Here Is Your Scorpio Homework This Season

 BY LISA MARIE BASILE

It’s your Scorpio-in-chief here to take you on a subterranean journey, cradled in the arms of the sign of death, rebirth, and transformation.

Once Scorpio season hits, we tend to gather ‘round to talk intensity and sexuality and darkness and the occult. We may ask ourselves, What is this darkness? What is this silent creeping feeling blooming out of my belly like a black tulip? What is this intense desire? What are these fears? Why do I want to fuck or meditate or go inward so hard? Why do I want to dance until morning? What shall I do to survive this intensity? Do I run or lean in-in-in, into that dark mansion of Scorpio? Must I make space for that intensity and regeneration? Can I rent a bunker?

I want to tell you this: Be not afraid. Yes, this is a heavy season, but it is also a season that permits you to feel it. It wants to comfort you through it, even if it at first it may feel painful. You may be thinking about your place in the world, how to move through grief, what you want to let go of, and how to heal your childhood self. Scorpio, in its shadowy mystery, is beckoning you to go deep. To stop looking away from the abyss.

To that end, below is your Scorpio full moon homework. Go with one or two of the ideas below, and know that any momentary discomfort will yield rewards. Just be sure to ground yourself and seek comfort or support from a therapist or a friend if things get too heavy.

Drop the bullshit, seek rebirth, and stare into the abyss

Scorpio doesn’t have time for bullshit, for the superficial, or for the useless things that serve no purpose and only hold you down. Stare your problems in the eye. Begin making plans to walk away from something that hurts you. It may not be immediate, but you can use this full moon to begin taking stock of ways to make a move and give blood to your desires. Start recognizing bad patterns. Take stock of friends who constantly let you down, of the job that hurts your soul, of the project that isn’t inspiring you—and make an out plan. Taurus asks to perhaps save money or put something aside for yourself, when possible.

Delete those toxic texts, ideas, and people — and be rid of it. In endings, scorpio finds rebirth; you’ll grow wings where a wound was once.

Decide what makes your life better and richer and move toward it. It’s not easy, but when you decide what doesn’t serve you...an opportunity happens. 

If it feels scary, that means you are exercising a demon or confronting the shadow self. Lean into it.

That said, not all situations are currently changeable—that’s okay. Take this opportunity to reframe your needs; you may not have full control over everything, but where can you find autonomy? Where can you plant seeds of change? Is the change you’re seeking internal? Perhaps that inner growth will transform your physical reality? If you need to lean on others (Scorpio asks us to be vulnerable) to make all of this happen, do so. This may mean seeking community resources, medical care, or the love of a friend. You are safe in your need and your vulnerability. Any actualized Scorpio will tell you this, despite their proclivities toward the secretive or seemingly stoic. In short, rebirth is a process, and it doesn’t always happen in a vacuum.

Scorpio is the sign of death and rebirth, so lean into its dark ways and part with whatever is dragging you down. Any depths you go into, you want to go into willingly—not because someone or something is pulling you into the abyss.

Embrace the sensual in all of its forms

Find a way to tap into your sexuality—that could be through sex magic (setting intentions and focusing on them during the act of masturbating or having sex), dancing or lying around in your finest lingerie, or honoring your sensuality by reading some beautiful poetry — Neruda, Sappho. Pick flowers. Eat honey and cinnamon. Listen to sexy music (I recommend Sevdaliza, FKA Twigs, and Banks, or this Scorpio playlist). Dance in your underwear. Light a candle and apply oils to the skin. 

Set a goal and use the full moon to power up

Don’t just set any old goal (I mean, you totally can), but this is the time to go deep. Is there something you’re deeply pining for on an existential level — something that you need to birth, to pull from the watery depths of the self? Is there something you’re trying to conjure on a big level, something life-altering? Do it. Say it. Meditate on it. Write a list of ways you can make it happen. Envision shimmering light surrounding your body and infusing it with drive. Envision swimming in a vast black ocean where you and the dark are alone together; what do you feel? What do you see? When you swim to shore, what do you see? Make it yours.

Write a letter to your dead

Grief is a beautiful, complicated, overwhelming, and natural thing; it lets us peer into the truth of life and it mirrors back to us the deepest, most sincere parts of our ourselves. If you spend your time actively avoiding grief, you may have to spend some time letting it in eventually, right?

This is the time. Write a letter to your dead (perhaps, in this case, your grief is metaphorical). Visit a loved ones’ grave. Eat lunch in a graveyard. Thank the dead for welcoming you. Light a candle in honor of someone who passed or set up a small altar in their name. Go there. Feel it. Scorpio will cradle you in her arms and fill you with rejuvenation and comfort when you’re in pain. You just have to be willing to move through that murky threshold. Make like Hecate; go forth into the crossroads. 

Yes, Scorpio is cthonic and intense—but she is fiercely loyal and wants the best for those who embark into the liminal. Trust me.

*This is an updated piece from 2018.

