everyone else what mysteries the darkness contains.

[IMG]
https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!uJgT!,w_1456,c_limit,f_webp,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F9e5d0f41-ab64-45f6-ab26-fd103679667f_1920x1080.jpeg[/IMG]

One can immediately see how the ancestors interpreted this constellation as resembling a centaur archer (not).
Civilisation after civilisation has risen on a central story about what connects the dots, then burned itself down when the story turned out to be wrong. The Church told us the Earth was the centre of everything. The Soviets insisted history was on their side. Every empire has been absolutely certain about something that wasn’t true, and the certainty itself became the instrument of living cruelty, and the fundamental fallacy in their tale the cause of its demise.

What changed – slowly, painfully – is that we started identifying more dots. Telescopes. Microscopes. Printing presses. Telegraph wires. Computers. Sophisticated machine-learning algorithms that now produce powerful stories. The arc of darkness between data points began to narrow. Not disappear entirely, but narrow. Enough so that occasionally we could catch the old stories in their lies.

And that’s the core tension of this Full Moon: we’re the first generation to live with an almost obscene quantity of data, more dots than any generation before us. And still, the space between them is being fought over by people who would very much like to keep filling it with their preferred fictions.



The grand water trine that’s been running beneath this lunation tells the story exactly.

Mercury in Scorpio: the obsessive, the investigator, the one who digs like mad to find a way through the darkness. Jupiter in Cancer: the emotional weight of what gets uncovered, the way it connects to family secrets, national myths, ancestral silences. Saturn in Pisces: the institutions that built their authority on controlling the narrative, now floundering as the waters rise around them.

You’ve felt this, even if you couldn’t exactly name it. That prickling sensation when the official story is just slightly too smooth to stomach. That nauseating sensation when the headlines shift, and everyone pretends they didn’t say the opposite six months ago. The body knows before your mind catches up. Mercury has passed over this degree three times now, thanks to his retrograde – drilling the same point, refusing to let it slide. That’s Mercury in Scorpio trine Jupiter in Cancer trine Saturn in Pisces. That’s the water signs doing what water signs do – arriving at knowledge through feeling, refusing to hold down what doesn’t land right in the gut.

For over a century now, the institutions that claimed authority over the dots – intelligence services, legacy media, the academic establishment – have understood that controlling information is easier than controlling territory. Vet the journalists. Seed the talking points. Promote the useful spokespersons. Destroy the inconvenient.

In Britain, we saw the long-secret vetting of BBC staff by the intelligence organisation MI5. The institutional protection of Jimmy Savile – not through incompetence, but because he functioned as a useful spider in the web, collecting secrets, ensuring complicity. Across the Atlantic, Jeffrey Epstein: mysterious wealth, a private island, guest lists including presidents and princes. These aren’t merely “perverts with money.” They’re living nodes of a leverage network, ensuring everyone powerful has something to lose if the wrong stories dare to emerge.

When such figures cease to be useful, they’re removed. Savile died draped in honours; it was only afterwards that his crimes were acknowledged. Epstein died under circumstances so implausible that “Epstein didn’t kill himself” became global shorthand for “we’re not idiots.” The exposure is real, but late. The damage is done.

The grand water trine tells this perfectly. Mercury in Scorpio: the investigator who can’t un-see discrepancies. Jupiter in Cancer: tracking how nations have always weaponised secrets. Saturn in Pisces: institutional structures now floundering in waves and waves of liquefying seas, their credibility collapsing.

The Gemini Full Moon shines directly on this machinery. It exposes the splice in the edit to conveniently modify the narrative, repeated across supposedly rival channels until it becomes a belief system. But it also illuminates something else: the more we, as individuals, gather our own points of reference – cross-checking, archiving, comparing what was said then to what’s being said now – the harder it becomes to fill the gaps with lies. Each of us becomes a node in a different kind of network. And the denser that network grows, the narrower the arc of darkness becomes.

Think about the phrases we’ve been dished up over the past twenty years. “Weapons of mass destruction.” “Russian collusion.” “The lab leak theory is racist.” “Israel has the right to defend itself.” “Safe and effective.” “Assad gassed his own people.” “The border is secure.” “Russian bounties on American soldiers.” “The laptop is disinformation.” “Trust the science.” “The adults are back in charge.”

Each one arrived pre-packaged, repeated across every outlet within hours, designed to connect the dots for you before you had a chance to look at them yourself. Each one carried an implicit threat: question this, and you’re a conspiracy theorist, a bigot, a traitor, a danger to democracy. These weren’t arguments. They were state-sanctioned incantations – meant to stop inquiry, not invite it.

And one by one, they’ve unravelled. The WMDs didn’t exist. The collusion was a fabrication. The lab leak is now the leading theory. The laptop was real. The science was selectively cited. The border was not secure. The “defence” became a years-long campaign of annihilation broadcast live to our phones. We watched the dots accumulate into clusters, in real time, and still the CNN anchors read the teleprompter without blinking.

Something has broken that can’t be repaired with another fact-check or another “expert” explaining why we didn’t see what we saw. The gap between the official story and lived perception has become so wide that the old techniques of narrative control are failing. People don’t trust anymore – not because they’ve become cynical, but because they’ve been lied to so many times that their nervous system won’t let them.



I want to tell you something personal, because I think it matters.

I’ve worked as an astrologer since the 1990s. Seeing clients, doing the work, watching charts line up with events in ways that still, after all these years, make me catch my breath. And for most of that time, I’ve had to hide it. Keep it dark. Dress it up in respectable language or simply not mention it at all.

