Everything you need to know about the Earth opening up and swallowing your planets or the other way around.
Horoscopes by Corina Dross
Virgo season sweeps in with a night full of crisp stars. The air still smells wet from summer storms, but its tinged with a new clarity. This is a time of stillness, of listening to an internal resonance – the last tones of a still vibrating bell, the last notes of a song that remain in your head as you walk home from the show.
This month asks you to sort through what you get to keep. You’ve been acquiring experiences all summer – some beautiful, some devastating – and it’s time to shake off the excess and find places to direct this energy, a necessary recalibration in order to return to the work that needs you most. The here-and-now is singing to you, beckoning you back indoors where paper and pen and needle and thread wait. You can keep a window open to let in the stars, but now is the time to focus on what is closest at hand.
You won’t solve all the biggest problems in this moment. You won’t release the deepest grief. You won’t mount the bravest attacks. But you will be given specific gifts to help you become ready. This month brings a unique opportunity for special experiences, for deepening into the hidden, the beautiful, the unexpected.
As always, read these for what they can give you and feel free to give away whatever you don’t need. I’m available for readings if you want more specific insight into your path ahead. Enjoy the sweetness of this time, and make good use of what you’re learning!
“May the minutes of our own lives now be revered, unsold and forever unsellable.”
Your gift is a camouflaging squid. Its transformation is lightning quick, its new expression vivid and intricate. Even as it changes, it changes again. There is no static self, no sense of what one ought to be indefinitely as a permanent, stable, legible subject. You are transforming; it is one of your powers. You’ve outrun and outsmarted whatever has been pursuing you and now your transformations get to be creative, thoughtful, expressive, intimate, alive with electricity and nuance.
In this month of wish fulfillment, the stars would like to offer you every book you’d ever want to read, and the time to read them in. Imagine your bedroom transformed into a library – your pillows covered in text that whispers to you as you fall asleep, your alarm clock crying out “Thalassa! Thalassa!” in the morning. As you shuffle into clothes knit from well-loved stories, you feel the weight and lightness of all those other lives, all those carefully chosen images, filling your own sense of self. This is a month when you get to be multitudes, with as little effort as possible.
Your gift this month is desire – how it can fill your limbs with a warm rush of urgency, with a calm tingling anticipation, with fluctuations between hope and fear and certainty. This effervescence bubbles through the parts of you that have become numb, that have gone to sleep, that have been in danger of never waking. This tingling reminds you that, as Anne Boyer writes, this hole you have fallen into is not your grave. Whether it’s a raw ache or a gooshy sense of possibility, let desire bring you back to life.
Zugzwang, in chess, is the condition of being compelled to make a move, even if you’ll be moving into danger. Luckily for you, dearest Cancer, your month is a not a game of chess. You are under no obligation to choose right now. Drink three beverages at once. Choose all possible homes. Date as many people as you can manage. Nothing is forcing your hand; choose what brings you joy, change your mind as often as you’d like. If you feel your options are few right now, insist on having more of them.
Your gift this month is that you have passed the test. Like Galadriel, you get to remain yourself. You can trust that this is a good thing: at any point in the past year you could have wandered into someone else’s future and spent months or years trying to understand what you were supposed to be doing there. Any regrets you’re still holding are from your old life, which you get to shake off like an old rug that has collected pollen and dander and dust for too long. There will always be more that settles on you, dimming your brightness. Sometimes you have to be a regret collector, waiting for movement. Now, though, you get to be sunlight and fresh air.
Your gifts this month are incandescence, moths aiming directly for the moon, smooth blank paper, astrolabes, arrows, pen knives, and a metronome that doesn’t tick off the seconds that have passed but maintains a perpetual rhythmic container for time that belongs to you and you alone. Slice an apple in half, plant the seeds, throw the peel over your shoulder. The shapes it makes will help you tell the future. You have the power of clear vision and the right words to express it.
Your gift this month is knowing the way home. Like all of us, you have an idealized image of home etched on your heart – a place you lived once in some golden age of childhood or early adulthood, or a place you’ve never been but wish existed. This month doesn’t shower you with the riches of that particular home, but it does teach you how to find what you need, even if it’s as unexpected as the ceramic pot Diogenes inhabited in a public marketplace for many years. Follow your sense of certainty. Follow the sense of grateful surrender to gravity. Trust what holds you when you let yourself fall.
What you’re being given this month won’t reveal itself quickly or loudly. Ignore the blaring of car horns, televisions, text message alerts, and underpaid workers twirling signs on street corners. What you’re looking for is a subtle sensation you might call “Nothing Seems Wrong.” That’s the closest name you have for it, right now, but it’s real name is something closer to “Slowly Building Trust Despite Your Conviction That Trust Is Impossible.” It’s happening, nonetheless. Don’t psyche yourself out and pretend it can’t happen.
This month offers you strawberry stains on your fingertips and ocean salt in your hair – evidence of sensual joys mark you. You are not an identity or an ambition as much as a collection of impulses and sensation. Your job is merely to be where waves can swell and lift you off your feet and rush you toward shore, to reach out your hand and take the berry when it’s offered, to laugh when the wave breaks, when the berry bursts, when life surprises you with its fullness.
In the town of Decin in the Czech Republic, certain rocks dubbed “hunger stones” have emerged from the Elbe river during times of drought over the last few centuries. Graffiti dating back to 1616 describes the tough times brought on by these droughts – one comment merely reading: “When you see these stones, weep.” Your gift this month is being able to what has been hidden, even if it compels you to weep. Your gift this month is the gift of water, even if it must flow through you first on its way back to the earth.
Congratulations, you get to quit. It’s time to drop out, punch the clock until it breaks, rip off the tie and stomp on it, spray paint “so long, suckers!” on the wall of whichever tedious place you’ve been pulled back to again and again, against your desires. This month, you are free to follow whatever is most appealing in freedom itself. Let yourself be curious. Let yourself wander. Don’t have a map, or a destination, or a time of day you expect to be home by. Immerse yourself in new geographies; become an uncontrolled force.
Your gift this month is a certain kind of time travel created by the force of love. You may not discover a final solution to social schisms right now, but this is primarily because you understand that any “final solution” ought to be approached with serious suspicion. What you will find, though, is that you are still deeply connected to people you haven’t spoken to in years. Like tree roots intermingling in a wild forest, untended networks still transmit life-sustaining resources between you and lost friends. You don’t need to speak to these people or track down their phantoms, but you do get to feel the love that once existed, that still exists, that is still watering your roots.