NOVEMBER HOROSCOPES

 NOVEMBER HOROSCOPES 

The Beaver Moon rises full on November 24th, and the year is gathering itself in, Phoenix tribe. Mercury and Venus both turn forward on the 13th, the Scorpio new moon plants deep on the 9th, and the Sagittarius season lights the fire on the 22nd. Here's what the month holds for your sign—find yours below.👇

♈ ARIES (Mar 21 – Apr 19)

November asks you to finish, not start—for once. The tangle of the last few weeks unknots after the 13th, when Mercury turns forward. Clear the old debt, the old grudge, and the old tab, and walk into the fire season light.

♉ TAURUS (Apr 20 – May 20)

Shared things get honest this month—money, promises, the unspoken arrangements. The Scorpio new moon on the 9th is your moment to renegotiate whatever isn't fair. By the Beaver Moon on the 24th, you'll know exactly what you're keeping.

♊ GEMINI (May 21 – Jun 20)

The full Beaver Moon rises in YOUR sign on November 24th—your spotlight, and a supermoon at that. A conversation you've been circling finally lands. Say the true thing kindly and watch a door open.

♋ CANCER (Jun 21 – Jul 22)

Home and table carry November for you. Gather your people close, feed them well, and let gratitude do the heavy lifting. Small repairs to your daily rhythm early in the month pay off all winter long.

♌ LEO (Jul 23 – Aug 22)

Your fire banked low in the autumn deep—Sagittarius season on the 22nd starts to kick it back up. After the 13th, when Venus turns forward, create something just for the joy of it. Your sparkle returns with interest.

♍ VIRGO (Aug 23 – Sep 22)

Mercury, your ruler, turns forward on the 13th—the crossed wires and the second-guessing ease off. The new moon on the 9th asks what home needs from you. Fix the foundation, not the facade.

♎ LIBRA (Sep 23 – Oct 22)

Venus, your ruler, has been walking backward through your heart's accounts—she turns forward on the 13th, and so do you. A money or love question pending since October finally gets its answer. Spend on what lasts.

♏ SCORPIO (Oct 23 – Nov 21)

The new moon is in YOUR sign on November 9th—your true new year starts there, in the dark, on purpose. Plant one intention you don't announce to anyone. Mercury turns forward in your sign on the 13th, and your words carry weight again. Use them precisely.

♐ SAGITTARIUS (Nov 22 – Dec 21)

Your season opens November 22nd, and the month hands you back your fire. Rest and finish old business before your sun rises—then set the big goal in writing. The Beaver Moon on the 24th lights your road out.

♑ CAPRICORN (Dec 22 – Jan 19)

November is the foundation weather for you. Quiet work, honest budgets, early nights—the unglamorous disciplines that make December yours. A community tie strengthened this month becomes load-bearing later.

♒ AQUARIUS (Jan 20 – Feb 18)

Your people are gathering, and you're part of the reason. Show up—the reunion, the meeting, the message you keep meaning to send. After the 13th, a stalled plan moves again. Push it gently.

♓ PISCES (Feb 19 – Mar 20)

Deep waters suit you, and the Scorpio new moon on the 9th is a tide in your favor. A dream you've been carrying quietly deserves one practical step this month. When Sagittarius season opens, share the vision—someone wants to help build it.

🔥 YOUR TURN 🔥

Comment on your sign ✨ if you're claiming this energy—and tell us, did this resonate?

Tag your zodiac bestie so they can check theirs.

An ancestor altar

An ancestor altar does not belong to one path—many traditions keep a place for their dead, and the building of it is simple. Five things: a photo, a candle, a glass of water, a small offering (bread, fruit, or their favorite treat), and flowers or herbs. Whatever your tradition, remembering is holy. Whose photo goes on yours first? 

#AncestorAltar #Samhain #ANewAgePhoenix 

 Fèt Gede: The Feast of the Gede

Two weeks ago, on Day 24 of our Caribbean Folklore Month, we knocked at the cemetery gate and met Baron Samedi, head of the Gede. We made a promise at that gate: at his feast, we will return, and go deeper. On November 1 and 2 the feast is here, and we are keeping our word.