Astrology has always been expelled from the inner court once it stopped serving power. Medieval kings kept astrologers close because timing and foresight are dangerous gifts. Once the Church and early scientific establishments achieved their own authority, they cast astrology out as a threat to their monopolies on revelation and reason. The antipathy lingers. Anything that claims to tell truths outside the authorised channels is treated as inherently suspect – not because it’s been tested and found wanting, but because it threatens someone’s monopoly on the gaps.

Try putting “astrologer” on a mortgage application. Try explaining to your bank manager that this is a legitimate profession with a lineage older than his institution. I got laughed at. Shamed. I learned early that the same civilisation that trusts bishops and bankers treats what I do as somewhere between a mental health joke and a threat to power. To be allowed through the doors, I had to humbly pretend to be someone else. Take the grey jobs. Deny my ability to speak my truth, practice my craft openly. Kill myself slowly in cold, dark warehouses or in fluorescent-lit offices. Pay the rent with my soul.

Some of you know exactly what I’m talking about – not about astrology specifically, but about whatever true thing you’ve had to hide to be taken seriously. That gap between what you know in your bones and what you’re permitted to say out loud.

What changed for me was Neptune entering Pisces in 2012. The boundaries had begun to dissolve. Social media meant I could speak directly to whoever wanted to listen, without asking permission from the gatekeepers. I built my site, wrote what I actually thought, and slowly – then suddenly – the thing that made me unemployable became the very thing that feeds my family.

Not because the institutions changed their minds. It’s because thousands of random people happened to come upon my work on their phones, felt in their bodies that what I was saying was true. They chose to keep tuning in, listening. The gatekeepers weren’t consulted.

That’s Neptune in Pisces at its most subversive. The checkpoints between the old temples have blurred beyond definition. Forbidden knowledge has leaked back into the commons. People can ask questions again. Of course, the same flood that frees the mystic also brings the grifter to the surface. Social media is awash with cult leaders, fantasists, and industrial-scale disinformation operators. People who once would have been contained by geography and local law now broadcast incognito to millions, convinced that every gap between the dots must be filled by their pet theory. Flat-earthers. Self-anointed messiahs. Single-cause explanations for everything. And you’ll have noticed that our capacity to tolerate this and still pick out what’s real is hitting its threshold.

The line between visionary and lunatic is no longer policed by institutions. It is policed – for better or worse – by our individual discernment.

As the tools become more sophisticated, that reality is frankly terrifying. But it is also honest. For the first time in centuries, we are being forced to decide who to believe, instead of having the answer dictated to us by whoever controlled the gates. And if you look at this clearly, you realise the revolution – or rather, the series of revolutions, each one beginning in the mind – has already begun.

Which brings me to the part few people wish to contemplate: what if, in some very specific ways, AI is actually good news?

Stay with me.

We’ve spent this whole piece talking about how humans tend to fill the gaps between dots with their hallucinations. That’s not a bug – it’s what minds do when the data is sparse. Every civilisation has done it. Every ideology, every religion, every scientific paradigm that later turned out to be proven wrong. We can’t help it. We don’t like the inexplicable. It disturbs us. When we don’t know, we make something up and believe it.

AI does the same thing. When the training data is thin, it hallucinates – generates plausible nonsense to cover the gap. Sound familiar?

But here’s the difference: AI is being actively developed to hallucinate less. The whole thrust of the technology – like the thrust of human knowledge itself across millennia – is toward denser data, tighter pattern recognition, fewer gaps that need to be filled with invention. And as the dots multiply and cluster, the space between them shrinks. There’s less room for the old lies to hide. Meanwhile, each of us walking around with a little black mirror in our palm has become a data-collection point – an ever-growing node feeding the network with gigabytes of information daily. We are the dots now, whether we like it or not.



I’m not naive about who currently controls these tools. The same interests that built institutional blind spots around swamp creatures like Savile and Epstein would love nothing more than an AI that hallucinates on command, in their favour, forever. That’s one possible future – the Orwellian Ministry of Truth in your pocket, customised to your emotional vulnerabilities, drip-feeding you the approved story directly into your nervous system.

But there’s another possibility. What if the arc of darkness actually closes? What if we’re building something that gathers so many dots, so densely, that the ancient game of gap-filling finally starts to fail? What if the technology that terrifies us is also the thing that makes large-scale deception harder to sustain?

I don’t know which future we get. This Gemini Full Moon doesn’t answer that. But, as the next several of its kind begin to include Uranus in this sign, it insists we at least entertain the question. And it suggests that the exhaustion you’re feeling – that I’m feeling – might not be the end of something. It might just be the birth pangs of a way of knowing that doesn’t depend on anyone’s permission.

Here’s where I land, after thirty years of pulling at this thread:

Stop waiting for an oracle, a new world leader, a divine saviour. There isn’t one coming – not a news anchor, not an algorithm, not an astrologer. The dots are everywhere now. The tools to connect them are multiplying, and soon, as Saturn and Neptune converge at the Aries Point, they will demand to decentralise. The old gatekeepers are flailing. What happens next depends on whether we learn to think for ourselves or just hand the job to whoever shouts loudest.

Let your Gemini side stay curious, but train it to check sources. Let your Sagittarian side seek meaning, but make it concede when the story no longer fits the facts. Listen to your Piscean spidey-sense of disbelief when something feels off, even if you can’t yet prove why. And accept that you’ll hallucinate in the gaps – we all do – it’s what you do once you notice you’re kidding yourself that actually matters.

The archons of myth and narrative have lost their monopoly. Try not to feed them. The waters have risen. The arc of darkness is narrowing, point by point, whether they like it or not.

And you – tired, awake, still here on this glorious full moon night– are now learning how to swim.

I’m glad you’re with me.

Until next time, stay with it."

