Jul
There is a particular kind of auntie every family should have. The one who never seems surprised by life’s biggest questions. The one who puts the kettle on before she answers. The one who keeps a tin of lavender cookies in the cupboard because she knows that they make almost everything feel just a little more manageable.
Lately I’ve been thinking that astrology should be a little more like that auntie, who smiles, pours you another cup of tea, and says… ”Come in, dearest. Sit down for a while. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Because yes. The sky is busy. But the thing is… You don’t have to be.
A quick glance at an astrological calendar is enough to make anyone slightly dizzy.
Jupiter has recently entered Leo. Uranus has stepped into Gemini for the first time since the 1940s. Neptune has begun exploring Aries for the first time in more than a century and a half, while Saturn has joined it there – a story worthy of an essay all of its own. Pluto continues its slow work in Aquarius. Mercury is retrograde. Eclipse season is approaching. The lunar nodes are changing signs. It’s… quite a list. And if social media is to be believed, we’re apparently standing on the edge of seventeen historical turning points all at once.
Sometimes I wonder whether we’ve accidentally turned astrology into a catalogue of cosmic emergencies. Everything is urgent, life-changing, unprecedented, historical. No wonder so many people feel exhausted before they’ve even looked up at the sky.
Our auntie would probably shake her head at all of this, her gemstone earrings catching the afternoon light. She’d slide another lavender cookie across the table and say, ”Sweetheart… the sky has always been busy. I wonder how overdue its annual leave must be by now. Someone really ought to have a word with Management.”
And when you mumble that you’d quite like a holiday from all the change, thank you very much… She’d laugh (the kind of laugh that laughs with you) and ask how you’re getting on in your new apartment. Whether you’ve settled in, and whether you’d like a cutting from one of her geraniums because, honestly, she’s somehow ended up with far too many. Again.
And then she’d ask you to think about the planets as though they were your new home. The walls are solid. Your old sofa has found its corner. The kitchen table still carries the blueberry stain from that ambitious blueberry pie expedition. You know you’re home. You just haven’t decided where the Moomin mugs belong yet.
That’s rather what these years feel like. Old ways of living no longer fit quite as comfortably as they once did, yet new ones haven’t quite settled into place. The boxes are still everywhere, and you are learning where everything belongs… In its own good time.
Perhaps astrology is teaching us something much gentler than fearing change. That becoming isn’t the same thing as being lost. And that perhaps – even if the world is changing, and we along with it – we can spend a little less energy worrying about everything happening at once and a little more deciding where the Moomin mugs belong.
Because if we pay attention, the sky is having one conversation, spoken through many voices. Jupiter reminds us to choose what genuinely brings our hearts alive rather than what merely looks impressive. Uranus gently nudges us towards curiosity instead of certainty, reminding us that changing our minds is sometimes one of the healthiest things we can do. Neptune and Saturn, walking together in Aries, seem to ask two sides of the same question: What dream is still worth building once the illusion has fallen away?
Mercury slows us down just enough to revisit conversations, repair misunderstandings, and discover that sometimes the second conversation is the honest one. The eclipses and the lunar nodes quietly ask which stories about ourselves have reached their ending – and which new ones have been patiently waiting for us to notice them.
And beneath it all, Pluto continues its slow, almost invisible work, and asking perhaps the deepest question of all. What quiet strength have you already grown without even noticing?
Our auntie would probably smile at this point as she refills your mug, and tell you those are all very, very good questions. Constructive and adult, even. Then she’d lean back in her chair, smile, and say, ”But here’s my favourite one…”
For me, the most beautiful event in this summer’s sky is Comet 10P/Tempel 2.
If the skies are kind, it will become visible in late July and early August with binoculars or a small telescope. It won’t blaze across the heavens like the great comets of history. It doesn’t even try, unlike Comet Lemmon or Comet MAPS. Here in the far north, where our summer nights are slow to surrender their light, it may even take a little patience to find. But I hope you’ll look for it anyway. It’s an old friend.
Tempel 2 returns every five and a half years or so. The last time it visited us was in early 2021, before that, late 2015, and I think that’s a thought worth sitting with for a while.
Imagine our auntie quietly pouring another cup of tea. By now, the lavender cookies are almost gone, and she slides the plate towards you one last time and asks you to think about five and a half years ago..
Who were you? What mattered to you then?
Where did you live, who did you love?
What were you worried about?
What future did you imagine for yourself?
What has surprised you since?
What have you survived that you could never have imagined surviving?
What have you learned?
What unexpected joys found their way into your life?
What slipped away because it had already fulfilled its purpose?
And when Tempel 2 returns again, in early 2032… Who do you hope it will meet?
While you’re waiting for Tempel 2 to return, I’d like to offer one small piece of very ancient wisdom. Step outside. Look up. You don’t need to know a single constellation, understand astrology, or even need to know the names of the planets. You only need to remember how beautiful the sky is.
Here in Finland, of course, summer has its own sense of humour. Our nights refuse to grow dark enough for proper stargazing. Perhaps that’s a lesson, too. Look up anyway. Let the lingering light settle quietly into your body, and trust that the stars are still there, even when you cannot see them. How wonderful it would be if we could learn to trust ourselves with the same quiet confidence.
And with a little luck, you might still catch sight of the Summer Triangle; Vega, Deneb and Altair, three companions that have travelled through human stories for thousands of years. Perhaps you’ll see a Perseid meteor, or later in the season, the Milky Way stretching quietly across the darkness.
The stars have watched every generation before us wonder how life will unfold. You’re allowed to wonder, too.
And to me, that’s the lavender-cookie version of astrology. An invitation to stand beneath an ancient sky and remember that wonder is still available.
I think that might be one of the loveliest gifts astrology can offer us. A way of noticing how beautiful change can be. So, if astrology – or life – ever begins to feel overwhelming… Put the kettle on. Step outside for five minutes. Leave your phone indoors. (Or, if you’re anything like me and happen to live in the absolute middle of nowhere among wolves and bears, perhaps keep it firmly in your pocket instead.) Stand beneath the sky, and find one bright star, if you can, or simply stand in the lingering northern light and let it quiet your thoughts. And then…
Carry that light with you until the nights grow dark enough for the stars to return. Sometimes the light simply needed to fade before you could see them again.
We spend a great deal of time asking what the planets mean. But perhaps they aren’t always trying to tell us something. Perhaps, sometimes, they’re simply inviting us to pay attention. To the sky, to the turning of the seasons, to one another, and to ourselves. The sky is busy. You don’t have to be.
Now… Put the kettle on. The lavender cookies are waiting. Go and keep the sky company for a little while.