Get Madame Clairevoyant every week.
Tomorrow brings a new moon in Taurus. Tomorrow, too, Uranus will leave Aries and enter Taurus, where it will remain for the next seven years. This is the start of a strange new cycle, a new phase, a bright new chance. Maybe the material constraints on your life will feel particularly heavy, or maybe you’ll imagine new ways to set yourself and others free.
You’re at your best when you’re able to move forward at full speed, when you’re able to stretch your limbs and lift your voice without flinching, without holding back. It feels unnatural, maybe, to live otherwise, but sometimes there’s value in what doesn’t come easy. This week, the world might ask you to parcel out your energy carefully. It might ask you to reserve your strength for the days ahead. If you look carefully, there’s a sparkle even here, a thrill in this slowed-down strategy.
You’ve built a whole world from almost nothing, you’ve grown a whole life from seed. This week, as you look at this blooming green place around you, new questions might start to arise. Some of these questions are joyful, rooted in the knowledge that this is a wild, abundant world, but some are born from a quieter, stranger space. What else is there to do here? What else can you find to sustain you? This is a week for asking the questions, for finding the answers that make it possible to go on.
In the end, there’s no substitute for the good hard work of being a person; there’s no substitute for the strange process of growth. There’s no magic word to speak that will suddenly, simply, imbue you with the wisdom of a full long human life. There’s no way around this life, just winding paths through it. This week, don’t try to work to bypass all the mistakes, or the confusion, or the long dull afternoons. No matter how fast you try to build, everything still has to come together, layer by layer.
This week, you might fall under the spell of some kind of gnawing dissatisfaction — the feeling that what you have will never be enough, as though every lack or longing or missed chance will keep calling out to you forever. But feelings like this are always deceptive. You aren’t trapped and you aren’t even really lost, you’re just in the middle of something, still trying. Sometimes it’s enough to wait it out. Sometimes, you can turn to the people you love and ask them to pull you back out of this place.
The world could make you cruel this week; the world could make you stony and defensive. The task right now is to resist the powers that would take away your softness. The task right now is to practice seeing through generous eyes, to practice looking from a position of open curiosity. This is a season of growth and a season of slow quiet motion. In spite of everything, goodness still abounds. Let yourself see the ways other people are trying, the ways you’re trying, too.
This week, the world might offer you more space to move than you’ve had before. It might feel like freedom, and it might feel like a gift, but sometimes, after living so long in such close, cramped quarters, it feels lonely and disorienting. How can you know how to move in a space where you can’t see the edges? How can you locate yourself when there’s this much sunlight, and this little shadow? Sometimes, the memory of mountains is enough to get you through. If it’s not, you can fill your own dreams with texture and mystery.
Sometimes it works best to fight loneliness by turning your back on it, turning toward the spaces full of friendship and music and light. This week, though, don’t ignore every difficult feeling in the hopes that it withers and dies. Don’t imagine you can force every feeling into a different container, a different shape. This week, if you lean further into your loneliness, it might offer a map into your truest needs. What hunger becomes illuminated, and what desire glints silver in this darkness?
What would happen if you stopped doing the thing you hate? There is work that must be done for survival, and work that must be done for love, and this is what you should keep doing, if you can bear it. But there are other tasks that are less crucial. There are gestures you don’t need to keep making. There are things you’ve carried, dutifully, up and down mountains for so many years. What if you were to lay these down?
If you feel an absence in your heart this week, if you feel some kind of jagged lack, stop and pay attention. Sometimes, what feels at first like pain is just a signal that you’ve forgotten what you really want. You’ll never live every possible life, and you don’t have to. Instead of looking at the lives you’ve chosen to turn away from, look at the choices that have led you to this place: You made them for a reason. What, all along, have you been moving toward, and what are you still seeking?
So often, the world will try to tell you that you aren’t allowed to rest, that it’s dangerous to stop performing, unethical to stop producing. And often, something inside your own self will agree this must be true — that you’re not living a valuable life unless you have something to show for your time. But rest is necessary, and it’s useful, too. The thoughts you think and the dreams you dream while at rest: these are as important as anything else.
This might be a week when change becomes difficult, when the air drags against you like water, like mud. Your vision might be wild and clear at night, but fog rolls in during the daytime, and gravity pulls you down to the heavy green earth. Maybe you can find a way to love a life this strange and solid, or maybe you can find a way to wait it out. The air will become sweet again, and the stars will sparkle, and your body will remember how to move easily through these days.
Your dreams right now might feel light and mobile, like they’re ready to fly across the earth, ready to launch into the night. And it’s good to feel unbound by anything, to see into the weird blue future the way you do. Still, this week, give yourself a moment to remember your solid human body. You’re important to the future, but you’re important to the present, too. Remember to drink water, remember to eat, remember to sleep when you need rest. Remember the people here right now who still need you.