THE FEAST

Fèt Gede, the Festival of the Dead, is kept in Haiti on November 1 and 2. The cemeteries fill. Families come to the graves of their people with coffee, rum, and spicy food; they clean the stones, they bring flowers, they speak the names of their dead aloud, and they stay — talking, singing, laughing, grieving, all of it at the same table. Above every other place stands the great National Cemetery in Port-au-Prince, honored at the heart of the feast. People dress in the colors of the Gede: black, purple, and white.

This is a living feast in a living faith. Haitian Vodou is not a story people tell; it is a religion people practice, and the Gede are not characters. They are lwa — spirits — and this is their festival.

THE GEDE, THE BARON, AND MAMAN BRIGITTE

The Gede are the family of the dead: the spirits of the cemetery, of the ancestors, of everyone who has crossed over. They guard memory. They are famous, too, for everything a graveyard is not supposed to hold — loud laughter, rough jokes, dancing — because they teach that grief and joy are not opposites. They sit at the same table.

At their head stands Baron Samedi. Tradition holds that the first man buried in any cemetery becomes the Baron's own there, its guardian; the first woman buried becomes Maman Brigitte's. Maman Brigitte, his wife, rules the Gede beside him and guards the gravestones, the graves of women above all. Her name carries a crossing of its own: of all the lwa, she alone is traced not to West Africa but to the Irish indentured people carried to Haiti, and behind her stands Brigid — a goddess of the Celts before she was a saint. (In later tellings, and in many English-language books, you will meet this same pair as Baron and Gran — Gran Brijit. That is the Baron's wife under her later name; this telling keeps her first one.)

The Baron is a healer as well as a guardian of the dead: when he refuses a grave, the old people say, no grave can be dug, and the sick one rises. He is a protector of children. And at his feast he is the host — the one who stands laughing at the gate, reminding everyone who passes that the dead are not gone while their names are still spoken.

WHAT THE FEAST TEACHES

Remembrance, in the Gede's world, is not a feeling. It is a practice. You say the name. You pour the coffee. You tell the story at the table, and you laugh in the middle of your grief, because the laughter is part of the honoring, not a break in it.

So today, in whatever way is yours, speak a name aloud — one of your people, gone and not forgotten. Say it like they can hear you. The Gede would say they can.

Care note: this post is shared for spiritual and cultural reflection. If you light a candle today, never leave it burning unattended. Trust your own judgment and your own traditions above any page, this one included.

Day of the Dead: Setting a Place for Those Who Came Before

Day of the Dead: Setting a Place for Those Who Came Before

On the first and second of November, families across Mexico and throughout the Mexican diaspora do something beautiful: they set a place at the table for their dead.

Día de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead—is not Mexico's Halloween, and it is not a day of mourning in the way many of us were taught to grieve. It is a homecoming. For these two days, the veil between the living and the dead is understood to be thin, and the spirits of loved ones are welcomed back—not feared, not pitied, but fed, honored, and told the family news.

November 1 is Día de los Angelitos, the Day of the Little Angels, when the spirits of children who have died are welcomed home. November 2 is Día de los Difuntos, for the adults—parents, grandparents, ancestors, and friends. The roots of the celebration reach back to the Indigenous peoples of Mexico, including Mexica (Aztec) observances honoring the dead, woven together over centuries with the Catholic feasts of All Saints and All Souls.

THE OFRENDA

At the center of the celebration stands the ofrenda, the home altar built to receive the returning spirits. Every element on it is there for a reason:

- Photographs of the loved ones being honored, so their faces are present and remembered.

- Marigolds—cempasúchil, the flower of the dead. Their fierce orange color and strong scent are said to guide the spirits home, petals sometimes scattered as a path from the cemetery to the house.

- Candles, whose flames are light and hope—a way for the spirits to find their path in the dark.

- Water: set out so the travellers can drink after their long journey and wash before they feast.

- Favorite foods of the departed—the dishes they loved in life—along with pan de muerto, the sweet, round "bread of the dead" baked only for this season.

- Copal incense, burned in Mexico since long before the Spanish came. Its smoke purifies the space, and its scent helps guide the spirits in.

- Personal things—a tool, a book, a beloved object—and often sugar skulls inscribed with the names of the dead, sweet reminders that death is part of life, not its enemy.

Families also gather at the graveside, cleaning the stones, laying flowers, and sharing food, music, and stories. Grief is there, of course. But so is laughter. The dead are teased, toasted, and caught up on everything they have missed.

