Sometimes we find ourselves at a place in our life where there is more openness than structure, more unknown than understood, more opportunity than limitation. In these places we realize how much we crave the outlines, the beams and walls of our experience that we can lean on or build from. Whether it’s personal routines, a work/life balance, or a steady relationship, we desire to know where and how we fit into the great picture of our lives as we’re painting it. For many of us, our sense of identity is baked into the things we “do,” and the contrast we create with our world. And when our world—or our experience of it—becomes more fluid, more flexible, that contrast softens. The boundaries between what was and what will be are blurred and we find that we must reconcile with who we are in the now. 

 

This is a place of mystery, the threshold between one timeline and the next, where new ground begins to take up the space around you instead of “ground that looks similar to what I know.” At some point (many points over time) we had embarked upon a series of movements, choices that changed our surroundings; like a toddler waddling from the blanket to the front door. And when we look up from focusing on making these movements, we realize that our work, our art, our relationship, our environment is no longer the same as it was when we started. We are not who we were when we started, and we have unwittingly—or maybe wittingly—created something or someself that is totally new.

 

Quite often, this place of mystery is so scary we will even deny to ourselves that we are there. We will busy ourselves with outdated narratives or cling to ruts of behavior that we consciously no longer align with, but because “that’s just what we do!” We try to hit pause on the progression in order to feel a sense of control, to maintain an identity that we can understand and can explain and can defend. Because who are we without control? What are we without contrast?

 

And in the darkness the edge is all we have. 

 

Pisces season is a liminal one, where the airy and imaginative energy of Aquarius that conceived new ideas goes into a period of gestation. Pisces season is the living goo in the chrysalis. It is the moving water that dissolves and blends and cleanses us before we step into the fiery initiatory energy of Aries season. Historically, for me, Pisces season was always exceptionally hard because I found it difficult to surrender to buoyancy. I wanted to fight the current, or I would exhaust myself and give up all hope, letting it weigh me down until I washed up on the shore of the Vernal Equinox, sputtering and soaked. This season requires our trust in the Cosmic principle of mutation. Everything will change, but this process of renewal is not passive. We are at a threshold, but we can’t cross that great water without getting in it.

 

 

Tonight’s Full Moon in Virgo wants movement. She wants to process and organize and digest. She wants to make room. A full moon is the time for celebration and reflection. And while Virgo loves a good celebration, especially in her honor and by her own design, this full moon in particular will serve to illuminate some old patterns that we may no longer need in order to move forward. This is not a stagnant period of navel-gazing, but instead a dynamic opportunity to flush out our channels and shine light into the darker corners of our expression. Come to this moon with a dustpan and broom, come ready to face where cobwebs have grown and tumbleweeds have gathered. With this cleansing we will have greater capacity. We don’t have to fill the space just yet, or to keep it full for the sake of definition. The negative space is where creation happens.

 

This full moon is opposite a conjunction of the Sun, Mercury and Saturn, and while these three planets span seven degrees now, their orb will tighten up by the 28th and then they will separate by March 3rd. This conjunction will bring hard conversations to the forefront, and opposite the moon it may become clear how we have been masking, to ourselves and with others. We may experience difficulty with communication or issues with interpretation, and our inner critic could come out lashing. Jupiter trine Moon and sextile Saturn will lend us some optimism and generosity, as well as the support of a foundation we may have just noticed we’ve been building. And with Venus conjunct Mars, we will have a heightened sensitivity and desire for harmony. Hopefully, this creates a safety for the masks to come off. The anticipation of difficult conversations is often more uncomfortable than the dialogue itself, and this moon is offering the option to face this discomfort with honesty and surrender to the mystery on the other side. Or else, we can grip onto our expectations, continue traveling in the ruts we’ve created, and fight the current until we reach the other side. 

 

Jupiter is conjunct the Imum Coeli, so we may see changes to our homes or the idea of home. This may be the place where difficult conversations are happening, it may be the topic of discussion. The home wound that makes us all spiritual pilgrims in this incarnation is one of the deepest and most motivating to our expression. Wars are more often than not reduced to the idea of home—where we feel safe, where we feel supported, resourced. What we define as home is a part of how we identify ourselves. Subtly, we have been building a new foundation for ourselves, and I know it may still feel early, but we are in the active transmutation of our identity and expression—collectively, individually. And through this discomfort is the promise of expansion, of improving relationships and empowering ourselves.  

 

 

The full moon in February is known in North American and many European cultures as the Snow Moon because it was the time of year with the greatest amount of snowfall. Other names referred to the dwindling of winter resources—the Hungry Moon, the Skinny Moon—but with either symbol, there is an energy of clearing to this full moon. A fresh snowfall blankets the world in reflective white, shining back to us a soft landscape of potential; like a fresh canvas before the painter’s brush of spring seeps through with its rich soil browns and sharp shoots of green. A Snow Moon reminds us that it is not over until it’s over. That the timeline of transformation is often unknown to us—when will it end? 

Maybe never. 

And can we be content with that?