At first it was because I knew Arsinoe (är-SIN-oh-ee), my first leading lady, was an ancient witch, a healer with herbs and intuition, and to get into her head, I started reading books about modern witchcraft.

Before I even started writing that first novel, I remembered I am a witch. But it was when I started putting words to paper that I really found my magic, because writing took me through unhealed fields, over burned bridges and around felled dreams.

In February of 2023, I left my job, invested in a writing coach and started Arsinoe’s hero’s journey. I started calling myself a writer. Put the title on my website and in my bios. I became what I wanted to be.

I’m now deep in the weeds of my 4th novel. Same characters (Arsinoe, plus Berenike (ber-uh-NY-kee) and Aneksi), same era (1st Century BC), way more magic. What started as historical fiction has morphed into historical fantasy that dares to reimagine a world, and a matriarchy, that could have existed if Cleopatra’s sisters had lived.

After beta readers told me they struggled to tell the characters apart in my 1st person POV, coupled with feedback from an agent that the novel needs to be in 3rd person POV, I re-invested in my writing coach and sat down to work through yet another draft (and believe me, as I sit here, less than halfway through THIS draft, I know another draft, at least one, maybe two, awaits).

And Gods damn, this draft is hard! It’s so much more than changing “I” to “she.” It’s taking apart entire paragraphs, word by word, only to rebuild them in a way that carries the same message in a different order, sometimes in an entirely different structure. It’s architecture and science and math and craft and words and grammar and rules and the left side of my brain turning in one direction while the right goes in the other.

It’s having to dig deeper into the character to show you, dear reader, more than I need to when “I” am the character. It’s integrating the interiority you need so you care about the way my character moves across a page, through a scene and into your heart.

Because, as my coach reminded me yesterday, fiction needs all the things people avoid in real life. All the confrontation. All of the hard feelings, bitter reactions and difficult conversations. All of the complicated family dynamics that get pulled out from under the rug and laid bare for everyone to see and feel all the way through. The ones you wish you could have IRL.

And to do this well means I have to feel every single emotion in every word I put on every page. Every feeling. Every stumble. Every shameful, painful, dark, scary, un_fucking_comfortable feeling in the words on the page, I felt first. In my body. In my heart. In the press against the backs of my eyes, the hairs on the back of my neck, the pit in my stomach that feels endless, and the pain that cracks apart the very center of me in hard shattered edges like thick broken glass. I have dug deep into the darkest places in my life (in my lives!), my relationships, my failures, my history, my disability. All of the setbacks and disagreements and humiliations from the many times I have fallen down–metaphorically and physically.

And based on the feedback from beta readers, of all the things that still need to be fixed and changed and made more clear, the emotional connection to and between my leading ladies is where the power is. These ancient queens, whose lives and potential were stolen by the architects of the modern patriarchy, are back to re-tell a history of a matriarchy that rises after the death of Cleopatra.

And here we are in this moment where a matriarchy is rising, through and around us. My own magic that began with the first spark of getting to know Arsinoe has brought me to this moment where magic is all around, where life is full of love and abundance and possibility, where I’m living the life I want as a writer, a coach, a mom and a fully embodied human.

And while I may be living the life I want, my journey is nowhere near its end. In fact, like this book, I’m still drafting. And this moment—in this draft of my novel, this stage of the matriarchy, the coaching training program I start this weekend, and everything I know is still to come, this in-between place—feels like standing at the platform of a train through the Underworld, Hades at the helm, awaiting the final leg of the trip to who I was always meant to be.

I was floating in a stranger’s backyard when the lions arrived.

A dozen women in a pool at sunset, birch trees bending overhead in the warm June breeze, a fountain in the background smoothing the space between worlds. In a rented pool, our priestess arranged the gongs and bells and singing bowls, and invited us into the water as the light faded and night pushed its way in.

The Sagittarius Blue Moon was two days behind us. This was a moon that cracked open something I’d been carrying for generations. And I was still feeling tender, a little raw at the edges, in that particular vulnerability that follows when you’ve said something so deeply true in a public space.

Our priestess opened up our ritual with a love letter to the Sagittarius Moon energy. I closed my eyes, sunk into the float and let the water hold me.

And then the lions came.

Not one. Many. Lions in meadows, lions roaring, lion manes catching light, lions floating on water the way I was floating, completely at rest, completely unhurried, completely themselves. Lion eyes looking into mine with a recognition that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with knowing. I wasn’t watching them. We were watching each other.

As I floated there in that pool, our priestess filled the air around us with dings and gongs and wooshes and dongs. The songs of the birds in the trees overhead met the croaks of the frogs in the background of the night. It all came together in a moment so surreal, like slipping between worlds, floating from one into another.

And those lions.

Like me, they were floating. The lions were at rest, completely unbothered by the weight of what they are. Not hunting. Not performing. Not justifying their presence. Just there, in the current, enormous and sovereign and completely at ease.

Like me.

The Sagittarius Blue Moon cracked something open in my inherited winter. The lions in the pool sealed it shut, not to contain it, but to make it whole.

Not pushing harder, not roaring louder, not trying to earn the right to take up space. Just floating, trusting the current, as at ease with my power as a lion in a meadow at sunset, birch trees bending overhead, frogs and birds singing at the edges like they were made for each other.

I know what I am building. I know how I am building it. Floating quietly isn’t smallness. It’s sovereignty. I am building matriarchy. One coaching client, one tarot reading, one novel, one system at a time.

You are reading this because something in you is circling a declaration of your own. You know what it is. You’ve known for a while. You’ve been waiting for the right moment, the right credentials, the right level of certainty, the right sign.

The lions came to a stranger’s backyard this week and looked me in the eye.

That’s your sign too.

What are you building? Name it. Even just to yourself. Right now. Say it once, quietly, in whatever room you’re in. Let it have air. Let it breathe.

This is where it starts.

I woke up afraid again this morning (and yesterday morning!).

Not afraid of anything specific, the way fear usually presents itself. There are no looming deadlines, no overdue bill staring back at me. It was just that old, familiar grip in my chest. The one that whispers “you aren’t enough, you don’t have enough, you won’t ever have enough, and someday it will all run out and you will be alone with nothing and no one and the winter will come”.

I’ve felt it my whole life. I used to think it was mine.

I’ve been doing the work lately of actually sitting with this fear instead of outrunning it. I listened to understand. And what I found, underneath all that gripping anxiety about money and scarcity and dying old and broke and alone, was something that didn’t belong to me at all.

It belonged to my farming ancestors. People who genuinely did have to scrape and scrabble and collect and preserve all summer long or they wouldn’t make it through winter. People whose survival literally depended on counting every grain, questioning every expenditure, treating abundance as something fragile and temporary that could be yanked away without warning.

Their fear was wisdom. For them. For their world. For the cold Missouri soil that asked everything of them and promised nothing in return. But it is not wisdom for me. It is inherited and I’m ready to return it. The Full Moon in Sagittarius this week is rare and deliberate and exactly as loud as it needs to be, offering up the perfect moment to formally give it back.

This Sunday, a Blue Moon (that’s when there’s a second full moon in a single calendar month), demands we pay attention. Every full moon is a culmination, a peak point, a moment when the bright light of the sun reflects from the moon into the dark places where we hide truths and fears and insecurities. A Blue Moon amplifies that.

And this moon isn’t alone! Three planets are doing the architectural work of this moment, and they are bringing something genuinely unusual.

Uranus in Gemini is sitting directly across the sky, opposing this full moon. Uranus is the planet of disruption and it wants to shake loose what we’re clinging to. It doesn’t negotiate with inherited structures. It cracks them open. If you’ve felt a restlessness you can’t name lately, an anxiety cresting in the early morning hours, a sense that something is ending faster than something new has arrived to replace it, that might be Uranus. The disruption isn’t a warning. It’s a liberation that is trying to break through.

Saturn is trining this full moon, making a harmonious, supportive angle that is relatively rare for a planet that likes to show up as the boss of structure and rules. What Saturn trine this Moon means is that the release available to you right now has structure. It has bones. It rewards belief that has been tested rather than borrowed. You don’t get this Saturn trine by wishing. You get it by having already done the hard thing.

