Star paths & earth signs
& learning to read their messages
Apothecary News: The planners have arrived from the printer! All pre-orders have been shipped and are on their way! Now that we’re all caught up I thought I would do a full planner tour for you to see what’s new.
The first seasonal guide and creative exploration all about wild apple for paid subscribers also went out over the past couple of weeks. The guide for October is already in the works and will feature some liminal themes and plants such as witch hazel and of course Baba Yaga.
Notes from the forest
I am an indecisive person by nature. I try to map out all of my options, attempting to mentally follow each hypothetical to some unknowable outcome. But I’m not a god and I can’t divine futures that exist only in the ethers of my mind. Usually this ends up at a stand still. I oftentimes end up jumping in too quickly or avoiding the decision all together.
Recently though, I dabbled a bit in Human Design, a personal profiling system that combines ancient wisdom and modern genetics to give insight on both our conscious and unconscious self (be forewarned, it’s a bit more esoteric than a typical personality test). After calculating my chart, I discovered I am a Reflector.
According to this system, we all have a decision-making center somewhere within our physical bodies that we can tap into when we need more guidance than what the mind can offer. Other designs may be able to tap into places such as the solar plexus or splenic regions.
Reflectors however, have no decision-making center. Our centers are completely open, which means we rely on information from our environment and those we surround ourselves with to understand the world within and without. We are constantly “sampling the energies” that swirl around us.
It is suggested that Reflectors wait a full lunar cycle to make any major decisions as we are also supposedly closely tied to the effects of the moon and planetary transits. Within that time, we are advised to contemplate our decision by looking outward rather than inward for guidance.
This was an epiphany for me because it seemed that until then, no matter how many mental acrobatics and soul-searching I did about a big decision, or small decision if I’m being honest, clarity never came. So I started inviting the external inward.
I’ve always been very aware of the large and tiny cycles constantly revolving around me like the dance of an individual blade of grass or the deep undulating language of the rolling Great Lakes. But I saw these cycles as their own secret spell, without any intentional effect on my own cyclical life.
Interested in exploring my nature as a Reflector though, I wondered what I could learn if I chose to see things as a direct message from earth to little old me. Everything was still a part of its own cosmic drama, but there were certain things that somehow, for some reason, stepped outside its personal polka to invite me in. These invitations offered some insight, some guidance, to my own questions and to questions I hadn’t yet thought to ask.
Waiting for signs from the universe to make a decision may seem outrageous to some, and I understand that. But for me, it felt freeing and empowering.
Since that opening, I’ve found that there are a few different types of signs. These are signs that don’t just apply to Reflectors, but to anyone who needs an extra hand now and then.
There are of course the practical signs that are meant for the world to see. They are signs of the seasons and the passing years. Right now it is the geese leaving, the leaves changing, the night coming faster, the bite in the morning air. These are signs telling us to prepare. Cut the wood, harvest the last of the fruit and vegetables, begin lighting the fires.
Before modern technologies, these signs were what our ancestors lived by. Cues from the natural world marked the days and months rather than calendars. They are signs everyone learned to read. In doing so, they wove themselves into that cosmic cycle.
These old signs are still here. Even when apartment-living in Denver I would always notice the way the cherry blossoms exploded into life each spring, how the wild roses in a particular abandoned lot would soon follow. There were no geese migrations I could see from the city, but each fall it was always a surprising joy to wake up in the morning and see the distant mountains tipped in snow for the first time each year.
Signs of the seasons are the melody, creating a chorus that life spins and steps and twirls around. But then there are smaller more subtle signs that hum the harmony. These are signs of the cosmos. It is only when you are sitting in stillness that you can hear the tune.
The rhythm of a lone cricket, the drip of rainwater from a leaf after the storm passed, the soft twinkle of wind chimes, the faraway chirping of birds. It is none of these individual sounds, but all of them in symphony that signals the undertone of the universe.
These signs tell us about the current state of affairs in the natural world. On the surface they tell us things about the weather, the landscape, the local gossip. But beneath their quiet songs is a message of pure unfiltered love. It is that creative spark that first inspired the universe, now an ember that continues to be stoked day in and day out regardless of our human happenings. It is a reminder that love still lives here.
Between the melody and harmony there is a set of signs meant just for you and for me. These can be the trickiest signs to read, and often the most ignored. Instead of signs that play to a tempo like the rest, these signs are outliers, things that don’t quite belong. And because they don’t belong, they catch our attention even for the briefest moment. Usually we brush off these moments of captivation instantly, but what if we stopped to wonder why it is this thing gave us pause?