A DIFFERENT TRADITION, A SHARED HEART

This is Mexico's tradition, and it deserves to be met on its own terms—it is not Samhain, and it is not Caribbean folklore, though all three turn toward the ancestors in this season. So many of you keep ancestor altars of your own, light your candles, and speak to those who came before you. Different roads, the same shared heart: the people we love do not stop mattering to us because they have crossed over, and love, like the marigold, is a guide home.

If you keep an altar in your own tradition, the days around November 1 and 2 are a tender time to refresh it: a clean cloth, a fresh candle, a glass of water, a name spoken aloud. (And the practical word, always: never leave a burning candle unattended, and keep flames well clear of flowers and photographs.)

Our new A New Age Phoenix store opens on Tuesday, and the altar candles, copal, and holders many of you ask us for will be gathered there when the doors open.

Tell me in the comments: if you could set one place at your table this November for someone who has crossed over, who would it be—and what favorite dish of theirs would you put beside their photograph?

— Bibi

 

Our Sun May Have Had a Twin

This is a sad story about lost siblings.

The sun may be the lone star in our solar system today, but that may not have always been the case. Scientists at UC Berkeley and Harvard University say they've found proof that most stars form in pairs or even as triplets. However, they don't always stay together for their whole existence. The research has been accepted by the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society.

Close, but Not Too Close
Scientists have known for a while that some stars have companions while others don't. To figure out what could be behind the variation, the teams zeroed in on Perseus, what they call a typical constellation. They used data from a survey called VANDAM that categorizes all of the young stars making up Perseus. Remember, in galaxy terms, we're talking less than four million years old.

The researchers found 45 single-star systems, and 55 stars in multiple-star systems. Five of those in multiple-star systems were not binary. They used statistics to try to explain this.


This is a radio image of a very young binary star system, less than about 1 million years old, that formed within a dense core (oval outline) in the Perseus molecular cloud. All stars likely form as binaries within dense cores.
Image: SCUBA-2 survey image by Sarah Sadavoy, CfA.
"The new assertion is based on a radio survey of a giant molecular cloud filled with recently formed stars in the constellation Perseus, and a mathematical model that can explain the Perseus observations only if all sunlike stars are born with a companion," according to a Berkeley media release. The researchers say this is an important next step to take knowledge beyond computer simulations.

Although they're considered binary, these stars aren't identical, or even geographically very close to one another. The researchers noted pairs were at least 500 times further away from each other than the Earth is to the sun (on average).



This infrared image from the Hubble Space Telescope contains a bright, fan-shaped object (lower right quadrant) thought to be a binary star that emits light pulses as the two stars interact.
Image: NASA, ESA and J. Muzerolle, STScI
Companion Stars and Dinosaurs
In our solar system, this means what some call the twin of the sun, known as Nemesis, could really have existed. The researchers think if it did exist, Nemesis "escaped" long ago and is somewhere else in the Milky Way.

In a piece for The Conversation, Lancaster University's Konstantinos Dimopoulos addressed the issue. According to the scientist, while most accept that a comet or an asteroid is to blame for killing the dinosaurs, there isn't full agreement on what caused the asteroid or comet to hit. Could the sun's former companion star be the culprit?

"Every 25 million years or so, it makes a pass closer to the sun, which could result in enhanced comet activity, because of its gravitational pull," Dimopoulos wrote of common thinking surrounding the rumored Nemesis. "This is not an unreasonable hypothesis, since the majority of stars belong to systems with multiple stars. However, brown dwarfs are relatively uncommon, and Nemesis has not been observed (yet)."

So the next time you look up at the sun (don't do that or you'll go blind, but we digress), give thanks for that lonely star that gives us life, even though its possible twin abandoned it long ago.

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Learn more about the residents of our solar system in "Solar System: An Exploration of the Bodies that Orbit the Sun" by Marcus Chown. We handpick reading recommendations we think you may like. If you choose to make a purchase, Curiosity will get a share of the sale.

https://curiosity.com/topics/our-sun-may-have-had-a-twin-curiosity?utm_campaign=daily-digest&utm_source=sendgrid&utm_medium=email

Healing crystals A personal journey

Blessing all⚘
I wanted to share my experience with one of my favorite crystals that I carry around and call upon for help.