And finally, Jupiter in Cancer, the great nurturer, the abundant mother energy, the planet of expansion sitting in the most tender and protective sign of the zodiac. Jupiter in Cancer says you will be held. You are not your ancestors’ winter. Abundance is not something you have to earn by suffering first.

The thing about a Sagittarius Full Moon is that it isn’t ambient weather for everyone equally. If you have natal placements in Sagittarius (e.g. a moon, a rising, a stellium), this lunation is not visiting you. It is lighting you up!

My Moon is in Sagittarius. This full moon is landing directly in my emotional body, my felt sense of safety, the place where my inherited fear lives and breathes. And here’s what I know, what I feel deep in my marrow about Sagittarius’s placement as the sign that comes after Scorpio: it is what happens when Scorpio’s excavation and descent and ruthless honesty have done their work.

And I have been doing the Scorpionic labor of tracing this fear back to its roots, sitting in the discomfort of it, understanding it, questioning it, coaching it rather than outrunning it. That work is almost done. This Full Moon is the moment I surface.

Since the Sagittarius New Moon last year, I have made some decisions that the scarcity voice in my chest has had a lot of opinions about. I joined a community of women entrepreneurs who are building something real. I enrolled in a year-long coaching training program, a really fucking expensive one with monthly travel to California, the one I would have told myself I couldn’t afford six months ago. I am working with a writing coach again, investing even more in my novel, investing in the future where the work I am actually here to do is also the work that sustains me.

The old voice calls this irresponsible. It pulls up images of empty accounts and failed winters and ancestors who didn’t survive by spending money they couldn’t see yet. But here’s what I know now: that voice is not my wisdom. It is their survival strategy, downloaded into my nervous system without my consent, running interference in a life they couldn’t have imagined and wouldn’t have recognized as possible.

My farming ancestors were not wrong to be afraid of winter. But I am not farming. And it’s not winter. I am not rationing grain. I am building a body of work and a community of women and a life that looks like nothing that came before it. The fear of scarcity has no jurisdiction here.

What I’m releasing this Sunday is the story that investing in myself is the same as losing. That spending money on becoming who I’m meant to be is the same as having nothing. That the horizon is dangerous. That I have to earn abundance through deprivation first. I’m releasing my ancestors’ winter. With love. With gratitude for what it kept safe. And with the clear understanding that it was never mine to carry.

What will you release?

The Sagittarius-Gemini axis is fire and air. It wants to be spoken and written, not just felt in the body and quietly processed. This Full Moon asks you to name things out loud, to yourself, on paper, in ritual.

Light a candle. Write down your inherited fear. The full story. Where it came from, what it costs you, how long you’ve been carrying it. Let it take up real space on real paper. Then write what you are choosing instead. Not a regular everyday magical affirmation, but a true statement about what you are actually building, who you actually are, and what you actually know about your life that this old fear doesn’t.

Burn the first one in the fire of that candle if you can. Keep the second one somewhere you’ll see it every day until the Sagittarius new moon in December closes this cycle completely.

And if you woke up anxious this morning, if the fear came looking for you before you were even fully awake, know that this is what release feels like right before it finishes. The grip tightens just before it lets go.

The ancestors speak loudest just before you stop answering.

Sunday’s sky is yours. Use it.

The rage cackling in the collective unconscious is undeniable. In the news reel, it’s terrifying, growing bolder in its depravity and blatant misogyny. And also, still shocking. On my Instagram feed, it’s beautiful, inspiring, hilarious. In my own life, rage cackles somewhere in between, depending on what I’m reading, who I’m around, which events call out and where I put my energy throughout each day. Whether low simmering or rapidly boiling, though, thousands of years of oppression’s worth of rage is always there waiting to be inspired.

And inspired it was. Last weekend, I met up with some friends to support another friend’s Rage Painting event at MADE (Makers, Artists, Designers, and Entrepreneurs). Sidebar: MADE is a 32,000 square foot space where painters, welders, woodworkers, printmakers, artists of all mediums show up to make something out of nothing. This is a place that honors our divine right to create, to insist through our art that the world isn’t finished yet.

The event was in this cute little pocket park in the shape of an upside dome. Huge tarps were laid out over the grass, while people of all shapes, sizes and genders squeezed into white plastic hazmat suits. (I wonder what the people driving by on a very busy thoroughfare must have been thinking!).

At check-in, my zesty bestie and I were each handed a white washcloth (wtf!? To slap paint?), two canvases and a white disposable hazmat suit. She suited up while I promptly returned mine. I was dressed for flinging, flying, squirting paint, and was kind of looking forward to how my look might shake out over the night (spoiler: uninspiring).

We made our way around the tarps, mesmerized by the scene. In the back center of the tarps was one giant blank canvas, a centerpiece awaiting a rant of rage from everyone in attendance. Mostly women were brushing, blowing, pushing, dropping, swinging and splashing paint. From brushes, those rags they gave us at check in, spouts, water guns, squishies and hands, color flew and blended and buried and brightened.

On the two canvases in front of me, I beat the canvas with a rag of orange, then a brush of blue, a big splat of pink flew in from the squirt gun next to me, tiny splatters of pink followed, then a tidal wave of orange from a dumped jar and swirls of green, mixing it all up like a meadow waking up after a long night of rain.

I leaned back and sat there in the grass, watching the sold out crowd at this first time event. I scanned smiling, laughing, joyful faces. Squeals of laughter broke through the rocking jams, while cars buzzed by behind us. Urban rage gave way to people in community making art in a park.

Here’s the thing about art, right? The very act of creation is one of love, of hope, or a belief that something good will come of our work. And then the joy of seeing what comes to life, what colors together make something new today inspiring what could be tomorrow.

Even if it was rage that showed up to assault canvases, tarps and each other with paint, the process of exercising that rage in an act of creation was alchemy. Converting the rage from raw, unbridled, angsty jackhammers in the mind and body into laughter, peace, fun, community, like a giant sigh of lovey dovey hopeful buzzy. Inspired people, untethered from their rage, beautiful canvases in hand, left that little upside dome of a park on Delmar Blvd. and went back into the world spreading joy and wonder.

When the rage sits and stagnates, when it devours article after tweet after outrage after doomsisms, it grows in power and fury and its hold. But through the rage, through the icky, sticky, messy, goopy, slipping all over the tarp work of creation, we burn out the rage and become one with our power.

If creating is the answer, may we all create! It doesn’t matter what it is: wood, words, plants, bees, games, puzzles, whatever will release your mind, body and spirit from rage. Create.

Imagine how powerful we’re all going to be on the other side of this massive pot of rage boiling over and around us in the conscious and unconscious collective right now. Maybe if we create something for ourselves, we’ll create a new world while we’re at it.

What would you make if you aimed your rage at creation instead of doomscrolling? Whatever it is, go make something this week. Sign up for the class, pull out the paints, plant the thing, write the page. Use your rage as fuel and see what it makes.

In astrology, Pluto is the excavator. It finds the bodies and treasures and hard truths buried under the floorboards of civilization. For the next several months, as it retraces its steps in the sign of the collective and technology, we are being forced to look at the blueprints we have used to build our world and our lives.

Most people do not realize that the legal and social tracks we are currently riding on were laid down two thousand years ago by Augustus Caesar. He was the architect of the patriarchy. He codified a system where law was a tool for extraction—extracting labor, extracting fertility, and extracting resources to feed the center of power. He called it peace, but it was a peace built on the subjugation of anything he could not control.

For the last few years, I have been forced to face the fact that I was living my life by that same blueprint. I was the one doing the extracting. I was traveling to three cities a week, grinding for a start-up, and holding elected office, all while my own body was screaming for me to stop. I thought I could be a reformer. I thought I could make the system better from the inside.

But a system built on extraction cannot be fixed. Fixing a system designed to consume only makes the consumption more efficient, more polite, more deceptive. No matter how snazzy and progressive and hopeful it looks, it still eats you alive in the end.

This is the old world that is currently crashing and burning. When I look at our modern political landscape, all I see is the ghost of Augustus. I see small minds fighting over petty grievances, desperate to maintain a system of extraction we all know leads to societal collapse by 2040. They are still trying to run a 21st-century world on a 1st-century blueprint of control.

This is the crucial intersection: the code is the new law.

