🌸 SUNDAY, APRIL 5, 2026 — EASTER SUNDAY
Waning Gibbous Moon in Scorpio • into Sagittarius at 11:32 PM ET
Before the Resurrection
The Gods Who Died and Rose Before Christ
MAJOR BLOG
Settle in. Easter is older than Christianity.
Not the specific story of Jesus — that belongs to its own tradition, its own theology, its own two thousand years of living faith. But the shape of the story — the god who descends, who dies, who rises, who transforms the relationship between death and life for everyone who witnesses it — that shape is ancient. It appears in Mesopotamia five thousand years before the Common Era. It appears in Egypt. In Greece. In Rome. In the agricultural rhythms of every civilization that watched a seed go into the ground and come back as food.
To understand Easter fully, you have to begin before Golgotha. Before the empty tomb. Before any of the theology that would accumulate around this morning. You have to begin with the earth, and what the earth taught every human civilization about what death actually is.
Every spring is a resurrection. The question every tradition has been asking is: what does that mean for us?
🌸 Inanna — The First Descent
The oldest resurrection story we have written evidence of is not Christian, not Egyptian, not Greek. It is Sumerian — from ancient Mesopotamia, from the civilization that invented writing, from a culture that understood the cycles of death and return with an intimacy that came from watching rivers flood and recede and flood again.
Inanna is the great goddess of ancient Sumer — the goddess of love, beauty, sex, fertility, justice, and war. She is one of the most complex divine figures in any mythology: simultaneously tender and terrifying, the one who gives life and the one who can take it, the Queen of Heaven and the one willing to descend into the deepest darkness to claim what is hers.
The myth of Inanna's Descent is approximately four thousand years old. It describes her decision to travel to the Underworld — the realm of her sister Ereshkigal, Queen of the Great Below — for reasons that differ slightly across versions: to attend the funeral of Ereshkigal's husband, to claim power over death as well as life, or simply because something in her compelled the descent. She prepares carefully. She tells her handmaiden Ninshubar to seek help if she does not return.
At each of the seven gates of the Underworld, Inanna is stopped. At each gate, she must remove one item of her royal adornment — her crown, her lapis lazuli necklace, her double strand of beads, her breastplate, her golden ring, her measuring rod, and finally her royal garment. By the time she passes through the seventh gate, she is naked and bowed. All of her power, all of her identity, all of her queenship has been stripped away.
The seven gates are understood by scholars as representing the seven celestial spheres — the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn — through which the soul must pass to reach the realm of death. Each stripping is a surrender of a layer of self. By the time you reach the center of the Underworld, you are nothing but what you essentially are.
Ereshkigal kills Inanna and hangs her body on a hook for three days.
Three days. In the dark. Dead.
Ninshubar, faithful as instructed, seeks help. Eventually, the god Enki fashions two beings from the dirt beneath his fingernails — small, androgynous, capable of moving between worlds in ways larger divine beings cannot. They descend to Ereshkigal, who is in agony — grieving, laboring, in the pain of the Underworld itself. They reflect her pain back to her with compassion rather than judgment. In gratitude, she releases Inanna.
But the law of the Underworld requires a substitute. You cannot leave the land of the dead without sending someone in your place. Inanna ascends, and her husband Dumuzi — who has not mourned her absence, who has been sitting on her throne in royal comfort — is chosen as the substitute. He descends. She returns.
What this myth holds: the descent is necessary. The stripping away of identity, power, and armor is not a defeat — it is the prerequisite for genuine transformation. You cannot return from the Underworld unchanged. You cannot rise without first having been genuinely, completely down. And the grief that seemed like an enemy — Ereshkigal's agony — is the very thing that makes resurrection possible. It was witnessed with compassion, not bypassed. That is what opened the gate.
🌙 Ishtar — The Babylonian Queen of Heaven
Ishtar is Inanna's Babylonian counterpart — the same goddess in a later form, worshipped across ancient Mesopotamia as the goddess of love, fertility, war, and the planet Venus. Her name has been proposed as one of the etymological origins of the word Easter in the Germanic languages, though this connection is contested among scholars. What is not contested is that her mythology — death, descent, and return — shaped the religious landscape of the ancient Near East in ways that influenced everything that came after.
Ishtar's descent follows the same structure as Inanna's: the seven gates, the stripping of power, the death in the Underworld, the intervention of another god, the return. Her story was widely known across the ancient Near East at the time when many of the earliest religious traditions were forming and cross-pollinating. The pattern of divine descent and return was not merely a story. It was the fundamental spiritual grammar of the region.