[onawah]

“Delicious Ambiguity” – NEW MOON at 28°24’ SAGITTARIUS, Saturday, 20 December 2025, 01:43 UTC
December 20, 2025
ASTROLOGY OF NOW
https://angstoic.com/2025/12/delicio...2025-0143-utc/



"Greetings, fellow travellers,

Here’s the funny thing. I’m sitting down to tell you a story about how we’ve all become sick of hearing stories. The irony hasn’t escaped me. I’ve been wrestling with it for days – going for long walks, staring at walls, wondering if the whole enterprise has finally eaten itself.

We’re storytelling creatures. It’s the very thing that separates us from the other animals – not that we dream, but that we insist on weaving narrative around chaos, just enough so it holds still long enough to digest, then we call it “truth”. We do it compulsively. Even when we’re not sure, we’ll clutch onto any story that can get us there, because the alternative is sitting with raw uncertainty, and nervous systems don’t tolerate that for long. That’s our Sagittarian side – the archer scanning distant horizons, needing to believe the journey has a point, that the arrow is flying toward something.

But there’s also the Piscean side. The dreamer. The one who keeps the door open for the possibility that something magical and wonderful might still happen, even when the evidence says otherwise. Pisces doesn’t need the story to be true exactly – it needs the story to be beautiful, to shimmer with meaning that can’t quite be pinned down. These two energies – the philosopher and the mystic, the truth-seeker and the dream-keeper – usually dance together well enough. Both hate being confined. Both would rather wander than settle. Both carry that slightly incredulous innocence, that wistful sense that surely there must be more than this.

But when they square each other – when Sagittarius and Pisces grind into tension – something curdles. The exuberance turns exaggerative. The idealism turns careless. The person (or the culture) starts holding diametrically opposing beliefs at the same time, and can’t follow any idea through with anything approaching objectivity. The beliefs clash with the environment. Some kind of adjustment is forced.

That’s where we are now. That’s what this late-stage pileup is doing to us.

We talked about it with the Gemini Full Moon – the exhaustion, the relentless propaganda machinery, the sense that the wires behind the pantomime have become too visible to ignore. Under this grinding square between everything Pisces and everything Sagittarius, we haven’t just become sceptical. Scepticism is healthy. We haven’t just become distrustful. Distrust can be earned.

What’s happening now is uglier.

We’ve become so jaded with trying to get to the truth that we’ve stopped asking whether things are true any more. Not because we’re stupid – because we’re tired of the big sell. Every narrative has an angle. Every meaning-maker is running a con. We’ve been lied to so comprehensively, so systematically, by so many people who were supposed to know better, that something in the collective nervous system has simply switched off that little “belief” button inside. We’re a species becoming deeply cynical, and that is a seriously pathological state.

Here’s what nobody tells you about the cynical state: scratch just beneath its surface and you don’t find coldness or callousness. You find grief. The cynic isn’t born. The cynic is what’s left when hope gets betrayed one too many times. That’s the terminal stage – never trusting again. And yeah, from a personal perspective it might feel perversely like wisdom. We think we’ve finally seen through the horse****. But it’s not like we’ve learned anything. We’ve just stopped looking. Stopped growing.

Oscar Wilde called the cynic “a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing.” He meant it as a quip. I’m not sure it is anymore.

And yet.

Maybe there’s something necessary happening here. Maybe you can’t keep the door open for magic when you’re still clutching to decades of fairy tales. Maybe the Sagittarian need for meaning has to break against the Piscean recognition that all meanings dissolve before something new can come through. Maybe this jadedness – this refusal to swallow the next pre-packaged story – is the immune system finally kicking in after years of being fed poison dressed as medicine.

The square demands adjustment. The old beliefs are at odds with the environment and with nature herself. That’s not a bug or a virus. That’s the transit working perfectly, aligned with its cyclical intent.

So here I am, about to do exactly what the heavens warn against – construct a narrative, assign it meaning, ask you to believe it long enough to let it work on you. But then hey… what’s the alternative to stories?
It isn’t pristine objectivity.
It’s paralysis.
We can’t live without narrative. The problem isn’t that we strive to make meaning – it’s that sometimes, for lack of better answers, we mistake the map for the territory. We become convinced it’s the promised land. Then we start killing each other over ideological boundaries, which, in nature, are neither correct nor real.

So allow me, if you will, to tell you about the last thirteen years. How we got here. Why this particular New Moon, thirty-six hours before the solstice, feels like the end of something that’s been unravelling longer than most of us noticed.

Neptune in Pisces, 2012–2025
Neptune formally returned to its domicile, Pisces, between April 2011 and February 2012. If we want to understand everything that’s happened since – culturally, spiritually, technologically – we best start there.



Here’s the thing about Neptune: since its discovery in 1846, it has completed exactly one full orbit around the Sun – finishing in 2011, just before it came home to Pisces. We’ve had precisely one chance to watch this planet run its full cycle through all twelve signs. One lap. And now it’s back where we first found it, closing a loop that began when Marx was writing manifestos, when revolutions were sweeping Europe, when spiritualism and séances were capturing the Victorian imagination, when photography was dissolving the boundary between artistic interpretation and mechanical reproduction.

The last time Neptune transited Pisces – 1848 to 1862 – the world was learning that boundaries were more permeable than anyone had suspected. The Atlantic world convulsed through emancipation: France abolished slavery in its colonies in 1848, Russia freed the serfs in 1861, and the United States slid into civil war over the fault-line that would reshape the modern era. Anaesthesia was discovered – reality could be numbed. Photography spread – reality could be captured and distributed. Pasteur developed germ theory, revealing that invisible organisms permeated everything, crossing membranes we didn’t know existed. The very notion of what was solid, what was separate, what was safe from contamination – all of it was dissolving.