Aquarius rules both the collective and the machine. As we build these rising machines, we are at a crossroads that mirrors the one Augustus stood at two millennia ago. If we program our technology using his existing blueprint, we aren’t creating something new—we are simply automating the ancient habit of conquest. We are teaching our machines to be the new patriarchs, faster and more efficient at draining the planet than any human emperor could ever dream of.

The bridge to a different future isn’t built by the politicians or the titans of industry. It is built by those of us who refuse to be the raw material for their machines. We can use this retrograde to audit the code of our own lives. We can decide that the future of technology must be rooted in a culture of care—a system that values restoration over exhaustion, love over hate, care over consumption. We can build machines that liberate instead of subjugate, but only if we first stop trying to save the dead man walking that is the patriarchy.

This retrograde is your invitation to stop being the resource that gets harvested. It is time to look at your own blueprint and decide what you are willing to let burn so that something genuine can grow in its place.

The Extraction Audit Look at the structures of your life—your job, your habits, your digital footprint. Where are you extracting from your own soul to feed a system that does not love you back? This week, identify one Augustan rule of “productivity at all costs” that you are officially done following.

The Technological Deposition Stop being a passive consumer of the network. Ask yourself if your relationship with technology is making you more human or more like a data point to be harvested. Reclaim your digital sovereignty by changing one way you interact with the machines in your life—choose an interaction that feeds your creativity rather than your anxiety.

The Integrity Integration Your body is the only thing that does not lie. When you think about the future, do not look for answers in the news. Look for the response in your own nervous system. Where is the glow of the future trying to break through the burn of the past? That is your new North Star.

We are currently standing in the silver-white glow of the incoming Scorpio Full Moon, like the haze that remains after the fire has burned out but still smolders. Scorpio is the sign of death, rebirth, and the deep, dark waters of the unconscious underworld. When the Moon reaches its peak here, it doesn’t just illuminate the surface; it shines a high-intensity floodlight into our darkest places—the basements of our souls where we keep our secrets, our magic, and our unprocessed rage.

Six months ago, during the Scorpio New Moon, I sat in the quiet of my birthday spellwork and set intentions to build a strong foundation. I knew that to hold the expansive fire of Jupiter moving into brave, sparkly Leo this summer—where my rising sign sits in this year’s solar return—I needed a bedrock that wouldn’t crack under the heat I’m calling in.

My three birthday wishes:

• Powerful and profitable collaborations.

• A book that invites a life-changing book deal

• A life overflowing with love, fun, and deep connection

Since then, the universe has been grinding it out alongside me. I’ve received phenomenal feedback on my novel, my collaborations are yielding professional breakthroughs—including heading to coaching school in San Diego!—and my heart feels more abundant than I ever knew possible.

But the most profound breakthrough didn’t come from a win in the outer world. It came from the fire.

For many lifetimes, I’ve carried a rage that burns through every layer of my being. It is the residue of being dragged into a fire for being who I really am and I’ve used this rage as a bludgeon against a patriarchy that still doesn’t fucking want me. As great and powerful and motivating and really fucking satisfying as rage is, I’ve come to see rage like getting drunk at a super great party. It feels fun, potent, and it’s contagious—it makes others feel that same heat.

But like any binge, the next morning rises. And it feels like shit. As big and good and momentous as it feels when it’s going, rage ultimately depletes the soil it stands on. What I’ve discovered heading into the haze of this Full Moon is that my greatest power isn’t in the rage—it’s on the other side of it. There is a simmering in the dark quiet that only becomes accessible after I’ve had the fortitude to walk through the flames with my optimism intact. It’s the power of the Phoenix, not just the Scorpion.

And I’m not even done yet because this moon hasn’t even arrived and it isn’t just any Scorpio Moon; other planets are pushing us into one big cosmic strike!

With the Wounded Healer, Chiron, making big waves across the sky, our oldest wounds are being triggered. This isn’t meant to punish us, but to show us where we are still holding past trauma in the way of a future that expands.

This tension is amplified because the Sun and Moon are also in a high-stakes square with Pluto, the master of the deep underworld (and the ruler of Scorpio!). Right now it’s acting like a hydraulic press. It’s creating a pressure cooker that forces everything we’ve been hiding from ourselves up to the surface.

In the skies this week is a demand for transmutation. The universe is squeezing us through our rage so we can finally see what’s underneath, so:

1. Pay attention when your throat closes, your gut sparks or your chest constricts. Are these warnings or are they calls to justice?

2. When hurt flies toward you, feel the trigger, follow it through your breath, and get curious about the pain it causes.

3. Look around your life and work and relationships. What doesn’t fit anymore?

In a coaching session this week, as I put words to the realization that rage isn’t my way forward, I felt my power shift. No longer hot, sticky, slow and gurgling on the surface like lava flowing from an active volcano, looking to destroy anything in its path. Instead, it came as a river, blue, cool and calm, foaming around boulders and over falls and welling from depths so great, so dark, so full of infinite possibility that only the Gods dare venture.

If Pluto is using this week’s Scorpio Full Moon to shine bright lights into the darkest corners of our underworlds, how will you choose to transmute the heat of your internal volcano into the cool, deep river of your own true magic?

We have just survived a cosmic forge. If you feel like you’ve been dragged through a portal and set on fire, you are not alone. Between the Year of the Fire Horse and an Aries season that felt more like a battlefield than a spring awakening, the energy has been relentless.

We moved through a massive planetary pile-up: Neptune (dreams), Saturn (boundaries), Mars (the warrior), Mercury (communication), and Chiron (the wounded healer). All of this was compressed last week under the heat of the Sun in Aries and the pull of the Moon in Aries.

This was more pressure cooker than the typical firestarter energy of Aries season, and it was designed to crack us open.

In the middle of all that heat, something fundamental shifted for me. For a long time (probably my whole life in this patriarchy), I operated under the belief that my value was a variable—something tied to the opinions of others, the success of a project, or the external markers in my career path.

But through a series of shocking and intrusive (i.e. fucking dudes taking up my space to share their unsolicited and frankly mysoginistic advice about how I should behave) events, Aries season burned the last remaining bits of that lie away.

I realized that my value isn’t a result of others’ expectations being met; it is the source of my own infinite abundance. It is a baseline of stardust and power that doesn’t move based on who is watching. This long overdue realization was a spark that changed everything. It made the decision to uplevel my skills in a coaching training in San Diego feel less like a choice and more like an inevitability. Like, when I finally stopped seeking permission to be powerful, the road ahead simply cleared itself of debris.

Now, (thank the Gods!), the calendar has turned. We are leaving some of the erratic, warrior energy of Aries (but there is still plenty of other planetary action heating up Aries) and stepping into the steady, grounding embrace of Taurus season.

In Aries, we found the seed in the fire. In Taurus, we put it in the dirt.

For me, this transition is also literal. I have 38 native plugs, a half dozen overwintered sprouts, 30 seedlings, and two packets of native flower seeds waiting to be put into the earth. I have a Silky Dogwood tree that needs a permanent home. And while I’m planting, I am actively holding the line against the invasive bush honeysuckle that tries to choke out the new growth.

This is the work of Taurus season:

1. Watering the New Idea: That new idea, new spark of infinite value, new quest that came to life during Aries season? It’s a seedling now. It needs consistent, quiet attention, not more fire.

2. Clearing the Invasives: We have to keep the old habits—the people-pleasing, not believing we are enough and the external validation—at bay so the new roots have space to stretch.

3. Establishing Stability: We are building a foundation for something amazing. This isn’t about a quick bloom. It’s about a root system that can survive any season.

Take a breather. Let the erratic pulse of the last month slow down until it matches the rhythm of the warming earth. You found a new hope or a new direction in the fire of Aries. Now, give those roots the space and the love they need to grow into something resilient.

The work we do now—the quiet, dirty, repetitive work of nurturing our foundations—is what makes the eventual harvest possible. The world is waiting for our collective power, but that power must be stable to be transformative.

Put your hands in the dirt. Let the new thing settle.

We are just getting started.

I spent most of my life looking for a savior. Specifically, a savior that looked like a six-figure salary, a benefits package, and the suffocating, narrow-walled structure of a 40-hour work week.

My fear—the one that lives in the dark, quiet corners of my Scorpio stellium—is a catastrophic vision of ending up alone, broke, and destitute.

