This New Moon in Cancer offers respite in troubled times, but not in a simple way. This New Moon is not saying, just get some ice cream and you’ll feel better. Instead, it’s asking us to think––and feel––about what we need, and want, and love. That’s more complicated.
The Sun and Moon meet in the third decan of Cancer, a place where the Moon is especially strong. She’s in her own sign, of course, but also rules this decan. In my timezone, she’s also the sect light, since it’s a night chart.
We want to connect. Who do we love? Who feels like home? Where feels like home? How can we get there?
Even the Sun, who usually wants bright, direct action, is in a contemplative mood in this part of Cancer.
Mercury retrograde is conjunct the New Moon as well, just past their cazimi, but still hidden under the beams of the Sun. Mercury has received the Cancerian illumination but cannot articulate it clearly yet. We have to feel our way.
So we come to this New Moon with the Sun (our core self), the Moon (our embodied self) and Mercury (mind and communication) all together in the same place, a sign of active caring, of family bonds, of loyalty and sometimes blind preference. It’s a call to reflection, an opening to discover new insights and orientations relevant to our own lives.
Don’t look for the rest of the chart to be quiet and contemplative though. We’re still in the midst of a crazy, wild, upsetting world.
Barbault’s Basket will be exact July 20, in the Crescent phase, but it’s a strong pattern already at this New Moon: Pluto, Neptune, and Uranus are all at 4º of their signs, and Jupiter has reached 3º of Leo.
It is possible that Barbault’s prediction for the beginning of a new age will happen. I have my doubts. Looking at the Jupiter–Pluto opposition alone suggests a number of possibilities for world-level happenings that do not look golden. I’m open-minded and more than ready to welcome good news. I just prefer to avoid being overly optimistic.
Certainly, the exact trine and sextiles among Pluto, Neptune, and Uranus suggest we’re in a time of great change, which tends to be uncomfortable at best, no matter how it turns out in the end.
To review, Pluto is in Aquarius, Neptune is in Aries, and Uranus is in Gemini.
Pluto and Uranus, who trine each other, are in a very supportive connection. This is an easy flow of energy. The tricky part is what “easy” looks like to Pluto and Uranus. The eruption of a long-suppressed rebellion would fit. So would a volcanic explosion. We are, unfortunately, seeing wildfires all over the world right now, as well as earthquakes, floods, and other disasters. These too fit a flowing Pluto–Uranus connection.
The sextiles from Neptune to each side might add a sense of this being the right time, the best time, to make a move. Aries is all about going after what we want. Neptune is about promises and dreams that might or might not come true.
Mars has entered the middle of Gemini, where he is clever and sharp, perceptive but mocking. He moves to sextile Saturn, who, in mid Aries, is also ruled by Mars. This Saturn feels stuck in place. Mars’ sarcasm is not likely to help.
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Venus is doing something more interesting. She remains close to the South Node, and the two together are at the apex of a yod with Neptune and Pluto at the bottom. Yods are awkward. There’s a connection in space, but the personalities are ill-sorted: Pluto is in fixed Air, Neptune in cardinal Fire, and Venus and the South Node in mutable Earth. They don’t share a language.
The answer to this riddle is said to lie opposite the apex, which is the North Node in Pisces, at 0º Pisces, to be exact, as the Nodes are just about to move into Aquarius and Leo. (Remember these points move backwards through the zodiac.)
What does it mean for the solution to this yod to be be the North Node at 0º Pisces? It suggests we’re meant to move toward our dreams, which loops back to the contemplative mood set by the New Moon and Mercury.
This final decan of Cancer, the place of the New Moon, is inward-looking but not necessarily peaceful. Austin Coppock writes that the goddess ruling this decan is Hekate, goddess of the crossroads, of witches, a great goddess of many cultures, and a psychopomp, who is as familiar with the underworld as with what lives above.
This is a contemplative time that could become quite deep. It’s worth thinking about how we create and maintain safe space, and protect ourselves in any work we choose to do.
This New Moon aligns with an important T-square in my birth chart. For me, it calls out poetry. As always, it is worth looking at your birth chart to see how this New Moon lines up for you. Notice Mercury at 19º of Cancer is still moving backwards. What are you revising emotionally during this retrograde?
Having brought poetry forward, I will share two poems I love. They have a similar theme rendered in different keys.
The first, Wendell Berry’s The Peace of Wild Things, reminds us of the balm of the natural world, of its peace and comfort. The second, Tom Hiron’s Sometimes a Wild God, reminds us, as Hekate will, that the natural world is also magical and powerful and calls us into relationship.
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
― Wendell Berry
Sometimes a Wild God
Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.
When the wild god arrives at the door,
You will probably fear him.
He reminds you of something dark
That you might have dreamt,
Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.
He will not ring the doorbell;
Instead he scrapes with his fingers
Leaving blood on the paintwork,
Though primroses grow
In circles round his feet.
You do not want to let him in.
You are very busy.
It is late, or early, and besides…
You cannot look at him straight
Because he makes you want to cry.
Your dog barks;
The wild god smiles.
He holds out his hand and
The dog licks his wounds,
Then leads him inside.
The wild god stands in your kitchen.
Ivy is taking over your sideboard;
Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades
And wrens have begun to sing
An old song in the mouth of your kettle.
‘I haven’t much,’ you say
And give him the worst of your food.
He sits at the table, bleeding.
He coughs up foxes.
There are otters in his eyes.
When your wife calls down,
You close the door and
Tell her it’s fine.
You will not let her see
The strange guest at your table.
The wild god asks for whiskey
And you pour a glass for him,
Then a glass for yourself.
Three snakes are beginning to nest
In your voicebox. You cough.
Oh, limitless space.
Oh, eternal mystery.
Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.
Oh, miracle of life.
Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.
You cough again,
Expectorate the snakes and
Water down the whiskey,
Wondering how you got so old
And where your passion went.
The wild god reaches into a bag
Made of moles and nightingale-skin.
He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,
Raises an eyebrow
And all the birds begin to sing.
The fox leaps into your eyes.
Otters rush from the darkness.
The snakes pour through your body.
Your dog howls and upstairs
Your wife both exults and weeps at once.
The wild god dances with your dog.
You dance with the sparrows.
A white stag pulls up a stool
And bellows hymns to enchantments.
A pelican leaps from chair to chair.
In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.
Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.
Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.
The hills echo and the grey stones ring
With laughter and madness and pain.
In the middle of the dance,
The house takes off from the ground.
Clouds climb through the windows;
Lightning pounds its fists on the table
And the moon leans in.
The wild god points to your side.
You are bleeding heavily.
You have been bleeding for a long time,
Possibly since you were born.
There is a bear in the wound.
‘Why did you leave me to die?’
Asks the wild god and you say:
‘I was busy surviving.
The shops were all closed;
I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’
Listen to them:
The fox in your neck and
The snakes in your arms and
The wren and the sparrow and the deer…
The great un-nameable beasts
In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…
There is a symphony of howling.
A cacophony of dissent.
The wild god nods his head and
You wake on the floor holding a knife,
A bottle and a handful of black fur.
Your dog is asleep on the table.
Your wife is stirring, far above.
Your cheeks are wet with tears;
Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.
A black bear is sitting by the fire.
Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine
And brings the dead to life.
― Tom Hirons
Title photo from a photo by Maya Alexa G. Romero on Unsplash
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