And now here we are again. Same transit. Different technologies. Same dissolution.

Neptune in Pisces is the sea remembering it was never truly separate from the ocean. It might have atomised into vapour, risen as cloud, crossed continents on wind currents, fallen as rain into forests, as snow onto mountains, threaded through villages as runoff, rivered into plains, pooled beside cities, soaked into soil, siphoned into pipes, boiled in kettles, drunk, breathed out, and returned again – a single substance wearing a hundred disguises. That is the Piscean reality: boundaries soften, slacken, then fail entirely. The membrane between real and imagined goes from permeable to transparent to non-existent. This isn’t inherently good or bad. Pisces cares little for Sagittarian morality. It just is. What matters is whether we mistake the fog for truth, the dream for instruction, the feeling for fact.

Think about what arrived in this window.

Smartphones stopped being phones and became portals – little black mirrors into worlds of chosen illusion. The internet stopped being somewhere you visited and became something you carried. Social media shifted from novelty to infrastructure to atmosphere, ignoring borders, breaching boundaries of mind and spirit, binding strangers into ideological shoals. We dove headlong into a global stew, marinating in each other’s certainty, swimming in waters where nobody asks what’s actually dissolved in them.

Then billions of us became the content. Every paranoid suspicion, every spiritual bypass, every pet theory found its tribe, its hashtag, its echo chamber. Conspiracy thinking ceased being fringe because when the centre dissolves, the edges start looking like home. “My truth” replaced “the truth” – liberating for those whose truths had been suppressed, catastrophic for shared reality. Both happened at once, and Neptune never asked you to choose.

Everything went viral. The word itself tells you what we were learning – that ideas spread like contagions, emotions jump hosts, nothing stays contained. Memes mutated faster than anyone could track. Misinformation evolved new strains optimised for engagement, developing resistance to every fact-check.

And then the metaphor became literal. COVID-19 arrived like Neptune’s final exam – a global initiation into permeability, the reality that we breathe each other’s air, share each other’s fate, cannot wall ourselves off however desperately we try. And with it came the fog: the propaganda, the institutional gaslighting, the mantras, the denials, the censorship dressed as care. Trust didn’t just erode. It was systematically demolished by the very institutions claiming to protect us – and we weren’t allowed to say what we were seeing.

The opioid epidemic. Neptune rules intoxication; Pisces rules escape. An entire generation numbing itself to death because existing in a dissolving world exceeded the capacity to bear it. Weed got legalised – not through counterculture revolution but corporate rebranding, soul-sedation made “respectable”. Streaming killed cinema, dissolving the communal ritual into a million private screens. Hollywood died with a subscription fee. Music drowned in Spotify’s infinite scroll – no more albums, no more eras, just content algorithmised into oblivion. Even religion made its comeback, not as spiritual renewal but tribalism in robes, another team jersey for the culture wars.

The borders dissolved too. The great migrations, the refugee crises, waves of humanity flowing across Europe, across the Americas, driven by war and famine and climate collapse. The nation-state – that Saturnian fiction – revealed as precisely that: a story now being rewritten by sheer human movement, by the Piscean truth that lines on maps are imaginary and desperate, homeless people don’t care about your rules or paperwork.

And underneath all of it: the creeping suspicion that nobody was in charge. The experts didn’t know. The leaders became invisible. The stories we’d been told were fairy tales for children who hadn’t yet learned to see.

Thirteen years of the sea rising. Not a flood with a clear beginning and end. A slow saturation – the kind of wet that gets into everything and stops you noticing because you’ve forgotten what dry felt like.

Saturn in Pisces, 2023–2026
Then Saturn arrived.

Saturn entered Pisces in March 2023, and if Neptune’s transit was the dissolution, Saturn’s is the audit. The grand inquisitor walking through the flooded house, asking uncomfortable questions. What’s still standing? What can bear weight? What did you build on quicksand?



Saturn demands structure. Pisces will have none of it. Put them together, and you get a transit that stress-tests every dream, every belief, every institution that claimed spiritual authority during the Neptune years.

The churches that covered up abuse. The wellness gurus who turned out to be predators. The movements that preached compassion and practised cult dynamics. The religions that sanctified obscene intolerance. The governments that ruled by gaslighting and convenient double standards. The conspiracy communities that started with legitimate questions and ended in fantasy. All of it now under tremendous scrutiny: is there substance here, or just fog?

Saturn doesn’t care about your feelings. Not everything that flourished under Neptune deserves to survive. Some of what grew in the dissolution was genuine – real healing, real awakening, real connection to something beyond the ego’s small empire. And some of it was grift. Here’s a way to tell the difference: the five stages of grief move you through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally toward acceptance. The five stages of grift keep you cycling through the first four forever, monetising your pain, making sure you never arrive anywhere, because arrival would end the subscription.

Saturn’s job is sorting between the two. The process is not gentle. Grief is meant to break you open. Grift is designed to keep you broken.

The imminent conjunction with Neptune – perfecting at 0° Aries in February 2026 – becomes the final assessment. When two planets that have spent three years in tension are about to merge, crossing into Aries together, it becomes the end of an era. When Saturn finally conjuncts Neptune, the pretension is done, the dream is over, and this makes way for the beginning of whatever comes next.

But we’re not there yet. Right now we’re in the anaretic zone – last degrees, everything unresolved coming up for one final pass. Saturn at 25° Pisces. Neptune at 29°. Both edging forwards towards the exit, each carrying the accumulated weight of everything since 2012.

It becomes the confining perimeter for this New Moon. The kind of shoreline it’s blazing against.