Once we begin to feed our attention to these moments, we may even begin to notice patterns. The outliers begin to organize themselves. One sign that became a clear messenger in my life is the fox. I’ve learned whenever it appears in my life, in dream form or in the real world, that it is telling me to pay attention.
Often I’ll get a particular feeling each time it appears whether it be unease, curiosity, wonder, clarity. These feelings then lead me to examine something currently happening in my life that I may be uncertain about and need extra guidance.
It took two years for Evan and I to decide to start a family. During that time of indecision I made a trip to my family’s original farm where they first immigrated to from what was then Prussia. It was deep in the rural agricultural land of Michigan’s “thumb” and it was my first time visiting.
Some distant family I had never met, but who still lived in the area, offered to drive me around and show me important family landmarks. We drove past the caved in stone church, the cemetery that still has stones baring my family name, and the farm itself which was completely gone except for the old stone foundation of the original barn.
It was ordinary and unassuming, but I felt an indescribable tether here. Maybe some essence of my lineage that remains in my DNA singing its own song.
As we drove back along a country road, a fox jumped from the ditch and ran across our path. My other two family members made little note of it, but I was instantly on alert. It was broad daylight, and I hadn’t seen a fox in a few years since the last time it came to deliver a message.
Pay attention, it said as it ran across the field. I sat quietly to take in the moment and this overwhelming feeling of family, place and belonging came over me. Until then, I was fascinated to learn about this place and these people I had never met. But then I felt the true purpose of this trip.
I knew then that my lineage would continue. There were still fears and uncomfortable feelings I had to navigate afterward, but that sign told me this life-changing decision had already been made, that it had been in the works for quite some time, that this is all much bigger than myself.
It wasn’t that fox told me these things, rather it was a trigger, a door slowly opening to show me what I needed to see. Once I learned to pay attention to its appearance, these things came more easily.
Still, there are times when something will capture my attention and I have a feeling it’s a sign, but I can’t quite grasp the meaning. I accept that mystery in the moment and tuck it away for future reflection. Eventually, that sign will reappear in a way and time that finally makes sense because the earth beats to its own drum, the stars with their own magic.
Reading these signs meant just for us isn’t some fantastical magical thinking that is so farfetched from reality. They only ask us to follow the things that make us pause. Hold space for the things that feel out of place or unexplainably important.
Our ancestors knew this too. Just as they read signs that gave them direction seasonally, they had their own metaphysical beliefs about messages from the natural world and beyond. Counting crows for instance was a common sign from a bird that straddles the line between our world and the otherworld.
One for sorrow, two for joy, three crows a wedding, four crows a boy, five crows mean silver, six crows mean gold, seven crows a secret that's never been told.
~ an old rhyme from the UK that pertains to magpies or crows
Now this isn’t to say that every crow you cross is there to give you a message. Sometimes they really are just stepping to their own dance and we are simply blessed to witness it. It is those moments where the presence of something feels different. Maybe the crow is in an odd place, or an unexplainable feeling or thought arises when you see it. Maybe it looks at you in a way that suggests it has more to say.
One of my favorite ways to work more with the signs the earth and stars are trying to send me is with a ritual I’ve included in the Lunar + Seasonal Planner for the past few years. At the beginning of every year I practice a little “bird of the year” ritual.
Birds, not just crow, are liminal travelers. They have a knack of appearing out of nowhere and perching on a branch near us when we need a message. So in this ritual I begin seeking out my bird for the year as January brings new energy. I don’t force the message, but am simply more aware of any birds that may enter my space at this time of year. I invite them in through journaling or meditation or simply walking through the woods.
Eventually, whether it be on the first day of the year, or a few weeks into the year, a bird announces its arrival. One year it was a woodpecker outside my window urgently pecking at a dead tree, this year it was a plump robin observing me carefully. When I get a feeling that this bird has something to say, I write it down. I draw it. I read about it. I explore its symbolism and meditate on what it might mean for my year to come.
I then carry this message with me throughout the entire year, always paying attention to when that bird makes an appearance again. It is a beautifully simple way to begin looking for signs and sewing ourselves back into the web of life. The universe is constantly conspiring to speak with us, if we have a moment to listen.
Much love,
Val