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Lisa Marie Basile (she/her) is a poet, essayist, editor, and chronic illness awareness advocate living in New York City. She's the founder and creative director of Luna Luna Magazine and its online community, and the creator of Ritual Poetica, a curiosity project dedicated to exploring the intersection of writing, creativity, healing, & sacredness. She regularly creates dialogue and writes about intentionality and ritual, accessibility, creativity, poetry, foster care, mental health, family trauma, healing, and chronic illness. She is the author of THE MAGICAL WRITING GRIMOIRE, LIGHT MAGIC FOR DARK TIMES, and a few poetry collections, including the recent NYMPHOLEPSY. She is also a chronic illness advocate, keeping columns at several chronic illness patient websites. She earned a Masters's degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University. You can follow her at @lisamariebasile.

Astrological Shadow Work: Healing Writing Prompts

BY LISA MARIE BASILE

Astrology helps us look at the many luminous (and perhaps limiting) narratives that impact and define humanity. Hanging above us in the stars in an illustrated fabric of what it means to be human: To want, to hurt, to self-destruct, to transform, to find justice, to intuit, to survive. You don’t need to ‘believe’ in astrology, though (although of course, if you’re here, you probably do turn to it from time to time).

Like tarot, these narratives offer a system by which to reflect. And let’s be honest — it’s fascinating.

And because each and every sign offers lessons and ideas on our potential (and perhaps our limitations), you can use these prompts in several ways: You can work with them for your sun, moon, or rising signs, or you can use every single one, as the moon enters each sign almost every two and a half days. 

An example: If you don’t have any Scorpio in your chart, for example, you can still use its prompt; just wait for the moon to enter Scorpio. Use the Scorpio energy to reflect on its prompt. Each sign offers valuable lessons and insights.

Below, prompts around the deeper, heavier, murkier aspects of the sun signs. Want more like this? The Magical Writing Grimoire (it’s out in 2020 and the cover/title isn’t finalized, but any of you witchy writers you can add it to your list!) includes magical and ritual writing prompts, practices and guided meditations.

Aries

What, in your triumphant, hard blaze, are you hiding from? Is there a softness you can grant yourself? What would it look like if you could undress in the light of flexibility? Does it pay to hold tight and remain stoic, or are you limiting yourself? 

Taurus

What happens when ugliness seeps in? What will you do to honor it without losing yourself? Can you handle the lack? What happens when there’s nothing around to beautify the void? What can you bring out of yourself, organically?

Gemini

When you silence or suppress one part of yourself, how does it feel? How can you worship at the feet of your multitudes? How can you become a chameleon without losing yourself? What does your foundation look like?

Cancer

When you are unsafe, can you find an anchor? If the sea keeps rocking, how can you find your strength without capsizing? How can you learn to let nostalgia bloom without its vines suffocating you? What does safety feel like inside your body?

Leo

Sometimes, you are so busy roaring you don’t hear the small sounds of morning and night. Meditate on this. What’s in front of you? What happens when the radiance machine stops working? Can there be power in the darkness? How can you be proud of yourself even when your crown falls off?

Virgo

In the chaos, there is a song. What does it sound like? Outside of the lines, you find yourself. When you are shapeless, what are you free to become? Can you find worth in the wildness, or hold space for the imperfect self? What happens when you dismantle the cliché?

Libra

What can you learn about yourself when you feel imbalanced? Is there authenticity to be found when you’re not busy balancing and performing seeking and connecting? What is found beneath the robe — and then beneath even that? Who are you when everyone goes home?

Scorpio

You feel the hum of power in the dark, but are you the architect of your own misery? Do you stay guarded in the shadows because it’s safer than letting the light in? Part the curtains. What can grow when you learn to differentiate the well from the water? What happens when you stop being jealous of the sky? 

Sagittarius

How can you learn what it feels like stay — with others, with yourself — when you always want to keep moving? Are you running?  What happens when the ideas and the wanderlust leave you empty? What happens when you stop wearing the mask? Who are you when you take the wings off and stand still?

Capricorn

Imagine the wild, wide desert. You are lost. You are thirsty. You are rescued. What happens when you learn to drink from someone else’s palm? Can you find peace in needing someone or something other than yourself? Can you lean into the softness, the slowness? Who are you when you aren’t in control?

Aquarius

Can you operate deep underground? Can you burrow into the murky waters of fear and love and want? What happens when you get naked and sit in the garden of your dark? When you don’t have a bird’s-eye view, when you comeinrealcloselikethis can you feel the granules? What do they feel like?

Pisces

What does it look like when you step out of the dream world? Can you remain here, and now, when fantasy and reality fail to merge? Can you intuit yourself? Are you able to hold space for your hopes — without crumbling under their impossible beauty? When you look your self-destruction in the face, what do you say to it? 

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Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine--a digital diary of literature, magical living and idea. She is the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern collection of inspired rituals and daily practices and the forthcoming "The Magical Writing Grimoire: Use The Word As Your Wand for Ritual, Magic, and Manifesation." She's also the author of a few poetry collections, including 2018's "Nympholepsy." Her work encounters the intersection of ritual, wellness, chronic illness, overcoming trauma, and creativity, and she has written for The New York Times, Chakrubs, Narratively, Catapult, Sabat Magazine, Healthline, The Establishment, Refinery 29, Bust, Hello Giggles, and more. Her work can be seen in Best Small Fictions, Best American Experimental Writing, and several other anthologies. Lisa Marie earned a Masters degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.