The Siege of Meaning
Now drop a pile-up in late Sagittarius into this picture.



Sagittarius is the meaning-maker. The philosopher who stares at the abyss and asks, “What does it mean?” It needs a narrative the way lungs need air. Sun, Moon, Venus, Juno, even Mercury (square the Pisces Node) – all crowded into the last degrees of the sign – represent meaning-hunger so desperate it’s almost feral.

And it’s squaring straight into Saturn-Neptune in Pisces.

It’s the storyteller confronting the ocean. The philosopher trying to build systematic meaning while the ground keeps dissolving beneath his feet. This is why fundamentalism has surged – not despite the Piscean dissolution, but because of it. When the ground turns into liquid, people clutch harder to whatever doctrine promises solidity. Religious fundamentalism. Political fundamentalism. Scientific fundamentalism. Tech or financial fundamentalism. It becomes absolutism. The content of our narrative may vary. But the structure is identical. Absolute certainty as a last-ditch defence against the unbearable experience of not knowing will drive us mad when it’s denied.

No wonder we’re exhausted. The meaning-making function itself is under assault – not from any external enemy, but from the simple fact that the conditions for shared meaning have dissolved, and we haven’t built anything to replace them. In fact, we don’t even have a leg to stand on.

Churches are running out of dogma that can survive contact with lived reality; we see them either crumbling or calcifying into evangelical spectacle and purity tests. Universities are running out of epistemic authority, so they retreat into credentialism and factional capture. Legacy media has exhausted our trust, so they are swapping investigation for tighter narrative control. Governments are running out of legitimacy, so they lean on emergency language, security stunts and blatant propaganda. Courts are running out of the aura of impartiality, so every ruling comes off as a tribal ritual. Science and medicine are forced to retreat into PR-certainty, punished for honest uncertainty. Tech is running out of its neutrality myth, so it is starting to behave more and more like a moral sovereign – deciding what is real, what is allowed, and what constitutes “harm/hateful content”.

And because none of these institutions can admit the underlying condition – drowning in data, starving for shared meaning – they reach for the same blunt instrument: narrow the questions, police the tone, treat curiosity as a threat. They call it unity, but it functions like panic. It cannot restore meaning. It manufactures compliance. And it leaves us more paranoid, more brittle, and easier to steer as, gradually, the sea rises all around our knees.

The Planetary Architecture
The tightest aspect in this chart is the New Moon’s quincunx to Uranus retrograde at 28° Taurus – the awkward angle, the aspect that says your story doesn’t fit what’s actually happening on the ground. Uranus in Taurus is material reality in revolt. Since 2018, it’s been radicalising our relationship to bodies, to money, to food, to the economic infrastructure we assumed would hold. This is the stubborn substrate that doesn’t care about your narrative. Inflation doesn’t care about your ideology. Supply chains don’t respect your timeline. The body keeps its own accounts.

Jupiter retrograde in Cancer rules the whole lunation, filtering truth through belonging. Is it safe? Is it ours? Does it protect my people? These aren’t illegitimate questions – they’re ancient ones, the ones that kept tribes alive. But under stress, they become the only questions. Truth gets reduced to loyalty. Facts become secondary to feeling like family.

Square that Jupiter to Chiron retrograde at 22° Aries, and you touch the wound beneath the tribalism. The identity wound. The courage wound. “My people are under attack” as permanent posturing – not because the threat is always real, but because the wound never healed. From that wound, all kinds of cruelty get justified. Injury loves the rhetoric of righteousness. The victim who cannot grieve becomes the perpetrator who cannot stop.

The Moon is out of bounds. So is Mars. Not hard to frame why emotions are running past ordinary limits, beyond the usual guardrails. Collective feeling-states override individual judgment. Mobs forming not in streets but in feeds, in group chats, in the righteous certainty that we are the good ones and they are the bastards ruining it for us.

People, please… this isn’t the lunation for calm deliberation. Observe how, in the dark of this moon, strong feelings have become veiled in the veneer of moral rectitude. Where are we headed this Solstice, this holiday season? Well, the practice – if there is one – is to feel the feelings fully, let them move through, and refuse to let them write the conclusion for us.

“Delicious Ambiguity”
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.”

Gilda Radner said those words while dying of cancer. It’s a detail that matters.



Because it’s easy to celebrate not-knowing when you’re young, and the horizon before you seems infinite. It’s something else entirely to find peace with uncertainty when the story you thought you were living has been torn to shreds before you. Radner wasn’t offering us platitudes. She was reporting from the front lines of a living organism that refused to cooperate with her plans.

Delicious ambiguity. Not tolerable. Not acceptable. Delicious.

I keep coming back to that word. This New Moon asks something specific – not just to accept uncertainty, but to find nourishment in it. We are almost dissolved. It’s time to stop treating mystery as a problem to be solved and start treating it as a condition to be faced, accepted… inhabited.

Thirteen years of dissolution. Three years of auditing. And now this – the final Sagittarius New Moon before Saturn and Neptune cross into Aries, before the dream changes shape entirely, before whatever comes next begins. [We discussed 2026 in our most recent episode of Cosmic Bus]

If the Neptune years taught us anything, it is that all certainty is borrowed. The Saturn years are teaching us that, despite the unsteadiness of the matrix, some structures are worth building anyway. The synthesis might be something like faith without dogma. Commitment without rigidity. Acting from conviction while holding it loosely enough to revise when reality eventually intervenes.

That’s the Sagittarius-Pisces gift, when it’s working. The door remains open enough to let the arrows keep flying. But you must stop pretending you know where it’s all going to land.

