For the last month and more, we’ve been riding emotional roller coasters and working through deep but difficult insights. You might be feeling depleted, tender, and ready for a quiet beach vacation. Instead we’re invited on a new, exciting adventure.
The New Moon in Leo is about to arrive.
Late evening on Wednesday, July 31 in my Eastern time zone, this New Moon delivers a call to adventure. Yes, this is the classic Joseph Campbell hero cycle Call. We are about to put our newfound skills and wisdom into practice.
Sun and Moon meet at 8 Leo. In this sign of fixed Fire, our hearts are high. We are passionate, filled with courage, and ready to dive in. Leo is confident and playful. Sure, we’ll ride to the rescue. We’ll get in, get out, and be home for dinner. I mean, really, how bad could it be?
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Venus is conjunct this New Moon. Newly arrived in Leo herself, she is fired up. Our core values call us to take a stand. If something or someone we love is in danger, we will don our armor and prepare for battle. What could possibly stand in our way?
In this first decan of Leo, the spotlight is compelling and fierce. Standing in the bright circle of our convictions, we can feel ennobled, larger than life, ready for anything. We are eager to answer the call.
For some, though, the thought of stepping into the spotlight is overwhelming. We can feel the heat before we get close and fear being burned. Taking up the challenge can seem impossible. We want to hide.
Mars wants us to say yes. Also in Leo, he raises his banner high. He has moved into the third decan, where we feel the injustice of the unavenged, the sense of injury that can become a call to arms.
This too can be a trap. Tales of vengeance make good reading but are often tragic. From a distance we can see this kind of quest will only end in tears. We prefer to stay home.
It’s important to remember that in Campbell’s cycle, the hero’s first act can be to refuse the call. We say no, it’s not me you’re looking for, you want that one instead, she can do far more than I could.
These lines from Tom Hirons’ poem, Sometimes a Wild God, capture the refusal:
‘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.’
We might approach this New Moon feeling caught on the horns of a dilemma. The dilemma itself is a good place to start.
The New Moon is part of a Grand Fire Trine. Depending on which planets you include, there are two versions of this trine. Interesting to consider the possibilities here!
Chiron is clearly playing a role. At 5 Aries, he brings the archetype of the Wounded Healer into play.
His presence could stoke a desire for revenge: I have been stabbed! I am bleeding! I want blood! But this is a path to further wounding, not resolution. Chiron is known for his self control and his compassion.
Chiron shows us our wounds and points to how we got them. Do we really want to run into another battle? We risk much. Perhaps we need to find a new way to follow the quest and reach our goal.
The asteroid Ceres, the Roman name for the goddess Demeter, sits at 1 Sagittarius. She is on a quest herself for what she has lost. Her daughter has been taken and she is determined to bring her back against all odds.
She reminds us, however, that quests can be long. To reach a difficult goal can take years, and patience, and determination, and allies. Clarity of purpose is also important.
Sun—Moon—Venus trine Chiron and Ceres will champion the causes of women, children and all those who cannot defend themselves. Perhaps our inner child calls out for healing. Perhaps a deep pattern of wounding and revenge can be addressed.
Jupiter is also in Sagittarius, his home turf. At 14 Sag, he is just close enough to receive a trine from the Sun and Moon. The lights of the two luminaries are strong enough to tie him into the Fire Trine as well.
Jupiter is strong and still retrograde, which makes him introspective and thoughtful. Of course he is always in favor of adventuring. He is also willing to sound a cautionary note. Not to stay home, oh no, but to prepare. What do we need? Information? Skills? Supplies?
If we die on the first hill, after all, we won’t get much of an adventure. Let’s make sure we are ready for this and then take to the open road.
Uranus in Taurus squares the New Moon and Venus. He definitely wants change and is more than willing to quest for it, but in this Venus-ruled sign, he takes a radical approach to adventuring.
Let’s not move too quickly, he might say. Let’s savor each step along this path. Let’s take the time to process what we experience. When we rush through life, we might get to the finish line, but where have we been? Do we even remember the paths we took? Could we find them again?
Last and certainly not least, Mercury is stationing. Within hours of the New Moon, he will turn direct, which means he is already at a still point. He is in the emotional sign of Cancer, close to but not quite reaching an exact opposition to Pluto.
Mercury is storing up all we have learned on our Cancerain journeys through the emotional depths than only Pluto can open for us. He carries dispatches from the Shadow realms. We definitely want the wisdom he brings.
This Mercury is one avatar of the wild god, who tells us what we must know but do not want to hear:
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.
Check your birth chart. Where does this New Moon fall? The House will point to an area of life that is calling out for a heroic quest. Which of your birth planets are involved? These can be allies or challengers. Remember that challengers are most often allies in disguise.
Likewise, where did the eclipses fall for you? The New Moon at the beginning of July and the Full Moon in the middle called forth some of the dark things we keep as secrets, sometimes even from ourselves. Which houses did the eclipses fall in? Which of your planets were involved? When Mercury turns direct, there might be more information here for you.
At this New Moon in Leo, the wild god comes to our door. We are called to respond. We might prefer not to answer, to pretend we’re not home, and yet somehow we know he will come inside anyway.
And still, we are not meant to dash off right away, tilting at windmills. The night is dark and we cannot see the road ahead.
Check the night sky. The Delta Aquariid meteor showers are peaking now. Since this coincides with Dark Moon times, the meteors will be especially bright.
What flares are shooting across your inner dark night? Where can you see insight and inspiration for the adventure ahead?
At this New Moon, we welcome the wild god. We choose our path to adventure. And we wait for where the flashes of light show us the way.
This poem, Sometimes a Wild God, by Tom Hirons is a favorite of mine for its imagery and power. I close today with the full poem. Tom Hirons and his wife Rima Stains are vagabond storytellers and artists who travel the English countryside as Hedgespoken. Check out their website.
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.
The dog barks.
The wild god smiles,
Holds out his hand.
The dog licks his wounds
And 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.
The moon leans in through the window.
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.
I use Unsplash for most of my photo illustrations.
All astrological charts are my own. The images in this post include the title,
adapted from the landscape by Simon Matzinger,
and the following images:
women adventuring by Raphael Rychetsky,
lion by Luke Tanis,
fire performer by Alexandre Castro,
barn owl by Cliff Johnson,
young fox by Nathan Anderson