If you’re feeling everything incredibly intensely, even for quarantine, you’re not alone. Today is a full moon in Scorpio—a supermoon, no less. Known as the Buddha moon because the Buddha himself died and was born on a full moon in Scorpio, this potent lunar aspect is all about disclosing hidden information to move us toward enlightenment. Normally such a path can be rocky–and since we’re in the shadow of shatter-all-illusions #VenusRetrograde (beginning May 13), it still may be. But while the sun is in Taurus, information is generally delivered in the form our souls most require and desire. So tonight isn’t about willing anything in or out of being. It’s about divining information, guidance, wisdom through signs, sirens, stars. In fact, this whole month is grounded on the Divine Feminine Principle—abundance, radical receptivity, and limitless kindness. So anything not living up to this love is being ushered to the door graciously, so graciously. The real question this moon is tackling: How may we best behave? Dolls, if you unplug your devices while gazing at the sky, you’ll receive plenty of answers.
For a reading for yourself or a loved one, book here and feel free to join my IG Live on Sunday at 1pm for The Sky Inside, my non-churchy church. Mother’s Day topic: the divine feminine principle. Special Mother’s Day readings also available.
Good morning, I slept with my bedroom window open last night and woke bathed in all the fresh, peachy air of mid-spring. Grace and I have our coffees now and are settled back in bed, listening to the occasional car cruising below as if it were an ocean wave, mingling with Coltrane’s Sentimental Mood pouring out of the speakers. It’s beautiful in the way so many Brooklyn My Brooklyn mornings have been in my 40s, and if it were an ordinary day, in a second I’d hear the crash of the coffee shop next door opening its store front. Would smell their croissants coming out of the oven and know that in a few minutes I’d pull on a velvet bathrobe and (of course) red lipstick to pad downstairs to their cries of PICCIONE PICCIONE as I’d settle into the front booth with a second coffee and something freshly baked. Would bat my lashes, trade complinsults, feel that glow of uncomplicated human companionship that I so prefer to someone regularly in my bed, snoring and stealing the covers and infusing my unconscious with their uneasy dreams (an occupational hazard of being an intuitive). All that easy city love is still right outside my window. I feel it. I know it. I just can’t touch it. For now it’s encased behind glass, preserved in an era that could just as easily be 40 years rather than 40 days ago. O most bittersweet of springs.