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Early Thursday morning, there will be a full moon in Capricorn — a bright silver beacon, the sky’s generous gift. This is a season of gentleness in a world full of violence; a season of nurturing in a world full of sorrow.
This is the work that is long and grinding, the kind of work that wears you out: to keep being kind even when your kindness isn’t enough, to keep being generous when generosity’s not enough either. Some kinds of work feel vital and sparkling, and some just feel tiring, small and gray. Do your best to keep going this week, even if the rewards feel small right now.
The task this week is to resist brutality, and the difficult thing is that it comes in so many shapes, and from so many directions. There’s the hardness and cruelty you see on the bus, in the street, but also the hardness that puts out roots slowly inside you, invading your tenderness, your openness, your love. If you can remember and bear witness to your own soft humanity, you can remember others’ humanity too.
This week, you’ll notice contradictions in all that is being asked and demanded of you. On one side the world asks you to know what you know, to plant your bright flag in the earth. And there on the other side you’re being asked to remain open, soft enough to keep learning, brave enough to change your mind. There isn’t an easy balance — no secret, no key, no unified theory of the world. Don’t expect yourself to find one. It’s enough just to keep moving, to keep living with care.
When the world morphs and mutates as quickly as this, you might find yourself rushing to keep up. You might find yourself trapped by the desires you’ve had or the stories that shaped you or the spaces you moved through in the past — trapped by an idea that you can only ever be one kind of person, as though there’s no room to change or to surprise yourself. You already know how to change with the moon, waxing and waning in a knowable rhythm, but this week, let yourself imagine wilder kinds of change, too.
You might feel yourself in the middle of so much action and pain, in the middle of a hundred tangled voices. If the ache in your body starts to feel infinite, extending out on all sides, through all time, then take a moment to locate yourself. Where are the margins and where is the center and where are you, right now? Where is the sea and where is the land, and are you standing or swimming or flying? There are green places and brown places, and none of them are right or wrong. It’s just about knowing where you are.
For all your boldness and all your competent wisdom, you won’t be able to make it through these long days without assistance. The current is too strong to swim across without resting, the journey is too treacherous to make it without help. Try to ask for help when you need it. Try to accept, sometimes, the help and the kindness you’re offered. So many of the futures that seem impossible are only really impossible when you’re trying to build them alone.
It’s not for nothing, holding on to the best part of yourself. It’s not for nothing, remembering what lightness can feel like, what sweetness is, the taste of cool water on a long hot day. You can hold on to your fire, or you can hold on to your funniness, or your bright wandering curiosity. This isn’t about goodness or its own sake, but about a broader, harder project — to refuse, to the last, to give up your humanity. To refuse, to the last, to lose your ability to see humanity in other people.
Look around you this week at the people in your life who are struggling, too. Look around at everything else that’s struggling, and that hasn’t given up: the weeds in the garden haven’t given up, and the flowers haven’t either. It’s hard to know what you’re moving toward, but sometimes persistence can be enough to keep you going. Sometimes stubbornness can be enough. If the most you can do this week is not give up, then that, too, is a victory.
This week, maybe you’ve been surprised by the moments that have weighed heaviest on your heart. Maybe you’ve been surprised by the fear that’s growled and snarled from the back of your head. Maybe you just thought you’d be more ready for all this, less affected, less scared. It’s okay. There might be things you aren’t ready for yet, but that doesn’t mean you won’t ever be. It isn’t now or never, it’s just this moment, then the next.
When it comes down to it, it’s possible to keep going even in the middle of despair. It’s possible to keep going even when your hope is a small, fragile thing. Sometimes, when your muscles are weakest, pure feeling can be enough to get you through. When your feelings of love or courage are temporarily depleted, you might look up, surprised, and find that you can survive anyway. You can move forward powered by skill, or by muscle, or by the sheer force of repetition.
Maybe your greatest power is your clear vision of the good futures still possible. Maybe your greatest power is your sharp ability to keep desiring a world greener or softer or more generous than this one. You’re wise and you’re good and you have a brave imagination, and so, how will you share your wisdom? How will you share your vision? When you feel this deep sorrow, when you feel this tender hope, what will you do to not feel this way alone?
Your love is a kind of wisdom, it’s a kind of strength, but for all that, it can feel like a tremendous burden, too. It’s never easy to live in a world like ours, but it can feel close to impossible when you’re filled with a love as heavy and serious as yours. This week, remember you live in a soft human body. Remember to eat, and to sleep if you can. Remember, it isn’t a weakness or a failure to acknowledge that your energy is finite. You just have to decide how you’ll use it.
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Read last week’s horoscope here. Next week’s will be here.