aries new moon solar eclipse
introducing The Muse
Dear friends,
If you’ve been reading me for a while, you’ll know that the Moon is my muse. When I first started this newsletter, I sent New and Full Moon updates pretty regularly, and my Mourning Pages grief journal is also based on the lunar cycles. The Moon has always inspired me, reminding me that it’s okay to ebb and flow—just like the tides she governs.
I took a break from the Moon updates to explore other topics, but like an annoying ex during Venus retrograde, I’ve come back full circle. I still live by the Moon’s cycles, so why not write by them, too?
This time, though, I wanted a way to connect my writing practice to these cycles more intentionally—not just to reflect on them, but to create from them. So, I’m trying something different: a curated, creative approach to the New and Full Moons in a dedicated section of the newsletter called The Muse.
Each edition will start with a round-up of insights from some of my favourite astrologers, followed by creative writing and journaling prompts inspired by the month’s themes. I’ll also share my own creative response to the prompts to hopefully spark your own reflections.
This new format is an experiment, and I’d love for you to help me shape it! Let me know what you like, what you want more of, and if the prompts resonate with you. If you try any of them, leave a comment or share them in the subscriber chat.
astrology round-up: aries new moon solar eclipse (March 29th, 2025)
This Aries New Moon is no ordinary fresh start. On top of the usual fiery Aries vibes, it's a partial solar eclipse—the last on the Aries-Libra axis, ending a cycle that began in April 2023—a supermoon, and the second-closest new supermoon of the year. If that sounds intense, it's because it is. It's a potent mix of courage, chaos, and creation. Are you ready to step into the fire?
Pam Gregory calls this eclipse a cosmic crossroads, where chaos and potential collide. With Mercury, Venus, and Neptune on the world axis (the first degree of Aries), Pam sees this as a time of immense creative potential and radical self-sovereignty. Her advice? Be mindful of where you place your attention because what you focus on grows—so less doomscrolling, more creating!
Chani Nicholas frames this eclipse as the culmination of a two-year journey of self-advocacy and autonomy that began in April 2023. She describes it as a "final exam" in balancing personal ambition with relationship needs, celebrating the courage it takes to truly assert your individuality.
Marina from Darkstar Astrology dives into the raw power of this eclipse, noting its alignment with the fixed star Algenib and the asteroid Brigid. This combo encourages bold independence, creativity, and emotional self-reliance—cutting through societal expectations to forge your own path.
Tanaaz from Forever Conscious echoes the idea of completion, suggesting this eclipse marks the end of a cycle in our relationships and personal identities. With Mercury and Venus in retrograde, she urges us to move with intention and draw from past lessons as we move forward.
aries new moon solar eclipse prompts
These prompts double as both creative writing and journaling prompts. Choose one that speaks to you, and let it take you wherever it leads you. There’s no right way to explore these—write freely, create a scene, compose a letter, or let your imagination run wild.
Bold new beginnings: Imagine you're standing at a threshold between the life you've known and an unknown future. What lies on either side of the door, and what would it take for you to cross through? Write about the moment just before you take the step—or the moment you decide not to.
Endings and new cycles: Write a eulogy for a version of yourself you're ready to let go of. What habits, beliefs, or identities are you leaving behind? How do you want to remember this part of you?
Sovereignty and self-authorship: Picture yourself as the author of your own myth—a hero or antihero of your own epic. What is the quest you're on, and who or what stands in your way? What would it mean to reclaim your power and choose your own path forward?
Reckoning with rage: If your anger could speak, what would it say? Write a monologue from the voice of your anger—let it rant, rage, and roar. What does it want, and what does it need to be heard?
Integrating past and future: Imagine your future self visiting you on a day when you feel like you've lost your way. How does their presence affect you? What do they say or do that helps you see things differently?
Fire symbolism: Fire is destructive, but it also clears space, purifies, and transforms. Write about a time in your life when something had to burn to the ground before something new could emerge. How did it feel to be in the flames? What, if anything, grew from the ashes?
Identity and relationships: Imagine a scene where you’re at a dinner party with different versions of yourself from the past. What do they think of each other? Who dominates the conversation, and who goes unheard? What do they argue about, and who makes peace between them?
the sacred flame
an aries solar eclipse meditation on fire, grief, and rage
1. spark
With the whoosh and flare of a mini supernova, the dancing orange flame ignites into existence. The smell of burning sulphur evokes memories of birthday cakes, Christmas time, and freezing cold churches on dark winter nights. It’s both passion and pure potential—it creates and destroys. “Sparks fly!” we say, when two lovers first meet, but also when they quarrel.
