Whenever I’m moving through a big transition, I see owls everywhere. It makes sense that of all my signs from god come in this form because just like stargazing, kinship with birds runs in my family. My Aquarian grandfather made friends with the crows in his backyard, feeding them everyday. He’s been gone for over 20 years now, but I catch glimpses of him all the time, usually in the flocks of black birds that appear on my parents’ lawn when I visit. The crows are Poppy’s, and the owls are mine.
When I see owls I know that I’m in process. Transition. That the universe has a plan and I just need to keep moving. I saw them everywhere in the Fall of 2016 when I was moving sublet to sublet, while grieving my friend and forever muse Nora, and also coming to terms with the fact that a few of the close friends I’d made in my adult life weren’t people I could actually trust. I saw owls everywhere the week after Christmas in 2018 as I drove cross country to Los Angeles, and again in May 2019 as I heroically moved out of a bad sublet and into a much better one. When I escaped Los Angeles in late August 2018, my first stop was to visit my friend Craig who was living in a cabin in the woods north of Santa Cruz. I walked inside and he pointed at the couch where I’d be sleeping that night, and above it was a painting of an owl in the snow. A week after that, I saw plastic owls hanging from the rafters at a gas station in Wisconsin. I heard a real owl in my friend Michelle’s parents’ backyard in Massachusetts in the Fall of 2020 when I was on the precipice of deciding that I needed, once and for all, a real home of my own. Michelle’s Dad sent me a book that December, The Hidden Lives of Owls, which was delivered to me as I packed the final things into my car to move out of my last ever sublet. When I need owls, they find me.
The thing about owls is that when I see them in a location, it means that I will just be passing through wherever that is. It’s a safe haven but I’m not meant to stay. It’s why I always see them when I’m “on the road.” The Airbnb in Omaha. The restaurant in Atwater Village. The hardware store in San Francisco. But when the owls become ambient, popping up in a poem on a chalkboard in Ditmas Park or on a stranger’s tshirt or a juice label at the bagel shop, I know that it’s my life that’s changing. My world is transforming.
What do owls mean? Well, owls are creatures of the night. Custodians of the dark. Symbols of nocturnal time where circumstance reigns supreme. I started seeing owls again last week for the first time in a long time. This was after I set some things in motion that are exciting and beautiful and mostly really scary. Seeing the owls afterwards was a relief. The universe still has my back. It’s worth it to keep changing. Keep going.
I know I’m not the only one living through turbulence. On August 1, Mars (movement) met Uranus (sudden change) and the North Node (unfettered growth), sending many lives into a tailspin. Since the New Moon in Leo on July 28, many of us have been in a state of ripping off the bandaid, facing what’s unavoidable, and admitting that even if it’s harder to move forward with change, we can’t keep living the way things were.
Right after Mars met up with Uranus and the North Node though, he immediately started applying to Saturn—an aspect that brings frustrations, roadblocks and delays. Mars/Uranus/North Node was an acute crisis or a sudden wave of inspiration, but now that Mars is squaring off with Saturn, it’s one that needs to be integrated. This change must last. Uranus makes things feel urgent, but Saturn only wants us to go for what’s sustainable. We dove into the deep end but now we’re treading water. It would be easier to get out of the pool, but what if along the way, we found some resilience?
Mars completes the square to Saturn on August 7. It’s OK to take things as slow as you need until then. Once Mars moves into Gemini on August 20, we’ll begin a 6 month plus process of incorporating this tough lesson into our lives, seeing if it really does work.
Mars is in Taurus, a Venus-ruled sign, and Venus is now lingering in the final degrees of Cancer. Venus has a nostalgic expression in Cancer, and in the final degrees, the love planet starts feeling a bit oversaturated in memories. Longing loops into dissatisfaction. But Venus is also applying to oppose Pluto, where we face decay. Venus opposite Pluto is an aspect of worry, obsession and limerence. But if we’re willing to actually go deep, to actually face the ugliness, it can also be a beautiful moment for recycling and rekindling. A rotten fruit becomes compost becomes the soil for a fresh start. But what’s changing is still a seed. There’s so much time for it to grow.
What’s here to help us through this muck is that Mercury—planet of communication—just entered Virgo. Mercury is particularly agile and inventive in Virgo where they are both at home and treated as an honored guest. The Tarot Card associated with Virgo is The Hermit. And in one of my favorite decks by Small Spells, the Hermit is an owl.
Rachel Howe, the deck’s creator, writes that this card is about, “using past experiences to shape a world-view that supports current action. Relating to a bigger picture, looking outside of yourself for perspective, and inside for truth. Getting wiser.”
Mercury in Virgo, like The Hermit, puts things in perspective. Mercury in Virgo lights guideposts for big feels during turbulent times. Virgo moves mountains for the people they love, and afterward says, “Oh that? That was nothing.” Mercury in Virgo brainstorms epic solutions to seemingly impossible problems while also keeping things easy. Light to the touch. Mercury in Virgo is so skilled at what they do that it seems effortless. But there’s so much power in that skill. Power that lights the way.
Mercury in Virgo is like my owls in that, the universe is giving us a little boost to solve these problems. Like a cosmic wink and laugh saying “you’re not alone!” That’s the joke of the owls. Like, yes, perhaps it’s a bit spooky to be surrounded by omens, but I get more worried when I’m not seeing owls, tbh. Because usually that means I have to solve the problem on my own, through my own clumsy willpower, or (more likely) sit this one out and admit that it’s a problem not worth solving.
What’s going on now is a problem worth solving, and you have more time than you think to get to the answer. Because once you get that answer, there will only be more questions. And isn’t that really what makes life beautiful? Isn’t that really why I want to keep seeing owls? So I can keep seeking and searching and laughing and loving?
I’ll be back next week with more on the Full Moon in Aquarius for paid subscribers. If you want to get into your owls and how you’re moving through this moment, book a reading. I’d love to talk more about it with you!