LEO FULL MOON HOROSCOPES
The Leo moon is growing full...
officially, Sunday Feb 5th at 10:28am Pacific
A moon that actually moon's us...the back of its trousers pulled down, a shocking act of display from the pale Aquarius sky. This is a "you-do-you" lunation...perhaps you feel excited to seek attention, flaunt a personal opinion or make a bold change to the way you express yourself. In aspect to Uranus while Venus is elbowing Mars...don't hold back, trust in your goodness...it is possible to be sassy and also heart-centered and soft. It is possible to be a showoff and also contribute your special skills to a community. Don't confuse being a powerful thunderbolt with being selfish. This moon may help give us the confidence to be more resolute, to thrust ourselves center stage without waiting for approval. Show us what you got, give us a flash of that ever-unfolding you.
Remember sitting around the circle, the feeling of carpet on your legs, just now learning how to cross. Remember the thing you thought was important, remember holding it up for all to see. Remember waiting your turn to use your voice to tell your story. You’ve been showing and telling for a long time now...learning how to develop your personal narrative. The circle of time goes around and around, your little legend now growing into an epic tale, we look over to see who you are this time, to hear you explain what it is you are holding.
“I am this way, the end.” may keep things at bay. The *always's* and *never's* may help create boundaries. Yet, the hedges of your words and thoughts are ready to be sheared...into the shape of an animal or a gumdrop...clearing space for colorful flowers to peak through. From this perspective, every twist and turn in the labyrinth is a clue for curiosity, not for being lost, “...up until now, I have been this way…” here is where the wall becomes a moving, self-cleaning spiral. You are an ever-changing exit and entrance, every day a new twist of the tongue.
Walk into a room with all your limbs wide open, with your body outstretched like a star. Open the fingers on your hand (they are stars too), they wave and smile, they shake and rattle the room. All rock and roll has a lead guitarist…and we need the rest of you too…every sizzling cell…and also the parts that simmer, the part of you that is scared, amateur, the part of you that needs help from a drummer. How may you be the best and also take pride in the backbeat. Your vulnerability isn’t less important than your strength.
There are three types of people: those who are spectators to events, those who run events and those who crash them. You are skilled enough to do all three. Skilled enough to be front and center. Skilled enough to applause from the crowd. Skilled enough to let the officials chase you across the field - your bare skin bouncing under stadium lights. We see your breath smiling in the cold. The adrenaline of your joy works from every angle - whoever you are, you're keep us warm.
They say it takes seven years to digest gum. They say touching a toad will make you bumpy. They say if you keep smiling you'll get gnarled up like ginger root, your face becomes a tree. To get wise, you gotta get a little ugly. Gotta get rough and tumble around the eyes...inside these concentric circles is your own unique clear sight...and nothing overrides personal experience. Arrange fun shapes with your brow, be the walking temple of your timeline...bumpy, wrinkly, full of Wrigley chew.
Gouge your eyes out and press their attention into a beloveds hand. To look at each other is to heal. We all need someone to witness our whacky ways, to show us we are here as a special mass in space. We heal each other by opening our faces in places where family, teacher, bully could only see blurred in periphery. When we love, our eyelashes open like gates. When we love our eyelashes wiggle around like crazy ! We attempt to calibrate our seeing to suit each other's center, our sense of self finally in full focus.
Talking to yourself in the kitchen, scratching, picking, zoning out - there is somewhere our body goes when no one is watching. A brain wave, a nervous system thump, a chair-throne to plug into. It is here in this kingdom where spirit has room to strike. It is here in privacy that roses are tiny seeds, closed doors open hearts. In secrecy, something special shakes alive, the value of your silence gives it sunlight everyday, until finally full bloom, a wreath of flowers crowning your head.
No one comes to the party like you do. No one adds that shade of color to the pile of shoes at the door. Distinct next to the one that is muddy, the one with a hole where the pinky toe protrudes - another, the rubber heel is almost gone. We all have a unique way of carving our shape into the world. Materials bend, jingle jangle and lunge. A shoe is no longer a shoe, but an autobiographical sculpture. May you celebrate the unique way your body carves its shape into the earth, always noticeably *you* in the pile.
You don’t don’t have to blow into peoples faces to prove you're alive. Your absence takes up space too, people look over at the empty chair. Where you once stood, a vacuous crypt. Where you once crossed the room, nervous laughter, lovesickness…a yearning for parts of conversations untouched by your interjections. Do not fear receding into inaccessible places. Find the private quiet of an arrogant well fed pet. A place to recharge and have you to yourself, a place we hope you won’t be for too long.
There is your face in the mirror and then there is your other face, bouncing light off of other mirrors. From this corner, you're a criminal...tilt left for saint, tilt right for celebrity. We are often over-exposed by the wide-angle lens of our audience, a constant blink blink of opinions. Many faces filled with culture, trauma, values and unique tastes...an audience will refract you for all kinds of reasons, an audience has nothing to do with you at all. Make your work, let your light bounce all around and get blinked at.
All things get split into other people's pockets, landfills, thrift stores, going once and twice. When we kiss the forehead in the casket, layers of emulsifiers come off on our lips. Even after death we want people to look alive, stay as they are, as we remember them. Instead, how might we let transformation have its way with us ? Let all the hand-me-downs, broken mugs, lost tv remotes stay gone - let us not go backwards. A soul goes through puberty too, grows 10 inches in light, let what is not *the spark* fall away, let the lesser dense parts stay gone.
With your feet on fire, you can hop quick to the next thing. Rest your eyes at the red light on the way. They all honk behind you, now it's green. If you wanted to, you could keep moving forever, keep apologizing for being late. Or my friend, you could break the cycle, burn a cigarette through an invitation, eat sweet rice at the spa, only do what you feel like doing when you feel like doing it, foot on the break at a green light - take pleasure in the chorus of our honking.