It always starts with the Moon

It always starts with the Moon.

Not Venus. Not Eros.

Not Mars.

Not even the Sun.

Because how can we talk about desire or drive or identity… before understanding where we live inside ourselves?

Our hunger. Our rhythms. Our tides. Our ecstasy. Our grief.

Where our body cradles what we forgot—or wished to forget.

The world taught you to leave your body. To perform it. To punish it. To package it. To treat it like a problem to solve, a grim obligation, a battlefield.

But what if your Moon could lead you back?

In both patriarchal astrology and some new age woo, Moon qualities—nurturance, care, emotional intelligence—are described as being in service to others.

As if the Moon’s highest function is to soothe. To validate. To support.

This is the literal and archetypal Motherhood that capitalism defanged in its cradle:

Freely given, rendered toothless, available on demand.

We should never forget—our modern era began with a witch burning and a grave.

The Moon, dimmed. The Mother, disembodied.

For the Moon isn’t just passively reflecting the sun’s glare.

She’s governing oceans. Summoning blood. Carving light into shadow. Waking hunger in the deep. Cycling through death and rebirth with relentless precision. Again and again and again.

Your Moon is only passive if you believe that stillness is weakness. That silence is surrender. That stone stands a chance against the surf.

Your Moon is only diminished if you believe that words and numbers are enough to translate the truth inscribed on your heart.

The Moon doesn’t give.
The Moon doesn’t receive.
The Moon is.

She is the felt, the cyclical, the blooded, the sacred, the silent, the radical, the remembered.

Astrology isn’t just a guide to our relationships and fortunes and personalities.

It’s a return.

It’s an invitation to reclaim your body, to hear it speak to you in a language lost to time and men. It was your birth that placed the planets. It was your arrival that froze the sky.

Before you ever had an identity, before you ever cried out in need, your body wrote your chart.

Remember your first wisdom.

Remember your body’s knowing.

It is written in moonlight.