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.
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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?
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.