The spring festival associated with Ishtar and Tammuz — her divine consort, equivalent to Dumuzi — was a mourning and rejoicing cycle: the ritual mourning of the god who died, followed by the celebration of his return with the goddess's liberation from the Underworld. These festivals occurred at the spring equinox, when the earth itself was demonstrating the same pattern: death giving way to new life, the cold giving way to warmth, the seed breaking open in the dark to become food in the light.
The eggs associated with Ishtar's festival — representing new life emerging from apparent death — are one of the proposed origins of the Easter egg tradition, though the egg as a symbol of resurrection and spring appears across so many cultures independently that no single origin can be claimed with certainty. What is certain is that the egg has always been a profound symbol of what looks like death containing life: the shell that is hard and closed, and the life that breaks it open from the inside.
🌾 Osiris — The God Who Was Scattered and Made Whole
In ancient Egypt, the mythology of resurrection centered on Osiris — one of the most beloved and widely worshipped gods in the Egyptian pantheon, the god of the afterlife, the underworld, and resurrection, as well as agriculture and the flooding of the Nile.
Osiris was the first king of Egypt — wise, benevolent, the one who brought civilization and agriculture to humanity. His brother Set — the god of chaos, storms, and the desert — was consumed by jealousy. Set lured Osiris into a coffin crafted to his exact measurements, sealed it, and cast it into the Nile. The coffin floated to Byblos, where a great tree grew around it, encasing it completely.
Isis — goddess of magic, healing, and wisdom, wife and sister of Osiris — searched the world for her husband's body. She found it in the tree at Byblos, brought it back to Egypt, and used her considerable magical power to briefly reanimate Osiris long enough to conceive their son Horus. But Set discovered the body and dismembered it into fourteen pieces, scattering them across Egypt.
Isis searched again. She found thirteen of the fourteen pieces. The fourteenth — the phallus — had been swallowed by a fish in the Nile. She fashioned a replacement from gold, reassembled the body, and through her magic resurrected Osiris — not to walk the earth again, but to reign as King of the Dead, the lord of the Duat, the Egyptian underworld. Every soul who died in Egypt hoped to be judged worthy in Osiris's hall, where the heart was weighed against the feather of Ma'at.
The mythology of Osiris maps onto the agricultural cycle with unusual precision. His death corresponds to the period when the Nile recedes and the land appears barren. His resurrection corresponds to the annual flooding of the Nile — the return of the waters that make all Egyptian life possible, the moment when the dead land becomes fertile again. Grain, which goes into the ground as a dry seed and returns as living food, was understood as the body of Osiris. To eat bread in ancient Egypt was to participate in resurrection.
Horus — the child conceived at the edge of death, the son born of a resurrected father — would grow to avenge Osiris, challenge Set, and restore divine order to the world. The myth of Horus born of a divine father who had died and been resurrected, who would himself become the ruling divine principle, is one of the patterns that scholars have noted in the broader conversation about mythological parallels to the Christian nativity and resurrection narratives.
🌿 Persephone and Demeter — The Resurrection That Made the Seasons
In ancient Greek mythology, the cycle of death and return is not the story of a god who dies and rises. It is the story of a goddess who descends and the world that cannot survive without her.
Persephone — daughter of Demeter, goddess of the harvest, and Zeus, king of the gods — was gathering flowers in a meadow when the earth opened and Hades, god of the Underworld, emerged and took her below. Demeter searched the earth in grief, and in her grief, nothing grew. Crops failed. Animals starved. The world began to die.
Zeus eventually intervened — the world could not continue without Demeter's return to her function. But Persephone had eaten pomegranate seeds in the Underworld, and the law of the Underworld is absolute: those who have eaten its food cannot leave permanently. A compromise was reached: Persephone would spend part of the year in the Underworld as its queen, and part of the year above ground with her mother.
When Persephone descends each autumn, Demeter withdraws her gifts and winter comes. When Persephone returns each spring, Demeter's joy restores the earth to fertility. The seasons are not meteorological events in the Greek imagination. They are the emotional response of a mother to the presence or absence of her daughter.