For a powerful woman living within the grinding gears of a patriarchy, this isn’t just anxiety. It is a trauma response. My value, starting with my earliest days in Eldorado, has been systematically overlooked and undermined. Add to that the reality of living with a truly physically limiting disability, and the scarcity mindset stops being a whisper and starts being a scream: you are not enough to take care of yourself and your family.

Through all of 2025, I sludged through the slog. I faced so much rejection and grief in coming to the realization that the systems I thought would save me didn’t even want me. But here I stand in 2026, not realizing till now but knowing all along: I don’t want them either.

This week, the sky crackles with Aries energy. We have a New Moon and a massive stellium of the Sun, Mercury, Mars, Saturn, and Neptune, along with Chiron—the wounded healer—all sitting in the sign of the warrior. Aries is the sign of the I Am. It is the raw, primal energy of existence. This specific concentration of planets in Aries has not occurred ever before in our history (at least since modern machines can calculate), and the cosmos is screaming a singular question: Who do you want to become?

Saddled right up to this question sits our wounded healer, representing the deep-seated wound of feeling like we do not deserve to be who we really are.

The violent clash between the sovereign I Am and the wound that wants to suppress it is actually the medicine. It is the visceral realization that the wound and the warrior are not separate entities; they are one.

I stopped looking for an external rescue because I finally looked at my own hands. I realized that I have already built my own safety. I created abundance through years of saving, through the mastery of my craft as a writer and coach, and through the deep, soulful relationships I have nurtured. I am the architect of a life where I write my novels, coach amazing women, tend my native Missouri gardens, and call it quits when my kids get home from school.

The shift from scarcity to sovereignty showed up recently in the form of a high-level coach training program in San Diego. If this would have come up as recently as last year, I would have looked at the price tag and let the fear of being destitute choke the opportunity out of my hands. I wouldn’t even have considered the giant pain in my ass that is flying to San Diego once a month. But when this opportunity showed up a couple of weeks ago, just as I was tapping into the depths of my power, realizing I can’t go there alone, I felt a big, deep, golden glow start to swirl in my chest and spread through my entire body. It was a giant hell yes! to my own expansion. The investment in my highest potential is worth any dollar and time and logistics barrier. And fuck yeah!, I get to spend one weekend a month in San Diego!

The rage I feel toward the systems that continue to devalue us hasn’t vanished. It has alchemized. No longer a paralyzing fear, it has become the fuel for a future I am already creating. I am done waiting for systems of profit to learn how to care for people. I am building that care myself, one word and one coaching session at a time, proving that abundance isn’t something granted by a gatekeeper—it is a fire we kindle ourselves.

We are standing in a celestial portal that demands we stop treating our scars like secrets and start using them like a map. This Aries New Moon is not a gentle invitation to fix yourself so you can finally be worthy of a seat at a table that was never built for you. It is a prescribed burn. It is a command to lean so far into your deepest, darkest wound that you finally feel the fire underneath it. Healing this wound is not about making the pain disappear; it is about making the pain useful. It is about recognizing that the version of you who survived years and decades of being under valued is the only one qualified to lead the way forward.

How are you tending to your own wounded warrior this week? When you look at the places where you were told you were not enough, can you feel the heat of that rage turning into the light of your intentional future? This Moon is asking you to stop waiting for a rescue that is never coming.

Feel the wound. Feel the fire. Reclaim your power and walk all the way through.

I recently posted a bit of snark on Facebook about the feral children currently running our country into the ground. For me, it was just another Sunday—saucy, messy, and entirely unapologetic.

Then, a ghost from my high school days in rural Southern Illinois decided to rattle his chains in my comments section.

He offered me a collection of truths I was raised to believe were absolute. He told me that women fail every time. He claimed that society wouldn’t exist without men and that we would simply collapse without their structural support. He said he still loved me, but that I am abusing my platform by being a liberal who forgot where she came from.

But he’s wrong about that: I know exactly where I came from.

I came from a community where that mindset wasn’t an opinion; it was the atmosphere.

I grew up believing that I am inferior because I am a woman. My supporting role was the blueprint for my entire life. I was never meant to be more than a gifted rib in some man’s epic.

But here is the miracle: me. I may not have realized just how much bullshit I’d been fed about my value, but I always knew I didn’t belong there. I always knew there was more for me. So I left.

I moved to California to learn the language of power at one of the best law schools in the country. I took risks that my small-town mind called reckless but the calling queendom deemed necessary. I swam into the difference I found living, breathing, loving all around me in one of the world’s most diverse cities. I left jobs to serve my country and service to create something uniquely me.

I didn’t collapse. I didn’t fail. I became a zesty, sharp-tongued, novel-writing, do-gooding witch with a small business, a native prairie, a fierce commitment to a better world, and two kiddos who have never once been told their power is an abuse.

And I did it mostly on my own—by hand-selecting a village of amazing people from around the world who actually see me.

The world that guy is mourning—the one where I stay quiet and grateful for the protection of men who think I’m a liability—is already dead. And I am the one holding the shovel.

My personal reckoning isn’t an isolated event; it is a mirror of what is happening in the stars. This week, the energy is shifting from pondering the past to burning the bridge.

On Thursday, Mars—the planet of warrior energy, innovation and fiery new beginnings—marches into Aries. By the weekend, Mercury joins the fray. We are entering a massive Aries stellium that doesn’t care about where you came from. Aries is the sign of the Self, the I AM, the first spark that refuses to be put out.

Mars in Aries is blazing with the fires of its ancestral forge. It is this energy we need to cut out whatever old, oppressive brainwashing still whispers in our ears. This transit is not just giving us the permission to be unreasonable. It is giving us the fire we need to melt down the small-town mind and create something entirely new.

If your past is currently trying to love you back into a smaller box, this Aries fire is your exit strategy. Use it to build with intentionality.

To break through the fire into the new, here are three Aries pillars of action:

1. The Sever: What is the one “truth” from your past you are officially declaring a lie today?
   

2. The Spark: What is the “unreasonable” thing you want to build that your hometown would never understand?
   

3. The Steel: What is the first non-negotiable action you are taking to claim your new ground?

The world that guy is mourning is gone. Let’s make sure it stays that way.

We are standing on the threshold of an April that demands every ounce of our sovereignty. Before the fiery stellium in Aries arrives to spark revolutions and test our discipline, the universe is granting us a moment of profound alignment with the Libra Full Moon on April 1st.

In our world of law and justice, we often treat balance as a static result—a verdict rendered, a contract signed. But for those who walk between the worlds of logic and magic, true balance is the discipline of center. It is the tactical refusal to let the winds of chaos or someone else’s emergency dictate your next move. When you find your center, you don’t just feel better; you are better.

This full moon illuminates our partnerships and the contracts—both written and energetic—that govern our lives. There is a pull toward expansion that might feel a bit dramatic. You might feel an urge to over-promise or lean into a flair for the theatrical.

Instead of getting swept up in the noise, sit quietly and use this light audit your foundations.

1. The Relational Deposition: take a cold, hard look at your closest circles. Identify where you are doing the heavy lifting without reciprocity. Does this connection fuel your stardust potential, or is it a leaky boundary draining your reserve? This moon is your window to negotiate new terms or draft an exit strategy.

2. Body-Mind Discovery: sit in the quiet and listen to your body. When you think about your current workload, where do you feel the resonance? Is it a flutter of excitement or a weight in the gut? Your body knows the truth of a conflict long before your brain drafts the argument. Practice saying no to small, draining requests now to conserve your spark for the work ahead.

3. Clearing the Docket: complete the lingering ten-minute tasks that eat up your mental RAM. If you are carrying heat from past injustices, move it. Walk, breathe, or use a visualization to pull that heavy energy out through your feet and into the ground for composting. You cannot lead a revolution if you are bogged down by the debris of the past.

4. The Visionary Brief: are courage, strength, and justice still your North Stars? If you were to dare a fresh start with an uncertain outcome, what would it look like? Write it down. Don’t worry about the how—the coming transits will provide the momentum soon enough.

