This week, I took a walk during a void moon1 and I got lost. There’s a downward curve in a road in my neighborhood and I followed it, assuming it was still taking me west instead of north, the opposite of where I came from.
I had to laugh; I was too engrossed in my pop culture podcast and all the flowers I passed to be too concerned with direction or timeliness. In a way it was medicine; it can be too easy to get caught up in speedy action and productivity. Letting the mind drift to pleasurable, “frivolous” things is not frivolous at all; especially when the sweet things in life become less and less protected by our current world.
The benefits of this long walk were multifold: I got to listen to my favorite podcasts; I got my blood pumping and my brain cleared; I found a meadowsweet and lilac bush that I can revisit to make flower syrups and tinctures; I passed dozens of rosemary bushes in bloom, each of which I greeted as a friend.2
As Mercury is in Taurus, a Venus-ruled sign, and sextiled that Venus last Monday, I am thinking a lot about how knowledge and pleasure can join. Mercury in Taurus is a Mercury that learns at the speed of comfort, taking its time for the body to integrate what the mind just learned. It gathers information through the senses and is motivated to learn about what it loves.
I think the sort of wandering and playful receptivity, as I described above, is a great way of manifesting this Venusian Mercury energy. Because in my experience, creation is just as much about receiving as doing.
My writing practice
Some of you have been curious about my writing practice and it’s only appropriate I talk about it now. You see, my Third House, which rules one’s writing ability, as well as the routines surrounding it, is ruled by Venus. Something about my daily practices and means of communicating is marked by the Goddess of Love. This exalted Venus, Sun into Taurus week has only made it more so.
Because writing for me begins well before I commit words to page. Whereas Mercury alone is more neutral in its informational exchange, Venus wants to build affinity with what it touches. Venus values that with which it can feel intimate as well as what draws it closer. Building affinity takes time, space, and noticing. You can’t rush it lest you scare away what you approach. Perhaps Venus is why I get so inspired seeing the flowers bloom in spring; I, too, want to burst forth at the right time.
So, in the name of my writing practice, I take in sights and sounds that bring pleasure. I make weekly trips to the library or around my neighborhood or the to grocery store. I live in walking distance of a lot of places so I try to go by foot, alone, and I scan all the plants I pass for a familiar face or new love. Other times, I sit in my back yard and visit my own plants, noticing the gradual shifts in the landscape as spring progresses. Maybe I’ll go upstairs and practice dancing or singing in front of my mirror.
Sometimes these activities end up in my writing, as they are now. Most of the time, they don’t. But I know if I my “writing time” was just taken up by writing, my work would be poorer for it. More difficult. Less magical. I am reminded of what Zen teacher John Tarrant says about spiritual practice:
If spiritual openings are accidents, as a number of teachers have pointed out, then the spiritual work of meditation makes us accident-prone, susceptible to the imagination of eternity, the wit of God (The Light Inside the Dark, 113)
Similarly, the playful activities and routines we show up for around our creative and/or writerly outputs make us prone to “the imagination of eternity,” a will not our own (where the magic lives). What we like or are drawn to may like us back, a virtuous cycle of attention and gift.
And, with Mercury in a Venus-ruled sign, what is affinity but a little sign from the divine? Isn’t art, in some way, about giving voice to something we love, even if it may be painful or conventionally ugly? Venus teaches us that what we receive is just as important as what we give. We have to slow down long enough to let the blessings catch up with us.3 Naturally, when I’m writing a piece that involves research, I gather all those sources first, then I take a step back before writing anything. This space allows connections to be made without effort.
Another key to my writing routine, and one that Taurus Season can get down with, is consistency. I write every day. Even before it was my “work” I wrote every day. I liken it to a shark who has to keep swimming lest they sink to the bottom of the ocean. If I keep a steady writing output, I can’t hang my identity on the quality of one piece or spend too much time over-perfecting it. And because of this consistency, as well as the other prep work, I can sit down and write a lot very quickly, following a structure that is part planned, part intuitive. Bringing all the different threads of a piece of writing into a consistent whole is always an unruly process, and one that only seems completed by accident, trusting a will higher than mine.
But, then, after I write something, I give it plenty of space again before I edit. I do other things, let my mind dwell elsewhere. Then, when I return to a piece, I can see the shape much more clearly and edit accordingly. Perhaps it also makes room for God in the process.
So, to repeat, my (general) writing process involves: going outside and gathering input, creating regular routines with little judgment as to quality or output, taking space away, then returning to edit.
Your mileage may vary when it comes to this process, in part because your natal chart is different than mine. One of the things I love about astrology is its ability to describe, in detail, our unique relationship to the myriad aspects of our lives. Want to find out more about how routine, praxis, writing and intuition all come together to support the creativity and enchantment in your life? Curious to find out more about what a writing routine would look like for you?
Stay tuned: next week, I’ll release my first piece on the Third House, the place of the Goddess, as well as daily routines, skills, short trips, daily praxis, and divination, among other cool topics, to paid subscribers. It is where I look to guide my daily rituals, my writing practice, my divinatory capacity, my ability to receive information. Whether you want to establish a regular creative, or spiritual practice, the Third House is your best friend.
Subscribe now and receive my introduction to this liminal, mystical place and, in the future, a guide to delineating this house, what I learned about ritual from my time at a Buddhist monastery, and more to support your unfolding.
But a last reason for routines: So many of our larger structures are continuing to reveal their weaknesses. Legislators are trying to erase trans people from the country. An unqualified judge was allowed to halt all mask mandates on public transport and people cheered. The pandemic rages on, disproportionally affecting the poor, the disabled, and black and brown folks while the rich get richer. There is so much difficulty to get caught on, so many worst-case scenarios to revel in, that staying present in the body can feel frivolous. But it’s not. Something my teacher used to say is the best way to prepare for the future is to be present right here, right now. Taking refuge in things you can perceive with your senses is a way of staying with Truth and strengthening yourself against all that knocks us down. Staying tender and open to awe, to the flowers blooming and your favorite band putting out a new album, is an act of strength.
May Taurus season bloom for you, in ways large and small.
Another Reminder: My Fixed Star Consultations are open!
Want to connect your chart to the whole sky with an avid stargazer? Talk about the depths of the soul with someone who has devoted their life to honoring the unseen? Book a fixed star consult with me. I would be honored to put words to the unnameable desires and feelings you’ve always had and don’t know why.
And, so, with that, I leave you. May this poem be a beacon for your own inner and outer explorations.
XO,
Chloe
P.S. What does your not-writing writing practice look like currently? Put your answer in the comments 💭
A void moon is when a moon makes no aspect to any other planet before it changes signs. Accordingly, these periods are seen as aimless and averse to starting news things. Indeed, of anything planned during a void moon, it is generally accepted that “nothing will come of it”.
This is a new practice, as I just learned my Lot of Cultivation from Jake Green’s recent blog post, which determines one’s relationship to plants, is conjoined star associated with rosemary. This tells me that spending time with this plant can be a point of wisdom; that rosemary, through sheer affinity, has something to tell me.