There are moments when the fire flares up suddenly—unexpected, uninvited. Someone’s words strike like a match against dry kindling, and the heat rises fast. Tension turns to flared tempers, voices rise, fists slam on tables. One strike of the match, and moments later, everything is burning.
I feel the heat of anger rising from within, my face flushes, blood pounds in my ears, a volley of insults flies through my mind, but I clench my jaw, bite my tongue, and reply in as steady and calm a voice as I can muster, even when every fibre is screaming at me to attack. Instead of fanning the flames, I try to douse them, but it’s too late. The fire of rage burns on, out of control. I walk away, leaving it to burn itself out.
Later, I tell myself I did the right thing, kept it from getting worse. But the fire doesn’t go out just because you refuse to let it burn. It lingers, smouldering beneath the surface, like molten lava biding its time before the next eruption. Under pressure, old anger, long-buried, explodes out—the heat of the moment rarely has anything to do with what’s actually happening in the present.
We think of grief as mostly sadness, but it has a shadow twin: Rage. At the injustice of loss, at the careless and insensitive comments, at the doctors who didn’t act fast enough, at the world for carrying on like nothing happened. Your heart cracks open, and you want to burn everything down. But you get to choose what to do with that fire—do you let it destroy you? Or can you forge something new from the flames?
2. blaze
The spark is an initiation, an ignition. The engine roars, the fire is both heat and motion, in need of fuel and somewhere to go. While a controlled burn protects the forest, wildfire destroys it. The fire moves through me with a life of its own, burning from the inside out. The fire moves, and I move with it, replaying the conversation with the coroner over and over in my mind. It doesn’t make sense, and the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. She should be alive, she should be alive, she should be alive.
Burning from the inside, the flames are a raging inferno threatening to consume me. I gather data, contact lawyers, read a letter from the doctor that only throws gasoline on the flames. My anger finds an outlet, like a volcano vent. If I can just prove it was someone’s fault, maybe I can make sense of it and pacify the inferno. But, one by one, the lawyers tell me no. There’s no case, and even if there were, there isn’t enough time left to submit it.
Outside, the relentless heat of summer mirrors my inner state. The bedsheets are molten lava, the air is a furnace. Sleep is a stranger, fuses short, patience a rare commodity. The fire rages on inside, but with no outlet, all that’s left to burn is me. But even as it destroys, the fire also purifies and purges, creating space for transformation. Out of exhausted resignation rather than acceptance, I sacrifice myself to the flames.
3. ashes
No fire burns forever. Eventually, the flames die down, leaving the landscape cloaked in black as though mourning for itself. The heat of summer subsides, giving way to the refreshing rains of autumn, and with it, my inner fire loses some of its heat. I feel myself starting to soften and curl around the edges, like paper turning to ash, as the burning need for answers, for justice, for an apology begins to cool. I have to find another way through, one where I can be at peace without needing to make sense of it. In the blackened landscape of my heart, it feels impossible.
In the fire’s wake, everything is forever changed, but hope stirs in the tiny seeds that lie in the fertile, ash-enriched soil. Though unrecognisable at first, the forest is reborn, with black gradually giving way to green as life rises from the ashes. The ancient trees that had stood for thousands of years may be gone, but in their place grow grasses, wildflowers, and bushes, providing food and shelter for the surviving wildlife. Where the old forest once stood, something new grows, blossoms, and bears fruit.
How do we move forward after devastation? Grief, like fire, needs somewhere to go. I could fixate on the what ifs forever, or I could find another way to channel it. After the fire has consumed itself, all that’s left is a broken heart, cracked open and searching for meaning. When someone dies, our lives lose their meaning because we lose their love. To give our lives meaning again, we have to fill them with love.
Heart shares the same etymological root as hearth. Just as we tend to the hearth, we must tend our grieving hearts—keeping the fire burning without letting it consume us, turning the smouldering coals into a source of comfort, and choosing what to create from the embers.
I’d love to hear your thoughts! Did any of the prompts spark something for you?
If you try out any of the prompts or have your own take on this eclipse, feel free to share in the comments or the Seven Gates subscriber chat—I love connecting with you.
And if you enjoyed this edition of The Muse, consider sharing it with a friend or fellow Moon-gazer. The more, the merrier! 🌑🔥