HOROSCOPES FOR THE WEEK OF 12/18.
by Laura Tormos
On Tuesday, Saturn—the planet of structure, order, responsibility—ends its two-and-a-half-year stay in Sagittarius, and enters its home sign of Capricorn. On Thursday, the sun joins it—and so begins Capricorn season. There is a sense of beginning and rebirth— a clicking into place, an understanding. It is a chance to reassess which rules you’ve chosen to follow, and why.
You only have to want what you actually want. You don’t have to reach for every good thing like you’re starving for joy. You don’t have to hoard everything anyone else has ever wanted, just in case you want it, too. This week, it’s okay to narrow your focus. What desires will you choose and hold on to? You can’t live every life, only your own.
It’s weird to imagine that the world might get better, but it still can. It’s weird to imagine that you’re free, when the planet spins faster and faster out of anyone’s control, but try to imagine freedom anyway. Try to imagine what it would mean for the earth to have no master, and for you to have none, either. There is a possibility even now if you can shift your approach just a little.
This is a week to imagine new ways of living with anxiety, for living in this darkness. Will you push your fear away, gently, without rage or despair? Will you let it burn, contained, until it’s used itself up? Even now, fear can’t make a home in you if you don’t let it. Once it’s gone, what work is left to do?
It’s so hard to tell how you’re going to feel tomorrow. Our vision’s sharp, but it isn’t always broad. Our bodies are sensitive to cold and to heat, to the touch of wind and other people, but we’re still small. We can’t know everything today. We can’t look out across the future like we’d look out from the top of a tall building. The world’s not a puzzle or a movie with an end you can guess.
Forgiving yourself is such heavy work, but there’s too much going on in the world to keep all the rocks and sorrow that sit in your stomach. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in being a tender person made of water and hope. There’s nothing to be ashamed of at once knowing less than you know today. If you really forgave yourself, would it change the ways you're able to live?
This is a week for tracking the quiet feelings, the gentle ones, the ones that have been around for a long time. When the sky’s lit so bright at night, it can be hard to find the stars. The mountains were formed so long ago, and that took time. This is a week for following the feelings that are farther down than they are bright, the ones rooted somewhere deep in the earth. Listen to the voices that are quiet and sure. Watch as the sun keeps rising, even on foggy mornings.
How good it is, not to know where you’ll be standing this time tomorrow, or what your days will be filled with next year. It’s comforting, sometimes, to imagine you can build a life like a highway, like a set of train tracks, but you’re freer than that. There’s no plan so good that you need to stick with it forever, no road so straight or so clear you’ll never have to change course. Your love keeps growing and your mind keeps changing and you’re still so free, beholden not even to the past versions of yourself.
The world keeps turning and so do you, and each time you move, something new shows itself. You’ve lived long enough to know what kind of person you are, and you’re not wrong, but there’s still more to you. A new feeling can bring light to the places you thought there was none. You don’t have to hold so tight to your narratives— the world is alive, and it’s moving, too.
It’s a good thing, becoming less afraid to show your true face to the world. It’s a good thing, becoming less afraid to voice your spikiest of ideas, to speak your needs out loud. It’s easier, sometimes, just to avoid being seen. There’s less responsibility that way, less heartache, but sometimes less sweetness, too. Your skin wants to be touched by the sun and the air, and your voice was made to be heard.
It’s wild what a song can do once it’s in your head, and what it can do once it’s in your bones. There are ways of knowing the world outside of language, outside of thought. There are little hairs on your skin that can pick up on the changes in the wind. What does it feel like for a tree to start putting out buds? What does it feel like for a river to thaw? You don’t have to justify your feelings, and you don’t have to explain all your depths.
If your energy isn’t limitless after all if your time won’t continue without end, then what is all this time and energy for? You can feel humanity like a limit, or you can feel it like a window opening wide. It’s a gift, not to have to do everything. It’s okay to focus on what you really believe in, and what you actually want. If there’s no time for messing around and no time for compromise, it’s okay to demand only the thing you want the most.
How can you tell when you need to escape from a place, and when you just need a little time? How can you tell when the air in this place is all wrong for you, and when you just need a little more protection? This is a week for taking a moment to look up at the moon and stars, to look at the moss on the sides of buildings and trees. There are tangled ways to know yourself, and tangled ways to love. It’s okay to take a minute just to remember where you are, and where you’re going.