Get Madame Clairevoyant every week.
The moon will wane all week until Saturday’s Pisces new moon. The sky will appear empty, and the whole night will stretch out before you. With all this space to move in, with all this space to dream, you don’t have to name all the feelings that move you. Your thoughts might not be practical, but they don’t need to be.
Toward the strange end of winter, it becomes easy to forget all the ways you know how to move your body; it becomes easy to forget what it feels like to be warm. It isn’t impossible, even now, that the world will change completely. Maybe tomorrow or maybe today, some sunlight will touch your skin and allow you to move freely again.
This week might offer you the opportunity to confront what you’re afraid of — maybe a dark dream, maybe a dull and aching lack. Confrontation can be a sweet and fearsome gift; try not to be afraid. You won’t be diminished, you won’t be cut down, you won’t be turned to stone. Don’t forget this. Let it play over and over in your head, like a song.
Even intimacy can become unbearable sometimes. Even goodness, even love can grow too heavy to hold. This week, just give yourself permission to look for ways outside of yourself. Can you leave your house for an afternoon? Can you leave your work behind? Try to remember a world that’s quiet, a world where your dreams can move however they like, just for the joy of it.
If you take away what isn’t important, what remains? This question might haunt you this week, but it doesn’t have to be about austerity, about some vision of life stripped of all laughter and song. You can decide that joy, too, is indispensable. You can decide that strangeness is as good as solidity. Don’t turn your back on the mysteries left in the world.
You’re human already, of course, but every day you’re becoming more human, too. This might be a good week to remind yourself of the ways you’re still learning. For all your splendor and all your fire, your body is soft, and your mind is still turning, still reaching, still growing toward the sun. Don’t expect yourself to control the flow and drift of time.
If this week offers you the chance to change your mind, will you change it? If this week offers you the chance to reverse course, will you turn around? There’s an unexpected sweetness that comes with shifting your gaze. It doesn’t mean you were wrong before, just that maybe the conditions have changed.
It’s okay to let quietness overtake you this week. It’s okay to let stillness fill your heart. You don’t have to light every room you enter; you don’t have to sparkle every time someone asks. Your powers are shifting inside you, some new kind of strength is crystallizing, and you don’t have to let anyone else watch as it happens. This is a week for leaving some thoughts unsaid.
It’s one thing to know your true wildness, and it’s one thing to recognize your bright heavy power — believing in your goodness, real and deep, is something else altogether. It isn’t easy to value the quiet parts of yourself, the parts that aren’t celebrated, that aren’t always even seen. This week, try to give yourself the credit you deserve.
If you find yourself in a weird underground space this week, if you find yourself in some endless foggy day, just work on finding your way out of here. Just because you can’t yet see the light above ground, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. If you keep moving, you can feel the fresh morning air on your face.
When you feel lost, it’s tempting to try to work toward the middle, toward some imagined place of safety and balance. It’s tempting to work to become average, to become simple, to make yourself easily seen and easily known. But this week, direct your energy to the edges, toward the places that are strange, unknown, unimagined. It’s not a week for going easy on yourself — it’s a week for being brave enough to let yourself get weird.
Is there an old idea, too unwieldy to use, that you’ve kept buried inside yourself? Is there a dream, too fragile to touch, you’ve kept wrapped up in the closet? This is a week for returning to the thoughts you’ve let age, the ones you’ve let ripen, the ones that have grown quietly, untended, untamed. It’s hard to know which seeds, left alone, will take root.
There’s so much in the world you see clearly, and there’s so much you know only as an instinct, a quiet impression, a gentle tug on the back of your mind. This week, don’t worry so much about untangling it all. Don’t worry about explaining yourself; don’t worry about language at all. This week, try to trust the feelings you can’t put into words.