Imagine this New Moon as a stormy, electric sea churning beneath a sky swallowed by inky blackness—no moon in sight, just the roar of waves and the crackle of destiny in the air. The astrological energies are like a crew of rogue alchemists aboard a creaking shipwreck, frantically brewing a potion to transmute us from fragile mortals into something fierce and untamed, all while the tempest rages.
Mars, now direct and clawing out of its shadow, is the scarred pirate captain slamming his fist on the helm, his blade still dripping with the blood of battles past. He’s hacked through the ropes of frustration that bound us, and though our egos and habits are bruised and gashed from the fight, he’s roaring at us to seize the wheel—to steer toward a life that burns with our own wild fire, no apologies.
Venus, locked in a tense embrace with Chiron in Aries, is the fiery sorceress at the ship’s prow, her crimson cloak whipping in the wind as she pours molten heartbreak into a cauldron. As she plunges into retrograde on March 1st, it’s like she’s cracking open the hull of our old selves—love, money, comfort spilling out like blackened tar, sizzling as it hits the waves. For 40 days and 40 nights, she’s boiling down our wounds, melting away the brittle shell we’ve hidden behind, forging a new alloy of raw, radiant strength. It’s a brutal, beautiful reckoning, and she’s daring us to rise from the ashes of what we’ve lost.
The North Node in Pisces is the ghostly whirlpool at the ship’s center, a spiraling abyss pulling us down into liquid chaos—like that caterpillar dissolving in the chrysalis, we’re breaking apart, surrendering to the flood. Saturn and Mercury sextiling Uranus in Taurus are the thunder rumbling below deck and the lightning splitting the mast—steadying us with a bone-deep pulse, then jolting us awake with flashes of jagged truth. They’re screaming over the storm: Feel it! Love it! Forgive it!—pushing us to embrace the dissolution, to let the currents of passion and mercy remake us.
Under this New Moon, we’re not just passengers—we’re the ship itself, splintering under the weight of the squall, only to be forged anew in the crucible of the deep. It’s a violent, breathtaking unraveling—our old selves liquefying, our new selves clawing toward the surface, wings wet and trembling, ready to soar when the dawn finally breaks. Hold on tight, because this isn’t a gentle transformation—it’s a full-on, heart-pounding mutiny of the soul.