I was set to take my car in for service. got up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Grabbed an apple, bottled water, and keys. *breaks, no car key insight, I became increasingly frustrated looking in the normal places. Normally you'd grab the spare key, right? But no, I lost that 3 years ago... I was so frustrated I thought *Whatever,* I'll have it towed to the shop and get another key made. I mean, how much could this key cost?

I called my guy and explained my problem. He gasped, "No, no, no." Those keys are programmed to a small computer under your seat. If you lose both, you have to get a new computer thingy to reprogram a new set. How much do you ask "$$$"?
I was deflated. I hung up the phone and tried to retrace my steps; I only ever leave them one place. I dug through that key basket over and over, expecting a different result. Under the couch, dust bunnies, yeah, but no key. I even went through the trash twice, yuck. By this time I had a headache. I thought about jumping out the window, but yeah, I'm on the ground floor. I brought the groceries in.
2 trips. Then it hit me: I left them on the countertop. Could I have thrown it out with the rubbish?. I have a headache so bad I've become quite dizzy.

I calmed myself and lay on the couch and put my crystal on the side of my head to help with the headache. I got a strange sensation from the crystal. I can't quite explain it. I felt myself getting totally relaxed. I decided, "Why not take this time to meditate and reflect about the lesson the universe is trying to open my eyes to?"

I thought I got greedy. My headache had calmed down. Will my crystal do double time?

I laid flat on my back and placed the crystal on my third eye. The sensation was so intense I felt a pulling and stretching on my skin. I visualized myself inside a ball of light so big it glistened. I floated away in deep meditation up through  the roof into the clouds. I bounced  around in the clouds for a bit. I cannot tell you how blissful I was feeling. I floated further up, seeing the earth as a globe we used to have in school. I wanted to go higher, but I couldn't. why?

I began to realize how insignificant my problem was. I cannot explain the bliss I felt up there. I floated back to earth through my roof and back on the couch (not an out-of-body experience; deep meditation was used) calmer. I decided to enjoy my moment of bliss; I rolled on my side and held my crystal in my right hand, repeating to myself, "It's in the garage; it's in the garage." I visualized me looking under the car with delight.

I was about to close my eyes when a voice said, "You, Dr.," and I got up. I dropped it in the garage. I didn't  get up to check. I would trust my crystal. I finally fell asleep with the left and right brain fighting for where the key could be. "Left," I said, "said I threw it away." "Right," I said, "trust your crystal. She's never wronged you yet."
Wednesday morning I gave the brain a one-over-left-side inspection. I went to the garage and looked under the car, and to my surprise it was not there. I wasn't as bothered as I was Tuesday. I stood up and looked inside the car, and bam, I remember I lifted the hood when I came back from errands because it felt hot. I lifted the hood, and yep, it was sitting on top of the engine. The relief was so overwhelming

The Jumbies Rest; We Remember— Day 31

 

🎃 31 Days of Caribbean Folklore — Day 31

The Jumbies Rest; We Remember

Welcome, my dears, to our 31 Days of Caribbean Folklore. Today is the last day—and today our story comes from every island at once and from your own kitchen, if a story was ever told in it.

Thirty nights we have walked together, and what a company we have kept.

We kept company all month with a spider—Anancy, bright-eyed and selfish, who, in the oldest telling of all, bought the world's stories from the Sky God himself, and who has been spending the centuries since proving he learned almost none of them. We stood on the riverbank and learned what to say to River Mumma if she ever takes you under. We counted rice with the soucouyant at the door and learned that some dangers can be delayed by a handful of grain and a spirit that cannot stop counting. We heard the Steel Donkey braying in the Barbados night, met the Heartman and were glad of the daylight, watched Puss slip away to his christening—top take off, catch in de middle, lick clean—and we measured a small calf's foot in a big bull's track, month by month, until it fit.

We have been warned and we have been comforted. We have laughed in the right places and gone quiet in the right places, the way our people have always listened.

Tonight, the jumbies rest.

That is the way of it when October turns. The night-wandering spirits of the tales step back into the stories they came from, and the porch grows quiet. But listen—quiet is not empty. Into that quiet come other voices: the real ones. Grandmothers and grandfathers. Aunties and uncles. Neighbors whose names the whole village knew. The mother whose hands knew every recipe and every warning by heart. The elders who told these tales first, in yards and kitchens and on verandas, not so different from this one, and whose voices are still echoing through ours every time we tell them again.

