We walk gently into the Crescent phase with a Moon in late Taurus.
Imagine you’re on a pilgrim trail in an ancient half-wild landscape, your group following a robed monk walking barefoot, a quiet soul who names each flower along the roadside. This is our Moon.
The Moon is exalted in Taurus, reveling in an earthy Venusian comfort that is more about what is simple and true, than about the detailed intricacies of high art.
The lay brother we imagine walking with is a Daoist monk, or perhaps Franciscan friar, aligned with the Earth herself.
In the company of such a simple and saintly man, we will not fear the conjunction with the dread star Algol, although we might murmur an extra prayer or ring our pilgrim bell.
It does take a certain amount of foolishness to go walkabout with this Moon, so prepare yourself to take things as they come. This company of travelers seems to include a motley bunch:
The Moon is conjunct Uranus as well as Algol, so who knows what might happen?
The Moon and Uranus sextile Mars in Cancer, a Moon-ruled Mars ready, perhaps, for his own foolishness, or a soldier offering protection to all pilgrims.
On the other side, the Moon and Uranus sextile the entire Pisces cluster of Saturn, North Node, Venus, and Mercury. Mars trines the Pisces group. We might see this group as mystics in strange garb, chanting and swaying, seemingly in a shared trance.
The Moon’s semisquare to the Sun defines the Crescent phase, a time when we might see a glimmer of insight within the clouds of the eclipse field. The Aries Sun sextiles Jupiter in Gemini, Fire and Air inspiring each other to action.
Where each of us fit in to this gaggle of mendicants, players, and pilgrims depends on how the planets interact with our birth chart.
My Sun, for example, sits at 0º Libra, so as each planet crosses into Aries, it opposes my Sun. It’s been a cross between a square dance and an arcane ritual to face Mercury and Venus, the North Node, Sun and Moon, and now Neptune cross into Aries, only to slip back into the Piscean cloud bank.
The eclipses we’re emerging from and the Moon conjunct Uranus point to change, swift and unlooked for. It’s best to hold any goals and plans lightly, shifting focus as opportunities present themselves.
It is April Fools Day, after all, so expect to be surprised.
The Roman holiday Hilaria, at the Equinox, began with a solemn procession to honor Cybele, and devolved into all kinds of games and amusements that might have contributed to the tricksy modern holiday on April 1.
The Indian festival of Holi, with its bright colors and light-hearted mood, was celebrated at the Full Moon eclipse in mid-March to welcome the arrival of Spring.
French children celebrate Aprils Fools by sneaking in to tape a paper fish to someone’s back, the tagged person becoming the Poisson d’Avril, the April Fish––a tradition that began in the 1400’s, one very appropriate to all our Piscean fish in the sky this year.
This chart reflects many kinds of foolishness we can encounter in the world, or in ourselves.
I’m especially interested in the Moon–Uranus conjunction as the center, reaching out to Mars, the Piscean group, and the Sun.
If we imagine the Moon in Taurus as a Daoist monk, we have an archetype for the slow moving, deeply wise, deceptively simple energy of Taurus. I love the Daoist tale of the village plagued by drought who invites a traveling monk to conduct a ritual for rain.
The monk retires into a cottage, resting quietly, speaking to no one. The villagers are increasingly unhappy, wanting the monk to take action and address their problem. After some days, the monk emerges and the rain comes, as he explains that he needed to bring himself into alignment with the land, to shift the conditions that created the drought.
This slow, trustful alignment is a wise approach to our tumultuous times.
Uranus has been linked to Prometheus, the bold revolutionary who stole fire from Mount Olympus against Zeus’ strict prohibition, and gave it to humans. While Prometheus is often seen as a heroic archetype, the savior of humanity, Zeus likely saw him as more like Loki, a disrupter who went against the gods for his own ends.
Prometheus as Trickster, in deliberate revolutionary mode.
I’ve often wondered about Epimetheus, brother to Prometheus, who seems to have been something of a bumbler. What does it mean to have these two as brothers, one so decisive and brave and the other more than a bit goofy?
Epimetheus accepts Pandora as a gift from Zeus, ignoring his brother’s warning about this. He marries her, which leads to all the ills trapped in her jar being let loose on the world, with Hope last of all.
What if we see Epimetheus as Coyote, another kind of Trickster who ignores warnings, and thinks his actions will be fine, really. I mean, what could happen?
Epimetheus, like Coyote, shows us another side of being human. We’re not always heroic. Sometimes we can barely tie our shoes. Yet somehow we haven’t blown everything up–yet.
As we move into this Crescent phase, hoping for more insight, it’s good to remember we’re in the company of fools:
The Daoist wisdom of radical simplicity embodied by the Taurus Moon.
The radical trickster revolutionary Prometheus, who defies the gods and takes the consequences.
And last but possibly not least, the Coyote energy of Epimetheus, the brother who can’t quite get it together but is somehow endearing all the same.
We all hold a piece of the puzzle. We all need patience and good will in these challenging times. And in our foolishness, sometimes, we are beautiful without even knowing it.
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