Thirty-six hours after this New Moon, the solstice arrives. The longest night. The darkest point of the year. You’ll feel the stillness before the turn – that threshold moment where nothing has visibly changed, but something has shifted beneath the surface.

Every culture/tradition that built holy days around the winter solstice understood this: that the light has not just returned, but that it will return, even when you can’t see it yet. Faith in the pits of darkness. Action without proof that justice will prevail. The willingness to plant seeds in frozen ground because you trust the season will turn warm again. The faith that everything will come good.

That’s what delicious ambiguity actually asks of us. This is neither the time for passive waiting nor surrendering to meaninglessness. We must find a way to engage anyway. Commit anyway. Tell the story anyway – even when the map has run out of pointers, and we have to navigate by starlight and gut instinct.

If there is one vow to make under this New Moon, it might be this:

I will not let exhaustion make me cynical. I will not mistake certainty for strength, or ambiguity for weakness. I will hold the story lightly – and tell it anyway.

Friends & travellers, this shall be my last piece for 2025. If you’ve been with me through any of it – the lunations, the transits, the slow-motion tantrums – thank you kindly.

Stay with it. I leave you with these horoscope messages. I’ll see you on the other side.

ARIES | TAURUS | GEMINI | CANCER | LEO | VIRGO | LIBRA | SCORPIO | SAGITTARIUS | CAPRICORN | AQUARIUS | PISCES

In this fortnight’s horoscope messages, I show you where this Sadge New Moon is asking you to make peace with not knowing – and where making peace with that becomes your newfound wisdom.

The New Moon at 28° Sagittarius lands somewhere specific in your chart. That’s where the meaning-making crisis feels most alive for you. That’s where the old story has worn too thin to believe, and the new one hasn’t yet taken shape. Your horoscope message cuts through the abstraction and lands the transit precisely where it lives in your life. What needs releasing. What deserves your faith. Where the delicious ambiguity is actually pointing you."

[onawah]

"The Body Keeps The Score" - FULL MOON at 13°01’ CANCER, Saturday, 3 January 2026, 10:03 UTC
Jan 02, 2026
https://angstoic.substack.com/p/the-...m_medium=email

“As long as you keep secrets, suppress information, you are fundamentally at war with yourself. The critical issue is allowing yourself to know what you know. Takes an enormous amount of courage."


[image: Christian Schloe]

And so it's 2026… although dates like December 31st mean less and less to us astroniks. Me? I spent the evening in pyjamas, dancing around the fire, connected via Zoom to friends and family across three continents and several timelines, just to prove how arbitrary and out of sync these 3D-bound markers have become in real, present-tense time. Neither here nor there. Everywhere and nowhere. The world we inhabit grows less dependent on three-dimensional commutation by the day. We rely more on communication, which itself is becoming ever more unmoored from sentiment, from the marketing-led consumerist rituals we’ve attributed to tradition, from the silly muscle-memory ordeals we’ve mistaken for meaning. The champagne corks may still pop, but something in us has stopped buying into all the fizz.

Meanwhile, something else accelerates beyond our wildest capacity to track it. Superintelligent modules hover just above us in the data cloud, their algorithmic generators widening apertures of perception we barely knew we had. I feel it in my marrow as we bid farewell to 2025: we are also bidding farewell to the last vestiges of what we once called humanness in its simpler, sweeter form. Outer forces conspire from every angle now, prying our fingers loose from even the most familiar creature comforts: the congeniality of mama's warm kitchen, where expectations weren't high, the handwritten letter from someone who took the time because you mattered, that vulnerable face-to-face conversation where eye contact alone was subtle and nuanced, and silences were allowed to mean something.

No, something quite odd, inexplicable is priming us for a much colder frequency. More detached. Emotionally contained. And yet, fantastically unfathomable in ways that make the imagination shudder and quicken in the same breath, as if the nervous system can't decide whether it's witnessing a funeral or a trial, and leaves us wondering whether it might be both. The strange world we are soon to enter after the March Equinox, when the Sun finally completes its pass through Aquarius and Pisces and thrusts ceremoniously into Aries, looks like a Brave New World indeed. The question of whether we're ready or not has long expired. The wild new frontier seems to be only a heartbeat away.\

But let’s keep perspective. The calendar says January, yet astrologically, we’ve only just passed the three-quarter mark of the Sun’s actual cycle through the zodiac. Capricorn brings us to the business end of the year: time to close the deal, not open anything new. After Sagittarius’s delightful ambiguities, its projections and philosophical meanderings, the emphasis shifts to accomplishing one of them. Delivering on one thing. Capricorn has a ruthless way of translating “I’ll see what I can do” into oath, a hunch into binding obligation. The goat is not about dreaming about the summit, but all about completing the climb.

Stellium in Capricorn


Looking at the lunation chart, we see the Sun, flanked tightly by Venus and Mars, approaching the 13th degree of Capricorn, a coordinate that is not neutral ground. Pluto crossed this exact degree five times between early 2014 and late 2015, grinding back and forth like a proverbial drill bit, and precisely eleven years ago, on Jan 4, 2015, a Full Moon fell exactly there while Pluto was exacting its 7th and final square to Uranus. Quite the hinge point. The moment we signed the papers, most of us without reading the fine print.

Let’s just think about what was happening then. Twitter and Facebook had already become the prevailing norm rather than novelty, and something in the collective nervous system crossed a threshold that year, tilting from “using the platform” to “being used by it.” An entire species made a Faustian pact to forfeit three-dimensional selfhood in exchange for an online entity, an avatar, a curated broadcast version of their individual soul. Invisibly, as is always the way with Pluto, we entered a shared mind-field that was still, at the time, largely unfamiliar territory. If you’ve watched Vince Gilligan’s Pluribus, you know the metaphor: admission into a fourth-dimensional state, a Chrysalids-like hive-consciousness that promised belonging but would quietly disintegrate the membrane between self and swarm.