The Eleusinian Mysteries — the most sacred and secretive religious rites of ancient Greece, attended by initiates for nearly two thousand years — were centered on this myth. What exactly happened in the inner sanctum of the Mysteries at Eleusis is not fully known, because the initiates kept their oath of silence with remarkable fidelity. But what we know is this: those who were initiated reported that they no longer feared death. Something in the experience of descending symbolically, of witnessing the return, of encountering the goddess in the Underworld and following her back — had fundamentally changed their relationship to mortality.
The Eleusinian Mysteries ran for nearly two thousand years before the Christianization of the Roman Empire brought them to an end. They are one of the longest-running continuous religious practices in human history. What they offered — the personal, experiential encounter with death and return, the transformation of the initiate's relationship to mortality — is not entirely different from what the Christian resurrection offers its believers.
🌹 Adonis — The Beautiful God Who Died Each Year
Adonis is one of the most widely traveled myths in the ancient world — originating in the Semitic traditions of the ancient Near East, absorbed into Greek and then Roman mythology, and associated with the spring mourning and rejoicing festivals that filled the Mediterranean world in the centuries around the Common Era.
Adonis was born miraculously — his mother Myrrha was transformed into a myrrh tree, from which the infant Adonis emerged. He was so beautiful that both Aphrodite, goddess of love, and Persephone, queen of the Underworld, claimed him. Zeus or the Muse Calliope arbitrated: Adonis would spend part of the year with Aphrodite in the world above, and part with Persephone in the world below.
He was killed while hunting — by a wild boar, either sent by Ares out of jealousy or by the goddess Artemis as punishment for a slight. Aphrodite wept over his body, and from her tears and his blood, the anemone flower sprang up — the wind flower, which blooms briefly and dies quickly, returning again the next year.
The festival of Adonia, celebrated by women across the ancient Greek and Roman world, was a ritual of mourning and resurrection: the planting of fast-growing herbs in small pots — the Gardens of Adonis — which would sprout quickly and wither just as quickly, enacting the cycle of life, death, and return. Women wept for the beautiful god who died. And then they celebrated his return.
The parallels between Adonis and Jesus were noted by early Christian writers themselves — Saint Jerome, writing in the fourth century, described women at Bethlehem weeping for Tammuz (the Babylonian equivalent of Adonis) in the very grotto Christians were venerating as the birthplace of Jesus. The geographic and theological proximity was not lost on the ancient world.
☀️ Mithras — The Unconquered Sun
Mithraism was one of the most popular mystery religions of the Roman Empire, practiced primarily by soldiers and flourishing between the first and fourth centuries of the Common Era — exactly the period in which Christianity was also spreading rapidly through the same population.
Mithra — a deity with roots in ancient Indo-Iranian religion, later adapted by the Roman world into a distinct mystery tradition — was associated with the sun, with light, with the cosmic battle between order and chaos. The Roman Mithras was born from a rock on December 25, worshipped in underground temples called mithraea, initiated his followers through ritual meals that shared striking similarities with the Eucharist, and his birthday was celebrated on the winter solstice — the day the unconquered sun begins its return.
The connections between Mithraism and early Christianity have been debated by scholars for over a century, and the nature of the influence — if any — remains contested. What is not contested is that they developed in the same cultural environment, competed for the same followers, and shared a remarkable number of structural similarities: the divine figure born of miraculous origin, the sacred meal, the initiatory experience, the promise of life beyond death for the faithful.
When the Roman Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity in the early fourth century and Sunday — the day of the sun, Sol Invictus, the Unconquered Sun — was established as the Christian day of worship, the layering of solar mythology onto Christian practice was not accidental. The Church was doing what the most enduring religious traditions always do: receiving what was already sacred to the people it hoped to reach and offering it back transformed.
✝️ The Christian Resurrection — What the Story Actually Says
The resurrection of Jesus is the central claim of Christian faith — the event that distinguishes Christianity from other traditions that honor Jesus as a prophet or teacher, and the event that early Christians themselves understood as the foundation on which everything else rested. As Paul writes in his first letter to the Corinthians, one of the earliest Christian texts: if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile.
The Gospel accounts of the resurrection differ in their details in ways that scholars find historically significant. Mark's Gospel — the earliest, written approximately 70 CE — ends with the women finding the empty tomb and fleeing in terror, saying nothing to anyone, because they were afraid. The longer ending of Mark, which includes resurrection appearances, is widely considered a later addition. Matthew describes an earthquake, an angel descending, the guards fainting. Luke describes two figures in dazzling clothes. John describes Mary Magdalene alone at the tomb in the early morning, who initially mistakes the risen Jesus for the gardener.