Consider this audit your internal discovery process. The clarity you find in the luminescence of this Full Moon is how you will stand firm when the tempo changes. On April 9, when Mars moves into Aries, it brings a high-velocity landscape where the pace quickens and the stakes rise. By defining your center now, you ensure that when that double dose of warrior energy arrives, you aren’t the fuel for the friction—you are the architect of the fire.

As Mars approaches the outer planets later this month and the collective energy turns even older and wilder, the world might feel like it is screaming. But remember: our power is rooted in love, and our strength is deep. The world is waiting for the clarity that only a centered, powerful, and slightly wild soul can provide. Stand tall in your birthright, breathe through the flames, and burn as bright and hot as the star that made you.

Right now, the collective atmosphere is thick with the scent of ozone and scorched earth. We are moving through a potent celestial corridor where the fire of Aries is meeting the cold, hard architecture of a Saturn Cazimi. It is a moment of crystalline clarity in the center of the storm—a time when we are being asked to look at our wounds not as weaknesses, but as the blueprints for the systems we are meant to build.

I know the heat of that fire intimately.

When I was 17, I woke up in a hospital bed tangled in a web of tubes and wires. I listened to a doctor speak in the sterilized language of technicalities: vertebrae fractures, spinal cord damage, a future defined by a wheelchair. He was giving me a life sentence before my life had even truly begun.

The rage didn’t arrive as a scream. It was a slow, gurgling surge rising from a childhood spent in survival mode—a kid who had already navigated more instability and loneliness than anyone should ever have to carry. To be told my autonomy was over was the breaking point.

I didn’t just feel that rage; I leaned into it. I invited it to come in hotter and faster. I told that doctor exactly where he could shove his prognosis, and I spent the next three months in the hospital and the next several years in grueling therapy, forcing my devastated body to remember how to stand and take a step.

I refused to be stopped. I started college in a wheelchair, studied abroad in Egypt, and by the time I moved to Los Angeles for law school, I had left the wheelchair behind. But I didn’t leave the rage behind. It became my companion—a comforting source of power, a tool for navigating a world that demands compliance while despising my differences.

That fire is what led me to run for office in 2016 when I couldn’t believe Trump is who we are, and it is why I left elected office in 2024 when I realized—with the kind of grief that tastes like ash—that Trump is who we are.

I am here now because I feel that same vibration humming in the collective unconscious.

Women are angry because we have been operating inside a machine that craves our empathy and mentorship but refuses to value it. We have played by rules designed to exhaust us, hoping that if we were just “good enough,” the system would finally love us back.

But as Venus meets Chiron—the Wounded Healer—in Aries this week, she delivers a sharp, medicinal sting. She is unearthing the jagged truth we’ve tried to soothe for far too long: it isn’t us who needs to change. It is the systems of the Patriarchy that have to go. These structures only move when they are forced, and the most potent, untapped fuel for that force is our collective, sanctified rage.

I see your rage not as a problem to be managed or a fire to be extinguished, but as the Justice Card living and breathing inside of you. It is the part of you that remembers a long history of being silenced—from the witch trials to the boardroom—and refuses to let it happen again.

This week, the Saturn Cazimi offers us a throne room moment. Saturn is the architect, the Lord of Karma and Structure. When he sits in the heart of the Sun, he isn’t just watching the fire; he’s handing us the tools to channel it.

To access this life-changing power, use the current transits to map your way out:

• Feel through the rage (The Aries Fire): Stop trying to “calm down.” Let the anger burn away the parts of you that are still trying to please a system that uses you. Let that heat fuel your momentum.
  

• Visualize the new system (The Venus/Chiron realization): If the old world didn’t require your exhaustion to function, what would it look like? Sit with the wound of what has been taken from you, and let it show you what must be built in its place.
  

• Build with Discipline (The Saturn Cazimi): Rage without structure is just a scream. Rage with structure is a revolution. Use this week’s clarity to write new rules unique to your life, your needs, your wants; set the new boundaries; and find the partners who will lay the bricks with you.

Our power may be quieter than the noise of the world, but that’s because it’s rooted in a love so fierce it looks, feels and sounds like fire. It is the quiet power of a woman deciding she is no longer available for her own subjugation.

When we find the courage to step into who we really are—witches, warriors, leaders, creators—there is nothing in this world greater than our collective force.

We cannot do this alone, but together, anything is possible.

This week, make the time and space to pinpoint one area where you’ve been playing nice with a system that doesn’t value you.

• Identify the Rage: Where is the gurgle in your gut?
  

• Identify the Structure: What is one boundary (Saturn) you can set today to protect your magic?

What are you burning down this week, and what are you building in the clearing?

The person you were in December is officially obsolete.

When the sun moved into Capricorn at the start of the year, you set intentions based on a version of the world that still felt possible. But the last few months have been a relentless exposure of rot. Between the escalating machinery of war and the final, desperate extraction of the Epstein class, we are watching the old guard scramble to grab every last dollar before the system collapses.

If your January goals feel like they belong to a stranger, it’s because they do. You have outgrown the old rules. This week is the pivot point where we stop trying to fit into the wreckage and start building the new.

Wednesday brings the New Moon in Pisces, and it’s arriving with a specific kind of friction. This isn’t just a quiet, dreamy moon—it’s squaring off with a Venus-Jupiter transit that is demanding we reclaim our sense of worth. This is the cosmic middle finger to the scarcity the patriarchy has long been selling you. The new moon asks you to sit in the quiet, listen in the dark, tune your mind into your body and pay attention to what it’s telling you.

While the exploiters in chief are manipulating markets and sucking the air out of the room, your job is to use this moon as a cosmic drain. Pisces is where everything goes to dissolve. It is the final exit point of the astrological year and the time when the parts of you that no longer fit can be left behind as the old year and old you come to a close.

Before we get to mid-week, look at your intentions from the start of the year. What was born out of a desire for security within a broken system? What was set because you thought you had to play by the old rules? Be brutally honest about what from the old you is holding the new you back. If it doesn’t honor your highest potential, let the Pisces tide take it away.

By the end of the week, the haze begins to lift. Mercury is finally stationing direct in Pisces, clearing the cobwebs and the misalignment that has made the last few weeks feel like walking through a fog. The misfires are over. The signal is becoming clear.

On Friday, the Sun enters Aries, marking the Equinox and the true start of the astrological new year. This is the hard launch. We are moving from the dissolution of the ocean into the raw, unbridled heat of the warrior.

Aries season doesn’t care about your excuses. With a pile-up of long-term transit planets asking us to go boldly into the future, the energy is shifting from stewing to sharing. This is your chance to say the thing you’ve been holding back, be the person you’ve been afraid to be, step into the power that felt too hot, too brazen, too bold. The ship hasn’t yet sailed; it’s just waiting for a captain who isn’t afraid of the storm.

This Wednesday, give yourself twenty minutes of silence. No scrolling, no doing, no buffering. Let your mind sit with your body.

Imagine a magnet under your feet. Let it pull the collective disappointment and the secondary trauma of the headlines out of your marrow. Let it suck down into the ground to be composted. In the space that’s left, ask, what is the one bold action the old me was too afraid to take?

This weekend, with the Equinox, make a pot of soil and add some basil seeds. Basil is for abundance and protection; it’s the plant of the sovereign.

As you press the seeds into the dirt, speak your intention for the new year. Do not set a goal for profit—set a goal for power. Not the power for the sake of power that we see failing in the news, but the power that puts people over profits and justice over ego, the power that burns from the depths of the real you, the one that has been hiding behind the failing pillars of the patriarchy and all its brokenness, the power that before this moment felt too big for the world. Your big, beautiful, creative magic that only you can bring is yearning to break out, breathe and make the world a better place.

The old systems are burning. Let them. Your job isn’t to save the pyre; it’s to plant the seed in the ash. Use this week to receive the download, clear the haze, and step into the fire of Aries season with your true, deep, authentic, highest power.

The warrior is waking up and it’s time to get moving.

The pressurized silence of the deep is a place of absolute truth. For the last four months, Jupiter retrograde has been a descent into that dark, heavy water. It wasn’t a vacation; it was an excavation.

For me, this journey through my 5th house was a Persephone-walk. To reach the core, I had to leave the jet-setting lawyer and the elected official at the gates. I had to strip off the “student” and the “seeker” until I was standing naked in the house of my own creation, forced to learn how to breathe underwater.