Every story you heard this month was handed down. Not one of them survived by accident. Somebody loved each one enough to repeat it. Somebody's grandmother said it first. Somebody's child listened carefully and remembered and one day told it on.

That is the whole secret of this month, my dears. The stories were never really about the spirits. They were about the tellers all along.

WHERE THIS CLOSING COMES FROM

As October turns into November, the Caribbean turns toward remembrance. On November 2, All Souls' Day, families across the islands keep the beloved dead close in the ways their own traditions have taught them: candles are lit and set where they can be seen, graves are cleaned and visited and dressed with flowers, prayers are said, food is shared, and the old stories are told again so that the people in them stay present. In Haiti, November 1 and 2 belong to Fèt Gede, its own bright and solemn season. In Mexico, the same days are Día de los Muertos, honored in its own way. Each tradition keeps its own counsel—and all of them agree on the one thing underneath: the dead are not gone while they are remembered.

Our grandmothers knew this without needing a feast day to tell them. It is why the stories were told at all.

WHAT IT MEANS TODAY

This month has been practicing us for remembrance all along. Every night we said their world aloud: their warnings, their jokes, their cleverness, their care. To remember a person is not only to miss them. It is to keep their voice in working order—to say the name, tell the tale, cook the dish, and repeat the saying in the exact way they said it so a child who never met them can still hear them coming through the wall of years.

So here is the last invitation of the 31 days. On this page's STORY post—"The Tale Your Family Kept"—the thread is open for your own: the phrase your elder repeated, the warning every child knew, and the story your family carried. We are not asking for proof. We are asking for memory. Credit the teller and the island, and the keeping continues.

And tonight, or on All Souls' Day, keep the small ritual below. Light the candle. Say the names. That is how they stay.

RITUAL—THE CLOSING RITUAL: "THE JUMBIES REST; WE REMEMBER"

A simple, quiet ritual to end the 31 days. It takes about ten minutes. Adapt it to your own family's practices, always—Caribbean remembrance traditions vary a great deal by island and by faith, and your family's way is the right one at your table.

What you need: 1 white candle (a tea light is fine); a glass of fresh water; a small offering of something an elder loved, such as a bit of food, a cup of tea or coffee, or a sprig of herbs; a name or photo of someone who passed stories down to you; a lantern or lamp, if you want the porch feeling.

Set the space. Dim the lights. Put the water, offering, and photo or written name together on a table, windowsill, or porch rail. Place the candle in the middle.

Settle. Take three slow breaths. Let the month's stories settle: the tricksters, the spirits, the warnings, the laughter.

Thank the stories. Say, "Thank you, tales of the islands, for the warnings and the wonder. You taught us how to be careful, how to be clever, and how to be kind."

Rest the jumbies. Say, "The jumbies rest. The night is quiet. Nothing here needs to be feared tonight."

Light the candle. As you light it, say, "I light this flame for the ones who told the stories."

Say the names. Say each name aloud, slowly. Add one thing you remember, such as a saying, a laugh, or a kitchen smell. Take as long as you need.

Offer. Set out the water and offering with: "This is for you. Rest well. We remember."

Sit in the quiet. Stay for a few minutes with no words, just the candle.

Close. Say, "The stories are kept. The voices stay. Thank you."

Then snuff the candle, or let it burn down only if you can watch it. Leave the water and offering overnight, then return them to the earth (a plant or the yard) in the morning.

Short version, for a busy night: light one candle, say one name, and say, "The jumbies rest; we remember." Blow it out gently when you're ready.

Care disclaimer: This ritual is offered for spiritual and cultural purposes, in the spirit of remembrance. It is not medical, legal, or financial advice. Keep any flame away from curtains, paper, and pets, and never leave a burning candle unattended. Trust your own judgment and your own traditions in all things.

No moral, just an old truth: a people who remember their tellers never have to walk in the dark alone.

Thank you for sitting on this porch with me for 31 days, my dears. The month is done—the telling isn't. All thirty-one nights now live together in the Complete Collection, gathered for the keepers of stories; the link is with the others on this page.

So it stay, guidance. ✨