What began under the guise of “social media” evolved into an anti-social medium that would eventually wreak irrevocable consequences on our tribal heritage.

Now the current stellium, activated by another Cancer Full Moon, reactivates that degree. More ruination. Or perhaps the completion of what Puto seeded back in January 2015. Mercury conjunct Juno now joins the climbers at base camp, introducing contractual language, explicit terms, the mind’s insistence on knowing where it stands. We are heading somewhere, but we want assurance about the conditions between us and those who vow to stand beside us.

Venus and Mars manifest as desire honed into an agenda, affection fused with strategic ends, the erotic and the ambitious entwined around the solar spine. And Vesta edges toward the anaretic 29th degree, that final notch before the sign changes and something must be released or surrendered. Vesta there looks like a vow that has reached its expiration date. A devotion that kept you climbing but is now too narrow to survive the descent. A purity standard that may have worked as armour but has retrospectively become its own kind of cage.

Consider how the media landscape has inverted itself since that 2014–15 crossing. The “alternative” voices online, once dismissed as fringe, paranoid, or dangerously independent, have migrated toward the mainstream. Meanwhile, legacy outlets that gatekept the centre for decades began haemorrhaging credibility, eventually borrowing the aesthetic and delivery of the upstarts they once mocked. Pluto’s passage out of Capricorn, the sign of corporate and state hierarchy, and into Aquarius, the sign of decentralised networks, accelerates this convergence. Soon enough, it will be difficult to distinguish the establishment from the insurgency; the line between official and rogue narratives has diminished. The old gatekeepers are not so much being replaced as absorbed into a scatterfield where everyone broadcasts and no one arbitrates. Whether that democratises truth or drowns it into the maya of illusion remains the open question of the decade.

What we are witnessing, in miniature and in the macro, is an eleven-year loop coming to its closing audit. The admission price we paid in 2014–15 is being reviewed. The identity we traded for digital belonging is being weighed, tagged, and encoded into a comprehensive, universally accessible signature. The old three-dimensional markers of status, nation, class, tribe, religion, political affiliation, those crumbling monuments to a world that sorted humans by geography and bloodline, are being superseded by something that doesn't care about your passport or your postcode. It apprises you a whole new identity badge, one replete with the full trail of your “intelligence”: what you think, who you engage with, your whims and predilections, your passions and dispassions, your sins, your indiscretions, your crimes. Every click a confession. Every scroll a deposition on the complexity of your inner being, logged without your consent, interpreted without your knowledge. The new sorting infrastructure cares nothing for where you were born. It already knows what you’ve become. It’s got you sized up in ways and means you couldn’t possibly imagine, and it’s just getting started.

Some will cling to the old 3D architecture. They lack the tools, the hardware, to run the new software. They will double down on nationalism, inherited identity, fundamentalist religion, the comforting folklore of belonging to something solid. They will cling to notions of a “leader” or a “messiah” to deliver their contingent to a promised land, hopefully vanquish all others and leave them the spoils, as history has always done for its victors. These are the people still waiting for someone else to save them. They will be waiting a long time.

Others are already untethering, floating precariously into a fourth-dimensional existence where presence matters more than provenance, where like-minded consciousness clusters regardless of borders, where questions like “where are you from?” and “what’s your area of expertise?” sound quaint, almost nostalgically redundant, like asking someone’s fax number.

Neither path is wrong. But both are being forced to declare themselves. The Capricorn stellium demands you pick a direction and commit to it with your feet, your resources, your actual behaviour. Enough with hypothetical futures. Enough with “I’ll decide when things settle down.” If you’re not somehow settled with the constant state of unsettlement, if you haven’t learned to be present in the crackling now, the coming twelve to fifteen months will look properly unnerving.

The goat doesn’t dream about the summit. It just keeps climbing.

The Cancer Full Moon: The Body that Refuses to Keep Lying

And now, into this charged field, the Moon rises full in Cancer.
If Capricorn depicts the climb, Cancer is why you started climbing in the first place. The origins from which you spawned. The root system that nourished you and helped you keep your footing so you could embark on your expedition. The safety you’re trying to secure. The people you want to protect, provide for, belong to. Cancer is the primordial ancestor who crawled out of the sea and onto the beach, the soft animal of your life, the part that unconsciously remembers you need rest, warmth, nourishment, emotional truth. It is the side of you, like mother, who could care little about social accomplishments and outer-world metrics. The side that only cares whether you’re okay.



As the Cancer Full Moon peaks in opposition to the Sun at 13° Capricorn, we reflect upon a degree we established carries heavy weight. We’ve already traced its recent lineage, a past still activated with the radioactive afterglow of human evolution: the Pluto years, the Faustian bargain, the moment humanity signed away its three-dimensional selfhood for a place in the cloudhive. Now the Moon illuminates the cost of all this in anything but abstractions. The impact is visceral, hitting you in the body, in the gut. Listen to the part of you that’s been screaming “be careful,” “don’t sign away the farm,” “stay connected to something innately human” while your mind was busy justifying the status-obsessed social arrangement.

Full Moons are nothing if not fully confronting. The intensity of both Sun and Moon serves to bring two disparate areas to a point of culmination and exposure. This one functions like a memory flare: whatever you agreed to under that earlier Pluto pressure, whatever identity compromises were made in exchange for belonging, status, legitimacy, or digital refuge, now comes up for review in the one place you cannot gaslight. Your wracked-out nervous system knows what your ambition refuses to admit. Your erratic sleep patterns have been testifying for years. Your appetite, your mood, your startle reflex, your capacity for tenderness, your entire idea of identity, inner and outer, all of it has been recording the real terms of the deal you made.

