New Moon in Pisces

Uncloaking the miraculous

Alex Amorosi

Mar 17

The new moon comes through at 28 degrees of Pisces on Wednesday March 18th at 9:23pm eastern time. This lunation is a soft landing for a rough and tumble eclipse season that calls us back to unattended subterranean spaces in our emotional and spiritual lives. The sun and moon are both ruled by Jupiter recently stationed direct in Cancer which adds a caring and private flavor to the upcoming month. Mercury is also setting up to station direct conjoined the moon’s north node in Pisces on Friday March 20th which suggests we will be compelled towards making our more personal dreams an external reality.

The signs of Virgo and Pisces straddle the equinox points with Virgo heralding the coming of the dark in the autumnal equinox and Pisces heralding the light in the vernal equinox. A way to imagine Pisces is as a scuba diver just under the surface of the ocean. This diver can look up and see the sun through the waves and also look down to see the murky depths that obfuscate the deep ocean floor. The diver, Pisces, can neither see the sun nor the ocean floor clearly. In each direction its view is slightly obscured and skewed.

I was pondering and had a brief conversation yesterday about how reliant on not only the internet most of us are, but also on technology in general. Today's Astro Poets reading for the Saturn-Neptune conjunction in my sun sign:

You will love many parts of the Saturn-Neptune conjunction. The urge to re-see your beliefs will have you in a place of wonder. The way that the conjunction will ask you to re-examine how technology affects you each day will also surprise you. You may want to consider living a life free of your computer and phone. Work will keep you from embracing this fully, but you might think about how you can cut back technology’s influence. Try to draw beautiful things daily.

It seems a little silly to note this here, for obvious reasons, but where this is my longest-extant internet hangout, it seemed right.

Today is a good day to set intentions.

Today I am thankful for:

• The 20 degree drop in temperature and coming rain storm 
• The cardinal who built a nest right outside my house, and the two babies that seem to be thriving 
• Dinner with my best friend 
• Hummingbird battles
• The neon red of the salvia plant I got for free last weekend against the green of everything else

by Christopher Buckley

Hands in my pockets, I came up with nothing

but keepsakes of dust, a dulled archipelago of air

stretching past my arms . . . night winds galloping

toward the islands at the end of the sea.

                                                                           All that spun

and landed here, turned out to be those like myself,

walking around each morning with our ticket stubs

of intuition, our recent best guesses . . . looking up

through a vacancy of trees to a couple rags of cloud

caught there, dingy blossoms floating branch to

branch.

              Neruda said the stones fell from the sky,

and science backs him up—all our beginnings

blasting out and dropping here or there beneath

the dark. . . .

                      Nothing—not the perfect restatement

of waves nor the borderless dominion of birds, not

the Southern Cross shimmering like a signet of hope—

has saved the least of us in our sleep.

                                                                      Shuffling down

the path in the park, I go on whistling what was once

considered a lively tune, thankful to even be a satchel

of ligaments and bone still able to transact enough chemicals,

one neuron to another,

                                         that I can appreciate the day lilies,

star jasmine, and have some idea about what’s missing

when a streak of grey engraves hosannas of moonlight,

the spindrift off the rocks, anything that sounds

remotely like a prayer

I am glad to hear that any words of mine, though spoken so long ago that I can hardly claim identity with their author, have reached you. It gives me pleasure, because I have therefore reason to suppose that I have uttered what concerns men, and that it is not in vain that man speaks to man. This is the value of literature. Yet those days are so distant, in every sense, that I have had to look at that page again, to learn what was the tenor of my thoughts then. I should value that article, however, if only because it was the occasion of your letter.