The Sun moved into the sign of Aquarius on Sunday, January 19th, 2025, and made its conjunction with Pluto in that sign for the first time in over two hundred years. The Sun is the seat of ego and will. Pluto takes its name from the Roman version of the Greek god Hades, ruler of the underworld, ruler of the depths of the Earth, wherein rich minerals and precious metals lay nestled with the cozy dead. Aquarius is a Winter sign, a sign of the human collective, and ruled by Saturn, god of Time: slow and steady, cold and dark, the OG goth, persistent and focused.

My Sun is conjunct Venus and Mercury in the sign of Aries. Aries is ruled by Mars, god of War, of heat, of energy and forward motion. Aries is a creature of Spring, of brilliant beginnings, and gets something of a bad rep for leaving others to finish what they start. It is a matter of pride for me to do things with love and to complete them with energy and alacrity. 

This past Sunday brought heavy snow, which started around 1pm Eastern, as predicted, and continued into the wee hours of Monday. Approximately 24 hours after the snowfall’s advent, under a clear blue sky, I shoveled our roughly 80 foot driveway and cleared off the two cars parked at its summit. This took about three hours to complete to my satisfaction. My experience of this activity featured a distinct compression of this time, feeling as though only an hour or so had elapsed. I had allied myself with Time and put my Aries energy to the task at hand.

I was welcomed afterward with a lovingly prepared and delightfully delicious late lunch / early dinner of baked salmon, kale in tamari, and roasted potatoes in feta. After eating in sunset light, I recorded and submitted a self-tape for a feature film with the invaluable assistance of my partner in love and life (director, cinematographer, confidant), and sat down to play a role-playing game with friends online until about 10pm. Then we lay us down to cozy sleep. 

That was Monday for me, writ in little. Other things happened Monday as well, whilst I cleared a pathway uphill through the snow. Important things. The wonderful and versatile artist Jules Feiffer passed away at the age of 95. The recently deceased David Lynch’s 79th birthday was Monday, and his family enjoined his admirers (of which I am one) to meditate for 10 minutes in remembrance of him and his life’s work. I did this as I shoveled.

The second inauguration of Lord Dimwad, this country’s first openly fascist leader, also occurred on Monday. He, surrounded by boot-licking toadies of the oligarch class. He, echoing Yeats, “with a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun”, issued executive orders pardoning his insurrectionist thugs and their incarcerated leadership. He, asserting aggression and appetite. He, bloated, agéd, and evil. As with all of us, Time will take him. Spring will soon return. Soon, but not before innocents too numerous to fathom are buried underneath the fell and freezing winter of his discontent.

Steady, persistent focus is required when shoveling uphill through the snow. So, too, when digging out from underneath its fall. Spring will soon return. This is Time’s promise.