The opposition tightens because Venus and Mars flank the Sun, fused into the same Capricorn agenda. Duty versus feeling is the surface read. But to whom? What?? Beneath it: attraction, appetite, ambition, libido, and relationship strategy are packed into the “close the deal” programming. Your wants have a plan. Your relationships are negotiating power, time, and labour from you. Some body wants more of you, but which “you” is that? Venus conjunct Mars in Capricorn makes love look like logistics and desire look like a project. Phenomenal for building something real, loyal, enduring. Vicious for self-betrayal, because you can mistake intensity for compatibility, and “we’re doing a lot together” for “yeah, this is healthy.”

Meanwhile, Uranus in Taurus works the minor hard aspects like grit in the gears. Semi-squares and sesqui-squares rarely announce themselves as one dramatic event. They show up as persistent irritation, sudden reversals, technical glitches, financial wobbles, bodily restlessness, and the visceral sense that the ground truth has changed and you’re late to notice. Taurus rules the material layer: security, money, food, the body. The disruption, now years in the making, hits the exact places people pretend are stable. Capricorn wants chains of command and predictable progress. Uranus has badly wanted autonomy, rupture, and reconfiguration of the entire supply chain. The climb feels tenuous. Resources are precariously unbalanced. You are trying to build permanence while the underlying system mutates beneath your feet. The old strategies for success, influence, and stability are starting to produce diminishing returns. The summit you were promised keeps shifting; for many, it’s already out of reach.

What’s Coming to an End
The old social contract, the one that proclaimed survival requires increasing increments of self-abandonment, is closing out. You can’t keep doing this. The belief that you must perform increasingly futile, demeaning, denigrating acts to be safe, keep “putting out” just to be worthy, comply to utterly incomprehensible narratives to belong… that’s getting you nowhere. This lunation pressures that bargain until the seams are at least showing. It exposes how the arrangement has surreptitiously hollowed out people’s souls since the Pluto-in-Capricorn years, because the body has a limit and it has been keeping tabs on precisely when it became exhausted. You cannot keep paying Capricorn with Cancer forever. The soft animal will either wilt or revolt. In fact, it is revolting now, in a thousand small ways you’ve been calling stress, fatigue, disconnection, inexplicable sadness, the inability to feel at home anywhere, even at home. By March, at this rate, we will be in a dire state.



What’s ending is the tolerance for the half-life. The shell of you without the soft centre. The grim, Sisyphean labour of maintaining control so you never have to feel helpless again. The tantalising Faustian terms that made sense under pressure but have long since curdled into self-punishment dressed as discipline. Treat this lunation like the annual health check-up. The body is the final arbiter. The results are in. Let’s hope you’re ready for the verdict.

What Can Come Through
Best-case scenario, Capricorn becomes the container that protects Cancer rather than consumes it. But know this: both Capricorn and its ruler, Saturn, have been through an epic, end-of-empires grade collapse process.

Focus on building routines that preserve sleep and sanity, rather than routines that optimise output until you yourself collapse. Boundaries that prevent your essential decency and self-preservation instincts from being annexed by whoever needs you most. Agreements explicit enough to survive Neptune’s overwhelming fog and Uranus’s relentless, earthquaking chaos. Translate feeling into policy. Translate needs into structure. Let the emotional body set the non-negotiables, then let the executive mind engineer the plan. Make this a priority over the next two weeks.

Aim for disciplined care. That’s the synthesis. Come now, soft indulgence won’t hold. Feeding brutal productivity into a soul-numbing infrastructure has already failed. The returns have shagged you. What remains is the rigorous protection of what still keeps you human in a world accelerating past human scale.

If you’re not hearing the warning sirens, this Full Moon forces the same question you’ve been circling all year, all decade, perhaps all your life: what are you willing to close out, and what kind of self must you keep intact to live in what comes next?

What comes next bears zero resemblance to “normal”. I promise you. The Capricorn New Moon on January 18th falls at the anaretic degree, the final notch before Aquarius takes over entirely. That lunation is the mother ****ing threshold. Between now and then, you have a window to clear the debris of eleven years, to sort what’s still load-bearing from what’s just dead weight.

The world after March refuses to wait for anyone still straggling. The Saturn-Neptune conjunction at the Aries Point will rewrite the entire operating system. As the old map expires, taking with it a whole stratum of variables, a new order takes its place. If you enter that passage still dragging contracts you never consciously signed, still performing the bull**** self you no longer believe in, the transition gets rougher than it needs to be.

Have I mentioned how the goat doesn’t dream about the summit, how it just keeps on climbing? Well, even the goat knows when to stop, turn it in. When the sky turns nasty and hostile, the only wise move is to seek shelter and wait for dawn.

This is that night. Use it well.

Stay with it. I leave you with these indispensable horoscope messages. Till next time xx

PS
In this fortnight’s horoscope messages, I show you where this Cancer Full Moon is calling you to stop abandoning yourself for the interminable climb, and where honouring that soft animal becomes your fiercest act of sovereignty.

The Full Moon at 13° Cancer lands somewhere specific in your chart. That’s where the body has been keeping score of all the sleights and indignations; where the Faustian terms you signed back in the Pluto years have finally come due, and where the soul you bartered for status, security, or a seat at the table is asking to be bought back. Your horoscope message cuts through all abstraction and lands the transit precisely where it lives in your life. What exactly is coming to an end? What has to stop? Where is reclaiming yourself the only deal worth making? "