Pomegranate Moon

or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my Virgo Luminary

Madonna and Child detail, Benvenuto di Giovanni ca. 1470

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of discussing my Virgo Moon with SP Hall for his podcast, Luminaries In and Out of Sect. Though all of my placements are meaningful for, I have a special relationship with my Moon.

It was not the first part of my chart that I knew but it was the first I dedicated my energy to understanding on my own terms.

I mark the discovery of my Moon sign, the secret, changing Queen trailing the bright, blinding Sun, as when my astrology study truly began. Though I felt an immediate connection to my Moon, I also went through a period of dejection when I found out she was in Virgo. All the online sources I could find, as I explain in the podcast, depicted Virgo Moons as uptight perfectionists who are good at…accounting and complaining. While there is truth to that— I was working as a registrar at a monastery at the time, sending emails and organizing guest rooms and keeping track of visitors with ease— I was also desperate to find an entry-point that felt vibrant and brought me to life rather than box me in, a common complaint for those who dislike astrology.

I explore my own journey with this redefinition of the Virgo archetype on the podcast, which I highly recommend you listen to. It was as fun to make as it seems to be listening to it, according to all my cool and hot friends. But, today, I’ll share some of my other favorite Virgo Moon tidbits that didn’t make it in. May my words also encourage you to enchant your own relationship with your Moon and chart.

Decans

One of my favorite astrological techniques, which I bring up in almost every consult, are the decans. They are the divisions of each zodiac sign into three 10º sections, 36 in total. By dividing each sign into three versions of itself, three dynamic parts of an ever-moving whole, you get a much clearer and accurate idea of whatever placement occupies that sign. You also get a bunch of cool, weird images and magical working associated with each one.

My Moon, for example, located in the first decan of Virgo, gets these:

• A beautiful girl covered over with a woolen sheet and holding in her hand a pomegranate.  And this is a face of sowing, of plowing, of the making of trees to sprout, of gathering bunches of grapes and of the good life (Picatrix)

• A female with a pot, full of flowers, covering the body with dirty raiments, fond of money and clothes, and going to the home of preceptor (Birhat Jakata)

• A man who possesses a subtle knowledge of crafts and who knows the rules of calculating, cleverness, and story-telling. He is attached to beauty and skill, and is determined in his purpose (Yavanajataka)

You can find images for all the decans here. Now just a quick note that many of these images can be weird and harsh. The point is to take decanic images figuratively, as a landscape to explore and look deeply into. Let’s take the above as an example: Many of the images for Virgo I are associated with both a natural harvest and abundance but also the skill and attention to detail to make use of these resources. There is a measure of occulting—the woolen sheet and the dirty raiments—so there may need to be some work to uncover the mystery veiled beneath.

Austin Coppock calls this decan “A Tree Bearing Fruit”. Here he writes an adage that I think any Virgo I individual would heed well: “The secrets of the created world are revealed to those who approach it with humility and patience”.¹ The 36 Airs also connects this decan to the goddess Themis, ruling over Divine law as well as presiding over the Oracle of Delphi who was “said to have spoken to those in trance with the voice of the earth”.² This decan thus holds forth as an “initiation into the mysteries of incarnation,” which is a pretty good description of this mutable earth sign. All of Virgo has to deal with the enclosure of spirit into matter in some way: being opposite the flowing, mystic Pisces, this sign asks to find that same seed in the earthly world, but only if you pay attention.

I see my Moon alive in my quest to discover the spiritual and magical purposes of plants by ingesting or praying to them and noticing their effects. I see my Moon in the ability to really witness the people in front of me and help them see their own natural resources. I see my moon in my belief that each moment is a gift from god, infinitely blessed and full of spirit and meaning. From that perspective, Virgo isn’t boring at all: they just put in the work that turns the boredom of attention into a true seeing, which is the opposite of tedious. It’s seeing the divine intricacy and detail of each moment as it is, devoid of all the shortcuts and assumptions the mind makes when approaching the outside world. At its highest, Virgo is unlimited seeing and the ability to make use of this sight.

My Favorite Virgo Moons

Hannah Arendt

I also find a lot of benefit in seeking out which of my favorite artists, writers, historical figures have the same Moon sign as I, bonus points if it’s nearby or in the same decan. I do find an uncanny connection to those whose Moon is only a few degrees or less from mine and the art they produce.

**CW Holocaust** One I encountered in college was Hannah Arendt, whose Moon is only a degree away from mine. She was a German Jewish philosopher and thinker who lived through the Holocaust and created “The Origins of Totalitarianism” in response. She makes the case that the concentration camps were not a cruel offshoot of the Nazi project but *the whole point,* as it treats humanity as a ruthless machine of progress rather than as a mass made up of individuals who each contain dignity and worthiness. This quote of hers still sticks with me:

…the worshipers of war were the first to concede that war in the era of machines could not possibly breed virtues like chivalry, courage, honor, and manliness, that it imposed on men nothing but the experience of bare destruction together with the humiliation of being only small cogs in the majestic wheel of slaughter.³

Here she seems to be speaking to the wisdom of her Moon decan: the virtues that we wish to cultivate require acknowledgement the dignity of the individual within the whole and are antithetical to the wanton destruction of modern warfare, which “robbed death of its meaning as the end of a fulfilled life”.⁴ Virgo is the season of harvest; it understands that death is a sacred part of life if we take the time to honor it as such. Each point in the cycle must be honored on its own terms, not for if it progresses the whole. Virgo revels in making sacred these details.

Another Virgo Moon friend has long been D. Boon, the late lead singer and guitarist of the Minutemen. This is a band that embodied the punk ethos of starting where you are. They believed anyone could and should make music with your friends and do it your way. He and his bandmates was known for their “econo” approach, which meant making the production cost low; their most famous album, “Double Nickels on the Dime,” was recorded for only $1,100. Virgo Moon ingenuity stays unbeaten.

They have plenty of great lyrics and I love hearing him sing, but my favorite song of theirs is just D. Boon on guitar. It is flamenco-inspired, deeply intricate, but only a Virgo Moon could make such an ornate song sound like the slow rush of the ocean.

If you want to understand the Virgo Moon experience, or what it’s like to be me very quickly, just listen to this song. If you want to spend a few hours on the topic, check out my and SP’s wide-ranging conversation on the subject.

P.S. If you want this thoughtful, magical Virgo Moon to guide you through your chart, your stars, your creative practice, book a consult! I have a wide range of slots open for the month and I promise nothing short of an initiation.

For now, I leave you with this Eavan Boland poem I have been loving, aptly called “The Pomegranate”. Here’s a favorite passage:

Read the rest here.

Until next week,

Love,

Chloe

1. Austin Coppock, “36 Faces,” p. 138

2. ibid, p. 139

3. Hannah Arendt, “The Origins of Totalitarianism,” p. 329

4. ibid, p.