In a recent session, my therapist looked at me and said, “You are extremely sensitive, you know.” My migraines have recently come back with a vengeance and I’ve found myself once again confronted with the fact that I am a mere mortal. I hate the reminder. I don’t wear sensitivity as a badge of honor, though I know it is a gift (that often feels like a curse). I come from very sturdy, blue-collar stock. My father is basically Paul Bunyan and my mother is always on the go. I am their porous child and have always felt a sense of personal diminishment because of it. As an adult, I can, of course, see how this sensitivity has been a gateway for every blessing in my life. But I unconsciously still try to fashion myself after two people with far more robust constitutions than I. I still judge myself against some imagined standard of durability. I am still trying to keep up.

If I’m being honest, I’ve never felt so stretched. Since becoming a parent, my capacity for what used to be run-of-the-mill activity has drastically dwindled. Since October 7th, I’ve been reeling. If anything extra pops up during the day (and it always does), it has the ability to tip me over and pour me out. I know that I am in a pre-pre-burnout stage. I’m not there yet, but I can feel how precarious my system’s wellbeing is. I know that if I don’t prioritize rest, friendship, and more rest, there will be hell to pay. I also know that given the state of the world, I am not alone. I don’t want to repeat Elmo’s latest social media mistake, but I do wonder, how are you all doing?

Pisces season reflects a time when our defenses are weakened, when we are rendered more vulnerable, over-extended, and hopefully a little more compassionate. Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac. It is the endpoint before the wheel begins again. It is a cocktail of all that came before it, and a kind of cosmic melting pot. This Pisces season, I feel like (not-so-cosmic) goo.

On March 17th, one of the more important transits of this season will occur: The Sun and Neptune will meet up in the final degrees of this water sign to form what is called a cazimi. Neptune is a planet of delusions, fantasies, ideals, divinity, intoxication, escapism, reverie, and bewilderment. Pisces is known for its boundarylessness, mysticism, and penchant for shape-shifting, evaporating, converging, feeling, crying, and waxing poetic. It wants to become one with something greater than itself and often attempts to do so by merging with everything around it — wounds, worries, wonder, and all.

You could say that Neptune and Pisces are a perfect match. Or an overindulgent one.

Moments in time that have a hefty Piscean signature, such as this week, often align with events that detail astounding altruism and loving kindness — but they can just as often align with confusion, burnout, deception, and sacrifice. It’s a slippery setup which teaches us that little can be taken at face value and we need to prioritize our boundaries.

A saving grace: Venus in Pisces

On March 11th (six days before the Neptune cazimi), Venus will join the Sun, Saturn, and Neptune in Pisces. Because Venus governs beauty, art, culture curation, love, relationships, and pleasure — and because Pisces is the sign of its exaltation — all things it represents are meant to be in superior prominence now. Venus in Pisces signals a time when love flows on tap. This could sound like an incredibly insensitive prediction to give to a world that is ravaged by war, famine, genocide, and violence, but I also hope that it can lift our spirits and direct our attention to the sweetness amid the bitter. Venus in Pisces heralds a time when the necessity of beauty, love, and connection — and the healing power of art — reign supreme.

It reminds me of a quote from Toni Morrison that I have seen posted numerous times since October 7th: “This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.” Born while the Moon was in Pisces, Morrison never lacked understanding of the pain inflicted by the violent and unjust systems we live within, but she also did not become transfixed or immobilized by the devastation of it. She was always, therefore, able to be of service to what can remedy it.

Although this sign can render us vulnerable, Pisces’ strength is its relentless kindness, adaptability, and creativity. Much like a wave repeatedly crashing on the shore, there is a unique kind of fortitude to this sign that eventually wears down whatever hard-heartedness it comes across. My hope is that this week’s astrology signals a time when a little of this world’s calcified cruelty is worn down (while we keep ourselves intact), that we come to understand the potency of our own sensitivity, and that we work with this moment to sacrifice the belief that violence could ever bring about anything but more of the same. May we offer up whatever trinkets, trick mirrors, and illusions this world offers us for our complicity — and in exchange, may we amplify every act of goodwill, every vote for solidarity, and every move toward a more caring and just world.

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