Mary Magdalene — not Peter, not John, not any of the male disciples — is the first to encounter the risen Christ in multiple Gospel accounts. She is the one who runs to tell the others. She is the apostle to the apostles, as she is called in Catholic and Orthodox tradition. The resurrection story, at its origin, is carried by a woman who goes to a tomb alone in the dark and becomes the first witness to the most important event in Christian history.
The timing of Easter — always the Sunday after the first Full Moon after the spring equinox — is not arbitrary. It is a lunar-solar calculation that deliberately places the resurrection in the context of the natural world's own resurrection: the equinox that tilts the earth toward light, the Full Moon that illuminates the night, the Sunday that follows them both. The early Church Council of Nicaea in 325 CE established this calculation, weaving the astronomical into the theological.
The name Easter itself is of uncertain origin. The Venerable Bede, an eighth-century English monk, proposed that it derived from Eostre — a Germanic spring goddess associated with the dawn and the east. Later scholars have questioned whether Eostre was a widely worshipped goddess or a more localized figure. What is clear is that the English and German words for Easter — Easter and Ostern — are distinct from the words used in most other languages, where the holiday is called by names derived from the Hebrew Pesach: Pâques in French, Pasqua in Italian, Pascua in Spanish, Pascha in liturgical use.
Which is to say: Easter is also Passover. The two festivals are not merely adjacent on the calendar. The Last Supper was a Passover Seder. Jesus was crucified at Passover. The liberation of the Hebrew people from Egypt and the resurrection of Christ from the tomb are theologically interwoven in ways that Christian liturgical tradition has always acknowledged — the one as the type, the other as the fulfillment, in the language of typological biblical interpretation.
🥚 The Eggs, the Hare, and the Flowers
The symbols of Easter that feel most ancient — the eggs, the hare, the flowers, the dawn — are in fact ancient, predating the Christian holiday by centuries in various forms.
Eggs appear across ancient cultures as symbols of new life emerging from apparent death. In ancient Persia, eggs were exchanged at Nowruz, the spring new year. In ancient Egypt, the primordial egg from which the universe hatched appears in creation mythology. In the Orphic tradition of ancient Greece, the cosmic egg preceded all creation. The Easter egg, dyed red in the Greek Orthodox tradition to represent the blood of Christ, carries all of these layers simultaneously.
The hare is associated with the Moon across many cultures — its image is visible in the full moon's shadow patterns, and it was understood as a lunar animal in ancient Egypt, in China, in pre-Christian Europe. The hare was sacred to Eostre in Bede's account, and its association with spring fertility — hares are famously fecund in spring — made it a natural symbol for the season of resurrection and new life.
The dawn service — the Easter Vigil held in the hours before sunrise, the sunrise services at dawn — echoes the oldest solar worship practices of humanity: greeting the return of the light after darkness, facing east at the moment when the sun rises, participating physically and bodily in the world's own resurrection. The word Easter, if it derives from Eostre, shares a root with east and with the Latin aurora — dawn. Every Easter morning service is, in some sense, a dawn goddess ritual.
🌑 The Waning Gibbous in Scorpio — Easter's Astrological Mirror
Today the Moon is in its waning gibbous phase in Scorpio — the sign most associated with death, transformation, and the power that lives on the other side of the deepest darkness. It will move into Sagittarius at 11:32 PM tonight, shifting from the underworld register into the expansive, philosophical register of meaning-making and vision.
There is no more fitting Moon for Easter Sunday than a waning gibbous in Scorpio. Scorpio is the zodiac's death and resurrection sign — the one that understands, at a cellular level, that transformation requires genuine dissolution, that you cannot rise without having truly descended, that the power available after the darkness is proportional to the depth of the darkness itself.
The waning gibbous is the lunar phase of release and integration — the moment after the Full Moon when what was illuminated begins to be understood, when the peak passes and the work of incorporating what was revealed begins. The Full Moon in Libra that peaked on April 2 showed us what was true in our relationships, our balance, our honest accounting of ourselves. The waning gibbous in Scorpio today asks: now that you have seen it, are you willing to let what needs to die actually die — so that what needs to rise can?
Easter in Scorpio's territory is Easter at its most essential: not the pretty sunrise service with lilies and new clothes, but the genuine spiritual confrontation with mortality that makes resurrection meaningful. What has to die in you for the resurrection to be real? What old self, what old story, what old bondage — to echo the Passover that is still being observed — has to be genuinely released for the new life to have somewhere to go?