Yesterday, the tide turned. Jupiter stationed direct in Cancer, where it is exalted—sitting in the seat of the Queen, the Mother, and the primordial Ocean. The current is no longer pulling us down into the wrecks of our history; the ascent is underway. We are returning to the surface richer and more dangerous than when we left, carrying everything we salvaged back to the light to bloom with a ferocity that threatens to break the old world wide open.

While Jupiter was retrograde, I finished my fourth novel—a story of resurrected Ptolemaic Queens fighting interstellar monsters—but the process was a ritual of unearthing. To finish it, I had to face the scarred-over memory tissue of my soul. I had to feel the heat of the ancient pyre and the rage I have carried for lifetimes.

I spent this season mind to body, taking dives into my deepest depths to face the calcified myths others wrote into my marrow before I even knew how to hold the pen. I felt my rage melt like warm butter, flowing through my feet to compost in the dark earth. I learned that the old versions of me were beholden to a system that suffocated my potential and destroyed our planet, trading the breath of our future for the ghosts of a dying power.

As Jupiter stations direct, the shoreline of my life is being rewritten. For too long, I used learning and fear as a buffer to keep me from being. I was a student of my own power because I was afraid of the sheer velocity of it. But the descent has ended. I am stepping into an explosive creative power that doesn’t ask for permission and doesn’t offer explanations.

In the sign of Cancer, Jupiter demands to know what we belong to. I have found my answer in the marrow. I belong to the justice warriors who are done performing for a broken system. I belong to a legal industry starving for the sacred. My presence there—as a writer, a coach, a witch—isn’t a pivot. It is a reclamation. It is the Justice Card manifesting as a pulse, a magnet pulling us toward a truth that the old world is too terrified to inhabit.

With Jupiter direct, the quiet and space I’ve inhabited with my body is no longer a refuge—it is a headquarters. My novel, my work, and my presence are fueled by an irreversible integration of the dark I found at the bottom and the light I am now wielding. I have reclaimed the word witch as an anchor. This is a power rooted in the ancient, fertile soil of love, standing in direct defiance of the hate and control currently trading our future for ghosts of dead and dying power.

I want you to look back at the last four months. Don’t look at your calendar; look at the scarred-over memory tissue of your own history.

What did you find in the pressurized silence of Jupiter retrograding in the sign of home and creativity and the deep, tectonic roots that anchor your spirit while the surface world burns? Even when the world felt cold and lonely and so very scary, what was the glimmer in the center of your being that refused to go out?

The retrograde was the dive. The direct station is the deployment. You have spent months mining the shipwrecks of your own soul. You aren’t coming back for a seat at the old table. You are returning with the gold and the grit required to build a world that is actually big enough for the human spirit.

This is your moment to grow with intention. The tide is high, the current is strong, and the water is calling you home.

There is a specific kind of silence that follows an eclipse. It isn’t just the absence of noise; it’s a suspension of the status quo. As the moon moved between us and the sun, the cosmic clock reset. For a few breathless moments, the rules of our outer world—the task lists, the deadlines, and the expectations of a society that demands we stay small—lost their grip.

Now, as the light returns, we are left in the slipstream. There is a deep yearning stirring in the center of our collective being. Can you feel it? It’s a glimmer that yearns through time and space for justice, for authenticity, and for a world where our power is no longer pushed down by the weight of expectations.

Three years ago, I was living a life that looked perfect on paper—jet-setting, coaching, and holding elected office. But beneath the surface, that office had become an albatross chained around my neck. I realized that the world I had built no longer fit the woman I was becoming. The becoming has been a long and painful journey and I’m only now stepping fully into my power.

I look around and see so many people carrying these albatrosses of the old world, pushing against the flow of our creative birthright, to fight for things that suck away our very life, clinging to the hope that we can fix it. Whether it’s a career that feels hollow, a relationship that stifles your magic, or the inner critic that convinces you staying quiet is the only way to stay safe, or a democracy that shows us time and again that it’s here to profit from the extraction of the planet and our souls.

The eclipse was our invitation to let the Tower burn.

Even though the alignment has passed, the portal for the Great Unbecoming remains open. It is your opportunity to look at what is no longer serving you and—with the courage of a Queen rebuilding her empire—simply let it go.

To harness this energy, you must move out of the winds of chaos and into the quiet. Your body already knows what needs to be shed; it remembers every trauma and every joy, even when your mind is busy catastrophizing. Use this post-eclipse window to investigate what the darkness revealed.

* Introduce Your Mind to Your Body: find a space where you won’t be interrupted. Close your eyes and breathe into your center.

* Scan for the Weight: where do you feel tension? Is there a pressure in your throat? A knot in your stomach? Ask that sensation: What are you protecting that I no longer need?

* Identify the Albatross: write down one thing—a habit, a fear, or a self-imposed limit—that feels like it’s pulling you down into disappointment and disillusionment.

* The Release: visualize this weight melting away like warm butter, flowing down your body and out through your feet. Let it sink into the ground where it can be composted and alchemized into something new.

* Claim the More: what is the more your power is calling for? Is it more creativity? More justice? More love? State it clearly.

I will say it till I’m blue in the face, we are the ones we’ve been waiting for. When we find the courage to step into our true, wild, and powerful selves, we aren’t just changing our own lives, we are creating a better world for every woman who comes after us.

Our power is rooted in love, and it is quieter than the power for the sake of power that currently dominates the headlines. Despite what our patriarchy demands, quiet does not mean weak. Like the moon blocking the sun, our collective shift can change the entire landscape.

The shadow has passed, but the transformation has just begun. Your magic is waiting. We are the matriarchy rising.

The old world was built on the lie that if we just worked harder, climbed higher, and ignored our own skin, we would eventually reach a place of safety. We built our lives inside those structures—the careers, the titles, the rigid expectations of what a successful life is supposed to look like.

But the architecture is failing. We can see it in the news, feel it in our bank accounts, and hear it in the way people scream at each other across every digital divide. The systems are burning because they were never designed to support human souls; they were designed to harvest them.

Now that the walls of the old world are melting all around, I see two choices. You can stay inside and breathe the smoke of a dying era, grasp tightly to the treasures in its last breaths. Or you can step into the expansion of your own consciousness.

Expanding your consciousness isn’t a retreat into some light-and-airy spiritual cloud. It is a demolition project. It is the gritty, daily work of reclaiming your autonomy from the rubble. It is how you learn to see through the noise and bombs and burning and smoke so you can envision and build something that actually breathes.

Tomorrow, Mercury goes retrograde in the deep, watery sign of Pisces. While the world treats this as a time of tech glitches and flight mishaps (and you should be prepared for such!), there is so much more possibility here. This transit is a cosmic reminder to slow down, stay in your dreams a little bit longer and look deeper than anything atop the surface. It is the perfect time to create the space to begin a new practice.

Here is what your alchemy can look like in the day-to-day:

1. Interrogating What’s Automatic

In the old system, we were programmed to react. Someone triggers you? You bite back without even taking a breath to think it through. A deadline is missed? You catastrophize and spin into a productivity-jacking downward spiral.

Expansion is the one-second pause where you realize your amygdala is trying to run the show. It’s sitting at your desk, feeling that knife in the chest or the searing pain behind the eyes, and instead of shooting back, you ask: what about this is mine?

Practical expansion is choosing to be the observer of your own nervous system instead of an active participant. You start to see your triggers not as flaws, but as scarred-over memory tissue, reacting to what it knows all too well. What it wants more than anything is to hide you from the pain that comes from exposing the real you. This part of you that wears its heart on its sleeve, who listens to understand, who loves to grow, who responds from the heart after a one-second interruption of the trigger, that’s who’s finally ready to breathe.

2. Listening to Your Body

We’ve been trained to treat our bodies like high-maintenance vehicles that carry our brains around. Expansion is realizing the body is actually the hardware for your intuition.

The Yes: A flutter of resonance down your spine, a spark in the chest, a gleeful burst in your throat.

The No: A leaden weight in the stomach, a tightening in the chest, a closing in the throat.

On a practical level, this means you take that one second pause to feel into what your body is telling you. What message is it trying to send? What direction does it want you to go? Why? Ask yourself these questions, and wait in the silence for the answers. When you start using your biology as a compass, you’ll find yourself more confidently going in the right direction.

