That's the message I'm getting from the Sun and Venus, now comfortably into the second sign of the zodiac, Taurus, and doing their darnedest to slow down some of the manic eclipse-crazed action with a practical reality check.
Over these past weeks, under the influence of Apr 8's solar eclipse in light-the-firecracker-and-run Aries, we've witnessed a multitude of examples of consequentially inaugural moments in our lives. Quick directional changes. Instant epiphanic awarenesses. Doors closing so others can open.
On this website, I encouraged us all to utilize the Aries eclipse's inertia-busting spark as an impetus to proclaim our wants, taking one gallant step toward their actualization. And we did just that. We, the fire-breathing dragons, belched our incandescent hopes outward, vaporizing the hurdles in our paths or at least scorching their surfaces real good. Our desires run now, out in the world, pioneering, and free from our own worst interference.
We dispensed with the usual looming self-consciousness to let loose. How brave, and lofty, an exercise. But now, the craft returns to earth hopefully without too jarring a boom. Our feet hit solid ground. This land, this homestead, is still there, as it was when we temporarily left it to chase birds and fight valiantly for good. Bills are still due.
Are we, too, still as we were? Are we really different, or just the same? The proof does not reside in the dreams or desires. The proof is what we do with what we already have.
The zodiac transition from Aries to Taurus turns on how we decide to convert our initial vital impulses (Aries) into something materially, pragmatically and practically real (Taurus). Something we can sustain beyond that first moment's expression. With the Aries eclipse giving way to the impact of the Sun and Venus in Taurus, that's just what we must do.
While Taurus energy could hardly be more different than Aries, we require Taurus to make Aries's gumption actually matter. Aries is fast, and Taurus slows it down. Aries is risky, and Taurus essentially conservative not in a political sense but in terms of how resources are expended. Aries may embody the magic flame of spontaneous inspiration, but its fire cannot stay in that stateit will either extinguish at the first strong breeze or blaze until it consumes the entire forest. Taurus is the vessel that holds the flame, the rock-solid hearth within which the fire can safely burn, providing us warmth and light and life.
This hearth is built of stone and mud, of palpable material from the earth. It is made to endure. Likewise, Taurus is the sign of fixed earth. It doesn't deal in abstracts. Taurus says, 'If I cannot grab it, count it, spend it, drink it, stare it down, or rub it on my skin, it isn't real.' And Taurean wisdom is about knowing what real, actual stuff we possessobjects, supplies, qualities, skillsthat can be drawn upon as we make our efforts. Not what we wish we had or are working toward one day having. We cannot survive on hypothetical food and water. Taurus is a strong and reliable worker, one who doesn't squander the stock, prepared to continue no matter what external conditions might unexpectedly appear.
Venus is at home in Taurus, where she is nowshe becomes the quintessential earth-mother who intuitively understands how to use what's at her disposal to provide for needs. This is the creative ideal we must strive for now, in the wake of this recent eclipse rattle-and-shake, if we hope to make something from what's gone on. The Venus-in-Taurus magic does not come from thin air, nor from rubbing two sticks together fast and furious. It is born out of patient hard work, conservation and perseverance, and a stubborn hold on the intent. If you really want what you said you want, then never forget the intention and start doing the slow work to get there.
If you detect a sobering undertone, undercutting the high we've been on over these weeks, it's probably the clash between Venus in stubbornly pragmatically no-shit Taurus and vaporous Neptune in idealistically rebellious Aquarius. On the heels of an astrological climate that promoted dreams-into-action, now we're waking up to the unglamorous labor required to make them happen and last. Sometimes, waking up the next morning sucks. It makes us want to get back under the covers and return to the slumberific logic of dogs that talk and pigs that fly. A dab of depression may accompany. The best approach for counteracting the back-to-reality blues is by taking small, gradual, close-to-the-face creative steps get just one half-inch closer every day, and don't obsess on the blissful promise of big-picture consummation.
And it doesn't necessarily help matters that the recent eclipse's ruling planet Mars is moving into Pisces this week, switching our physical drives from their previous break-the-mold momentum (when Mars was in Aquarius) to a more confused, indirect and otherwise muted manner. Mars moving into Pisces reminds me of careening down a waterslide, only to get to the end and instead of plunging into the cold water, remaining mystically suspended above the pool, inside a cloud that shrouds vision of our movement. How does this happen? Are we really floating? Are we moving or standing still? Which way is the restroom? These answers are currently unavailable, so we redirect our attention to the advice at the end of the previous paragraph
slow, sturdy, practical expressions of creative effort
feet firmly on the ground, even as we feel we might be levitating
and conceding that we can't understand the phenomenon.