At 11:32 PM tonight, the Moon moves into Sagittarius — and the energy shifts from death and depth to vision and expansion. The resurrection is complete. Now the question becomes: what does this mean, and where does it lead?
Every resurrection story ends the same way: not with the return to what was, but with the beginning of what could not have existed before the descent.
🌿 Themes & Invitations
The descent as prerequisite for resurrection. The stripping away of identity and armor as the path to essential truth. The grief that must be witnessed — not bypassed — before the gate opens. The woman at the tomb in the dark, who becomes the first witness. The egg that breaks itself open from the inside. The dawn that is always east. The Scorpio understanding that what genuinely dies makes room for what genuinely lives.
Your invitation today: wherever you are in your own resurrection story — whatever has been dying in you through this eclipse season, through Mercury retrograde, through the Full Moon's honest illumination — today the mythology of ten thousand years says: this is the shape of things. The descent was real. The darkness was real. And the rising is also real.
You do not have to believe in any particular theology for this to be true. You only have to look at a seed.
🔮 Full Horoscopes — Easter Sunday • Waning Gibbous Scorpio
Read for your Sun sign and your Rising sign. These horoscopes hold the Easter resurrection energy and the waning gibbous Scorpio invitation to release what has completed its purpose.
Aries ♈
Aries season is your season, and Easter this year lands in your solar return period — the time when the wheel completes and begins again for you specifically. The resurrection mythology of today speaks directly to your Aries nature: the fire that initiates, the courage that walks into the unknown, the willingness to begin before you know how it ends. But the Scorpio Moon today asks you to sit with the death side first. What version of yourself has genuinely completed its cycle this year? What old Aries story — about urgency, about proving, about needing to be first — is ready to be buried so the new one can rise? The resurrection is coming. The release comes first.
Taurus ♉
The waning gibbous in Scorpio activates your relationship axis — the honest territory of what exists between you and the people who matter most. Easter's resurrection mythology speaks to something in your closest bonds today: what has been genuinely transforming in your most significant relationships through this eclipse season? Scorpio opposite Taurus asks you to let what has needed to die in a relationship dynamic actually die — the pattern, the dynamic, the version of the relationship that was no longer genuinely alive. What rises in its place will be more real. That is the promise every resurrection story makes.
Gemini ♊
The waning gibbous in Scorpio works in your daily life and health sector — the routines, the habits, the ways you have been spending your energy. The Scorpio invitation today is a deep and honest accounting: what daily practice, what habit, what way of showing up in your ordinary days has been quietly depleting rather than sustaining? Mercury is direct and your mind is clear. Let that clarity be applied here, in the ordinary territory, where resurrection most often actually happens — not in dramatic moments but in the slow transformation of how you spend a Tuesday. What daily habit is ready to die so something more alive can take its place?
Cancer ♋
Creativity, joy, and the expression of your deepest self are where the Scorpio waning gibbous works most intensely for you today. The Easter resurrection mythology speaks to something in your creative life: what version of your creative expression has been performing rather than genuinely living? What creative self-presentation has become a kind of costume rather than an authentic expression? Scorpio asks for the genuine death of the performed version — and Cancer's deep well of emotional truth is exactly what rises in its place. What you make from your actual depths cannot be replicated. Let the surface version dissolve today.
Leo ♌
Home, emotional foundations, and the private self are where the Scorpio waning gibbous penetrates most deeply for you today. The resurrection mythology of Easter lands in your most interior space: what version of home, of family, of the emotional story you carry about where you come from and what shaped you, has been dying through this eclipse season? The descent into the truth of your origins — even when that truth is more complex than the story you have been telling — is the prerequisite for the resurrection that is available to you now. What genuinely rises from honest ground is more stable than anything built on a simplified version of the past.
Virgo ♍
Communication, the words that carry your truth, and the conversations that have been waiting — this is where the Scorpio waning gibbous works for you today. The Easter resurrection speaks to something in your relationship with your own voice: what version of what you have to say has been kept in the tomb, carefully guarded, not yet allowed to emerge into full light? The Scorpio death you are releasing today is the overly managed, overly careful, overly edited version of your own truth. What rises is the real one — the one that does not require as much protection as you have been giving it. Say it. It is ready.