3. Reclaiming the Quiet as a Weapon

The old system demands your constant attention. It wants you divided, angry, and yelling. It thrives on your noise and the noise of others that keeps you from leaning into the quiet.

Expanding your consciousness means intentionally looking away. It’s the radical act of creating space—even just ten minutes—to introduce your mind to your body. In that quiet, you aren’t just relaxing; you are re-calibrating. You are reclaiming your energy from the winds of chaos so you can spend it on what matters: your family, your craft, and your own power.

Making the choice to lean into your body, listen, learn and respond (not react!) doesn’t lead to a life without problems. It leads to a life where you are sentient.

When you stop being a cog in a burning machine, you can become an architect. You start to see the glimmer of justice that isn’t written in black-and-white law books, but in the way we treat each other and ourselves. You start to realize that while power for the sake of power is loud, the power rooted in an expanded, loving consciousness is immutable.

The systems are burning because they were never built to hold the full version of us. Let them burn. We have better things to build.

Stop waiting for the old world to fix itself. Stop trying to fix the old system. It can’t be fixed. It was built for profits, not people. Your power isn’t waiting for a new law to be passed or a system to be reformed—it’s waiting for you to look away from the chaos and back into your own body where your own inner compass is ready to lead the way.

As Mercury begins its retrograde in Pisces tomorrow, use the friction of the next three weeks as your training ground. Choose one systemic reaction—a stressful email, a headline, a family conflict—and find the one-second pause. Ask yourself: what about this is mine? And how do I want to respond?

We are standing in a celestial powerhouse. With a transformative eclipse today, the sun’s shift into Pisces tomorrow, and the monumental meeting of Saturn and Neptune at 0º of Aries at the end of the week, the universe isn’t just asking for a pivot. It’s demanding a total reimagining of what it means to be alive.

In my legal and political careers, I looked for justice in golden-tiled hallways and the dark wood of the dais. I thought it was something to be negotiated or legislated into existence. But as I’ve followed the glimmer deep inside me—the part of me that is space and stardust and highest potential—I’m continuing to see all the ways that the most potent justice isn’t found in the old laws of the land. But in the Law of the Stars and the power of our collective imagination and the infinite reaches of our love.

As a writer of matriarchal resurrected queens, I spend my days dreaming of heroines who rebuild civilizations while slaying interstellar monsters. But here is the truth: it isn’t just a plot point. This is our real life. We are all facing monsters of systemic greed, control, and the soul-crushing weight of the status quo. And just like my queens are always discovering, our greatest weapon isn’t our anger—it’s our power humming in resonance.

This week’s astrology is a portal for the resonance that will make our power sing!

The Eclipse: A sudden moment of clarity that rips away what no longer fits. It is the cosmic wrecking ball finishing the job so the ground is level for what comes next.

Pisces Season: This is the invitation to step into the quiet. It’s the season of the mystic, the dreamer, and the artist. It’s where we stop over-thinking and start feeling the frequency of the future we want to inhabit.

Saturn and Neptune at 0º Aries: This is the big bang of intentionality. It is the bridge between the dream and the structure. It is the moment the tiny spark inside your chest decides to become a sun.

For a long time, I used learning and professional credentials as a buffer to keep me from simply being. I was scared that showing my true face—the witch, the novelist, the mom just trying her best, the woman who sees the arc of humanity at a pivot point where we get to choose. Love or hate. Up in the planets I see a mirror leading us into the fire of transformational momentum.

So today, I choose courage.

I am stepping all the way out of the cold, wet wool of who I was told to be and into the explosive creative power of what is possible. In today’s eclipse, I sacrifice the belief that I don’t deserve life’s greatest beauties. I am no longer navigating the brokenness. I am building the replacement.

Our power is quieter than the hate we see on the news, because it is rooted in love and wholeness, and it is absolute and infinite in its possibility. The interstellar monsters of the old world are loud and destroy everything they can touch because they are terrified. They know their time is up. The new world is currently unbuilt and it’s waiting for my specific brand of magic to give it shape. And yours.

Believe in the beautiful, terrifying possibility of this moment. Dream big. Then dream bigger. The stars are lining up to help you build it.

Let’s dream together. Please tell me, in the comments or DM, what are you dreaming?

I worked the levers of the system like a champion. I knew how to navigate the jagged politics of government and law and the soul-crushing process of policy. I could move a room, bridge a gap, and dress up the most radical truths in a suit that made them palatable for the people in charge and those I was charged with helping. I was the bridge.

But being a bridge meant being walked on. And as Saturn hits the final degree of my 1st House in Pisces, I am burning the bridge while I’m still standing on it.

I am done being a master of the architecture of the Status Quo.

The version of me that spent decades maneuvering within broken systems is gasping its final breaths. As it turns out, using my brilliance to help people survive systems meant to break them is helping those systems break us all. I carried that professional persona as a shield that became a cage. The prestige, the titles, the external validation, the belief that these systems could be fixed, the wasted influence—it all feels like heavy, cold, wet wool suffocating my real fire breaking to get out.

Saturn isn’t just asking me to change my resume. It’s performing a demolition of the power player I worked so hard to become. It is stripping away the woman who knew how to play nice with the architects of the old world. And it fucking hurts. It is scary. It is hard to breathe. I can feel my soul being dragged across hot crackling coals.

This crackling I feel, from beneath the cold wet wool of who I was, is a new kind of power. In the legal and political worlds, power is something we negotiate, leverage, or litigate. It’s external. It’s loud. But the power I’m feeling now, as I step out of this three-year autopsy of the self, is astronomical. It’s the frequency of a queen who realized she doesn’t need a seat at their table because she’s busy folding space-time to create her own.

I used to fight for justice through policy and laws. Now I find myself moving from the law of the land to the law of the stars. I see now that the only justice worth having isn’t found in an ordinance, law or policy change. It’s the justice we create when we work together to build communities that actually care for one another. It’s in the systems we build that put people over profits. It’s in the realization that love—the only thing more powerful than hate—is the lifeblood of everything we are meant to be.

I can no longer professionalize my magic to support systems of control and fear and extraction and greed. My magic is meant to vibrate at a level that makes the old systems irrelevant.

As I stand at the threshold of Saturn into my 2nd House (in Aries, OMG!), I am redefining what it means to be valuable.

In my old life, my value was tied to how well I could help others navigate the brokenness. In this new life, my value is my resonance. I am taking the strategic mind that survived more than twenty years of legal and political fuckery and fusing it with the heart of a queen who knows how to build a new world from the wreckage.

I am not a former lawyer. I am not a former politician. I am a current everything.

I am the fantasy novelist who slays interstellar monsters while building a matriarchal community. I am the coach who helps others transform into who they’re meant to be. I am the mom who imagines and works for a better world and future for her kiddos. I am the witch who understands exactly how the world works—and is finally brave enough to build a better one from scratch.

The system stayed behind. I am stepping into the quiet of an unbuilt new world, terrified and electrified, and I’m not looking back. Who is with me?

We have been trained to ignore the smoke until the fire is at our own front door. For generations, we’ve been taught whose pain is valid and whose can be edited out—not just by culture, but by the law. We are running code that was written to keep us small, quiet, and pleasant to look at, and it’s dividing and destroying us.

Right now, the remnants of the Leo Full Moon are demanding a witness. It’s asking us to have the guts to be seen exactly as we are, even when we’re still haunted by the ghosts of our own programming.

I have had the unique experience of becoming what life taught me to despise.

When I was 17, a car accident left me partially paralyzed. It’s why I walk with a cane and braces today. The morning of my accident, when life was normal and the world was still my oyster, I looked down on people with disabilities with disgust. I saw them as lesser than.

That bias wasn’t an accident. It was the result of a century of “Ugly Laws.” In Chicago, the law that criminalized anyone deemed “unsightly” or “unseemly” in public stayed on the books until 1974—the same year I was born!

San Francisco, Portland, New Orleans—they all had sister laws. By codifying disability as a “public nuisance,” the state transformed physical vulnerability into mandated shame. It demanded we stay in the shadows so the producer class wouldn’t have to look at us.

This systematic erasure conditioned us to equate visible imperfection with a lack of worth. It wove a collective bias so deep I couldn’t see it until I became the very thing the law was designed to hide. It took years of therapy and deep breathing to stop seeing my own divergent body through that lens.

It’s easy to judge those 19th-century lawmakers for their cruelty and privilege, but in truth, we are still enforcing their legacy. If I could carry that much disgust for my own body, imagine the weight of the Ugly Laws we apply to skin color, accents, sexual orientations and zip codes.

We have been trained to despise what society wants to hide. This isn’t about being a good person or bad person. It’s about being a person who can admit that we were programmed by a broken system. Until we own the bias, we’re just deputies of systems and laws that have long overstayed their welcome.

The Leo Moon is asking us to be brave enough to witness and be witnessed as we are. It’s time to stop enforcing the ghosts of cruelty and division and supremacy. It’s time to break the spell and unlearn the lies we were taught to believe.

Take a breath and turn your focus into your body—that treasure trove of information that remembers every insult and every joy. Where are you still enforcing an ugly law against yourself or someone else? What part of your humanity have you been taught to treat as a public nuisance?

The Leo Moon gives us the heart-centered courage to look at the bias without blinking. Tell me in the comments: What is one ugly law you are ready to stop enforcing?

Three years ago, I was a different kind of tired. I was hopping time zones several times each week, coaching lawyers, and grinding for a start-up I loved. But I felt something stir and grow and become all consuming in my chest—something more. A power calling me home. I didn’t know it then, but my midlife crisis was actually my witch-birth.

Now, as I look at the stars for this Sunday, I see that same more vibrating in the collective. We are facing a Full Moon in Leo, and whoa!, she is not here to play.

We are living through some wild AF astrology. With a massive stellium in Aquarius, the energy is future-focused, innovative, and deeply rebellious. With Leo sitting in opposite polarity, with this big juicy, loud full moon coming at us, we are at the crossroads of Heart vs. the Hive.

While the Aquarius energy looks at the systems, the Leo Full Moon shines a brutal, golden spotlight on the individual. It is asking: where are you dimming your light to fit into a world that no longer fits you?

It is hard to feel into and trust our hearts, when our newsfeeds are a literal Tower card on fire. We are watching federal agents gun down citizens, the government lies about it, and an administration led by a conman whose relentless need for adoration is turning our country into the world’s laughing stock.

So much of so many of these days feels like an albatross chained around our necks, pulling us into a barrel of cold disappointment. I’ve felt that rage. I feel that rage. It melts like warm butter in my blood, clogging up my ability to see anything that isn’t red and rebellious and reactionary. When I look around, when I see the truth of our day—the warrantless arrests, the disappearing of people, the unhindered racial profiling, and the creeping authoritarianism trying to steal the air from our lungs, the love I want to project, the compassion I want to feel, the heart I want to center is smothered by darkness.

This weekend, the light we all need is coming, filling the night sky with a truth too bold to ignore. Leo is the sign of the Queen, the Performer, and the Truth-Teller. This Full Moon is a combustion point. It is the moment where we stop being observers and become who we were always meant to be.

Our power is quieter, it’s rooted in love, and when we all find the courage to step out of the crushing darkness and into who and what we really are, there will be nothing in this world that’s greater than our collective power.

This Sunday, the invitation is clear:

1. Shed the Performative: Stop using learning as a buffer to keep you from being and doing. If you are a lawyer, a witch, a coach, an advocate, a teacher, any manner of justice warrior—be that. And be the best you can be.
   

2. Roar for Justice: Justice is a magnet between our will and our fate. Use this Leo energy to speak your truth against fuckery and systems of oppression.
   

3. Listen to the Body: When you see the headlines, feel into your body, where does the rage sit? Use the quiet to listen to your body’s guidance; it knows how to lead you into better decisions and deeper resistance. And just like any other part of your mind and body, the more you do it, the stronger your intuition becomes and the more you can trust your inner knowing.

June Jordan wrote important poetic words for the women standing up against apartheid, Obama used them again in 2008 in a call to action, and it remains the truth we need right now: “We are the ones we have been waiting for.”

This Full Moon is your coronation. Don’t let the loud power of hate dim your quiet power of love. Rise up. Use your voice. Speak your truth. The world is waiting for you.

Over the weekend, a data-driven ghost reappeared: a modern confirmation of the 1972 MIT study, The Limits to Growth. Originally commissioned by the Club of Rome—a global think tank of scientists and world leaders—the study was conducted by a team of MIT systems scientists including Donella Meadows and Dennis Meadows. They used a pioneering computer model called World3 to track the interaction of population, industrial output, and pollution. Their warning was clear: if we pursued “Business as Usual,” the world’s complex systems would begin to fracture by the mid-2020s, leading to a total societal collapse around 2040.

For decades, the study was dismissed by economists as “alarmist.” But in 2020, and updated again through 2024, researcher Gaya Herrington decided to check the math. She compared the 1972 projections against fifty years of real-world empirical data. Her findings confirmed that we are tracking the “Business as Usual” scenario with haunting precision.

I don’t need a computer model to see the rot in real-time. I am watching a masterclass in sycophancy as the current administration opens the gates to a new breed of tech-oligarchs. These tech bros are lapping up the deregulation and freedom offered by the Trump administration, building a digital fiefdom where profit is the only law and human capital is just another resource to be mined. It is the madness of a dying era trying to automate its way out of accountability.

To understand the weight of this moment, I find myself looking at the ghost of Pluto’s past. The last time Pluto transited Aquarius, from 1778 to 1798, the world didn’t just change—it burned and was reborn. That era gave us the American, French, and Haitian Revolutions. It was a time when the common man realized that the divine right of kings was a lie. In France, the transition was a bloodbath; the guillotine became the ultimate Aquarian equalizer, stripping the elite of their heads when they refused to share the bread.

But there was a shadow side to those revolutions. While they spoke of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, they also birthed the Industrial Revolution. We traded the tyranny of kings for the tyranny of the machine. We liberated the individual from the farm only to chain them to the factory floor, laying the foundation for the very profit at all costs system that is currently choking the life out of 2026. The outcome of the last Pluto in Aquarius transit was a paradox: we gained the “Rights of Man,” but we lost our connection to the Earth and to each other. We built a world of independent units rather than a collective of cared-for souls.

As I sit in this week of January 2026, I am witnessing a pile-up of inner planets—the Sun, Mercury, Venus, and Mars—all bumping up against Pluto in Aquarius. Pluto is the planet of death, rebirth, and the excavation of the underworld. This massive stellium is acting like a cosmic pressure cooker. The freedom the tech-oligarchs are currently celebrating is the shadow side of Aquarius: cold, detached, and hyper-logical.

They are trying to build an Aquarian future that has no room for the messy, emotional, vulnerable reality of being human.

But Pluto in Aquarius demands a different kind of revolution. If the last transit was about the rights of the individual, I believe this transit is about the responsibilities of the collective.

The MIT study explicitly states that collapse is a choice, not a destiny. To survive 2040, I know we must perform an act of societal alchemy. We must pivot from a system of extraction to a Culture of Care. This means centering relationships over capital and acknowledging that building community isn’t a hobby—it’s the primary work of survival. It looks like Universal Basic Services where health, housing, and dignity aren’t tied to productivity. It looks like Regenerative Localism, moving away from fragile global supply chains toward community-owned energy, food gardens, and mutual aid.

This shift requires me to believe that human potential—the ability of every person to rise, create, and contribute—is more valuable than a rising stock ticker. It is a radical commitment to the idea that we are only as strong as the support we offer our most vulnerable.

The tech-oligarchs may be lapping up the freedom of the moment, but the heavy hand of Pluto is about to remind us all: you cannot outrun the limits of the earth, and you cannot have a future without a soul.

This is just the beginning of my journey into these themes. Over the coming months, I’m going to dive deeper into what a radical commitment to community looks like in practice—how we move past the digital isolation of the last decade and build a culture of care that can actually withstand the storms of 2040. As I continue this long trek with Pluto through Aquarius, I am left wondering: what are we building in the ruins?

I want to hear from you. How are you practicing a Culture of Care right now? Whether it’s a small individual ritual of self-tending or a collective effort in your local community, how are you building the new world in the ruins of the old? Leave a comment below.