Libra ♎
The Full Moon was in your sign three days ago and now the waning gibbous Scorpio asks for integration — the quiet, honest work of incorporating what the Full Moon showed you. The Easter mythology today speaks to your Libra nature in a particular way: Libra seeks balance, and the resurrection mythology of every tradition says that genuine balance — genuine equilibrium — is only available after genuine death. You cannot have the resurrection without the tomb. What the Full Moon illuminated in your relationships, your sense of balance, your honest self-presentation — today the Scorpio Moon asks you to let what needs to die actually die. The resurrection available to you on the other side of that is the balance you have actually been seeking.
Scorpio ♏
This is your Moon, and Easter in your sign's territory is Easter at its most profound. You understand, at a level other signs can only approximate, what the descent actually requires — the genuine dissolution, the real darkness, the transformation that is not metaphorical. The resurrection mythology of today speaks to you not as a story about someone else but as a description of something you know in your body. What has genuinely died in you this eclipse season? Not what you feared would die — what actually has. And what, in the honest darkness of that dying, has been preparing to emerge? The Scorpio Moon today holds the space for that emergence. You are the resurrection sign. Let yourself rise.
Sagittarius ♐
The Moon moves into your sign tonight at 11:32 PM, and the energy shifts from Scorpio's depth to your natural register: expansion, meaning-making, the philosophical synthesis of what has been experienced. But first, the Scorpio waning gibbous asks something of your Sagittarius nature: what belief, what philosophy, what optimistic certainty has been genuinely dying through this eclipse season — and are you willing to let it complete its dying before you replace it with the next one? Sagittarius's temptation is to move toward the new vision before the old one has been fully grieved. Today, sit with the Scorpio side. The Sagittarius resurrection — the philosophical renewal — is waiting for you at 11:32 PM. Let it be earned.
Capricorn ♑
Resources, self-worth, and the foundations of how you sustain yourself are where the Scorpio waning gibbous works most directly for you today. The Easter resurrection speaks to something in your relationship with abundance and security: what old scarcity story, what inherited belief about what you must do to deserve security, what exhausting pattern of earning and proving — is genuinely ready to die? The Capricorn resurrection available to you on the other side of that release is a version of security built on what you actually are rather than what you produce. That is a different kind of foundation. It is also a more stable one.
Aquarius ♒
Your identity, your sense of self, and the story you have been living about who you are in the world — this is where the Scorpio waning gibbous works most personally for you today. Easter's resurrection mythology is, at its core, an identity resurrection: the self that descends is not the self that rises. What has been dying in your sense of identity through this eclipse season — what old definition of who you are, what old role, what old way of being seen — is ready to complete its death? The Aquarius that rises from this Scorpio descent is freer, more genuinely themselves, less invested in the version that needed external confirmation. That is the resurrection available today.
Pisces ♓
The cycle that began at your New Moon on March 19 has now moved through the Full Moon, through Passover, through Easter, and arrives at the waning gibbous Scorpio — the most interior, most spiritual phase for the most interior, most spiritual sign. The resurrection mythology of today speaks to you in the deepest possible register: Pisces understands the dissolution that precedes resurrection better than any other sign, because Pisces is the dissolution sign. What has been dissolving in you — not catastrophically, but gradually, the way a seed dissolves in order to become what it always was meant to be — is now ready to show itself. The Pisces resurrection is not dramatic. It is quiet, deep, and more real than anything that came before it.
🌸 Easter Ritual — The Seed That Breaks Itself Open
This ritual can be performed at any point today — at dawn if you rose for it, at noon, or this evening before the Moon moves into Sagittarius.
If you have access to a garden or earth — place one hand in the soil. If not, hold something growing: a plant, an herb, a flower. If neither is available, simply hold both hands in your lap with palms facing upward.
Take three slow breaths. With each exhale, let one thing go — not dramatically, not with ceremony, but with genuine permission. Three things that have been dying through this eclipse season that you have been holding on to past the moment of their natural completion.
Then, on your next inhale, ask yourself:
• What is rising in me that could not have existed before the descent?
• What am I becoming that the old version of me could not have been?
• What does this resurrection ask of me going forward?
Sit with whatever arrives. Do not require it to be articulate or complete. The seed does not know what it will look like as a plant. It only knows it is breaking open. Let that be enough for today.
The resurrection was always on its way. The descent was the path it took to reach you.
🪞 Closing Reflection
What is rising in you that could not have existed before everything that has died — and are you willing to receive it?
✨ You have descended.
✨ You have endured.
✨ You are rising.
— Love & Equilibrium, Gemini ♊
Veil of Gemini | where the sacred and celestial meet