STAR CROSSED II

11 Nov 2026 - Aurora Mattia

The following is Aurora Mattia’s horoscope, clipped from the upcoming Winter 2026 issue of Picnic Magazine. Enjoy!

P.S. If you are a woman of Texas experience, or otherwise a fan of them, consider submitting to open submissions for her press Dusk Editions, by emailing [email protected]. You can follow it on Instagram at @dusk.editions, and Aurora at @auroramattia.live.

I.

When she wasn’t known as the Scales of Justice, Libra was called Chelae, the scorpion’s claws.

According to, among others, Aratus, 3rd century B.C. author of the Phenomena, or Appearances, a long poem, phenomenological in nature, about the movements of celestial bodies, and Eratosthenes, 2nd century B.C. polymath, director of the Library of Alexandria for almost forty years and author of the lost work Castasterisms—from the Greek καταστερίζω or kastasterizo, to cast among the stars—a compendium of legends describing the various occasions on which a divine actor transformed a human hero or a mythological beast into a constellation, whose wisdom was epitomized, i.e. condensed, summarized in paraphrase a few centuries later by an anonymous author who scholars have named pseudo-Eratosthenes, Libra was the only sign in the zodiac subsumed by another sign. Or perhaps I could say that Scorpio and Libra are the only two signs that share a single constellation, thus balancing the scales, but Libra’s other name refers to the claws of the Scorpion, whereas Scorpio refers to the scorpion itself; Scorpio is a body while Libra is a body part, so that I could say Libra is an expression of, or emerges from, some aspect of Scorpio.

While the scorpion’s carapace is mostly pure chitin, both claws and stinger are alloyed with metals, contain traces of iron, manganese and zinc, a sort of biological steel-tipped boot, evidence of the evolutionary genius of the cowboy’s curse. (I made up that nickname. A B-movie homage to the star in my eye…) But the stinger is reserved for the deathstrike, necessary only when the scorpion is threatened by larger prey, whereas the claws are multi-use, they are the everyday means by which the scorpion communicates with the world; and it is these claws, rather than the stinger, which Vedic astrologers called तलु, or “the (karmic) Scales,” and Babylonian astrologers, 𒀯𒍣𒁀𒀭𒈾, or “the Balance of Heaven.” Favoring the scales, Romans dispensed with the claws; Arab scholars retained both. The meanings adhere: justice is measured not by the coup de grâce, but by the everyday deed. And as we fall each Autumn from the sign of Libra to Scorpio, we remember that the coup de grâce emerges from the everyday deed, and not the other way around; that Libra may be an aspect of Scorpio, but the hands precede the soul. Justice is in our hands and the work we put them to. 

If you must make the fatal gesture this season—whether that means breaking up or getting back together; homewrecking or homemaking; shooting your shot or shooting yourself in the foot—don’t pretend you’re only being chaotic, don’t pretend you’re just a girl. You’re a woman. You are not living for the plot; you are acting according to your own moral system, and when you break it, it doesn’t stay broken; it changes and becomes something else, like any form.

The plot is this: you are how you love.

II.

This November we feel Jupiter, followed by Mars, conjoin the South Node. And then, as flames lick the green from the trees, rojo que te quiero rojo, Venus sextiles Jupiter.

The South Node brings our pasts into full color, reveals our specialties and, by the same stroke, our ingrown hairs. The South Node is, if you will, our hairshirt. What we know, what we know best, lays bare the limits of our knowledge. Mars governs movement, decision, impulse. Mars governs fury and desire. When Mars conjoins Jupiter, then, these immemorial storms, like Jupiter’s eye, are awakened, inflamed. Stung by gusts of particulate matter, we are made acutely aware of their supersonic weather. But impulse is not mess; desire is not chaos. Both operate according to prehensile instincts, childhood laws. They are fundamentally expressions of how we have been, as Joanna Newsom sings, “gored and abased, adored and erased / all before our time.”

I could argue this augurs a retreat into the id, but Mars is not arriving alone. Jupiter is an underworld guide, symbolized by a crescent rising over a cross: spiritual reality emerging from, rather than in spite of, material friction. Jupiter brings about the conditions for action to confront its impulse; for desire to survive its object and discover, on the other side, its standard operating procedure. What we want may not be what we need, but will reveal it. And if we can withstand the lesson, if we can labor not for the reanimation of lost dreams or the restitution of last year’s damages, but for love of second thought—if we can find the common ground between want and need, then, thank god, when Venus swings into sextile with Jupiter, and Sagittarius draws back his bow, one of Cupid’s flaming arrows, slipped by unknown divine hands into the centaur’s quiver, may land in the heart of a woman who we neither admired nor despised, but never noticed at all. Or if not precisely in the heart of a woman, then the heart of a reality which, supposing it unreachable, we had never sought, and wherein such a woman might be found.

Unlike a conjunction, wherein two celestial bodies occupy the same space and their qualities ooze, a sextile brings separate but complementary elements into angular relation, allowing them to communicate via spooky action at a distance, so Venus can effect Jupiter without being swallowed by the South Node, and romance can break new ground.

We will be longing, not for the way it was, but for the way it will be. We will have the gift of foresight. “For,” as Marilynne Robinson writes, “when does a berry break upon the tongue as sweetly as when one longs to taste it, and when is the taste refracted into so many hues and savors of ripeness and earth, and when do our senses know any thing so utterly as when we lack it?”

III.

Now I’m going to address the signs. With postcards from the tiny medieval castle atop the little mountain sunk in the aquarium I call home. In my aquarium, princess is not a royal title, but a way of acknowledging that a woman has labored to invent her destiny, has entered the code that executes the program accruing pixel by bumpy pixel into a long and narrow path just ahead of her high-heeled stride into a formless plane haunted by winged shadows. Anyway.

Aries: So you have an itch. You can scratch it, which will feel, for a moment, supremely satisfying, and then make it itch even more. Or you can walk a block to the pharmacy and acquire a cream. And on your way, you may encounter a stranger; you won’t, certainly, encounter anyone if you stay scratching in your bedroom. And later, if you’re at a backyard party, you have a solution to offer to anyone who meets a mosquito. They’ll remember you for it. Solutions are unforgettable.

Taurus: Looking up at the leaves for thirty seconds is so different from not looking at all that it may as well be considered another dimension. The returns will diminish after about a minute, but that minute will be somewhere else. And somewhere else is brimming with richness. You already know how to make a pleasure garden from your own muck. You’ve lined your mind with velvet—now watch for a crack in the door. If you get invited this month, go.

Gemini: Most people are just looking for a place to put their monologue. You, on the other hand, have an ear for the clear note buried in the barroom rumble. You can find teachers anywhere, because your curiosity is faster than your ego. This is a rare gift. Now, however, you have a chance to be someone’s teacher, if you can bear the burden of their trust. Or you can go on hiding because you don’t think you’re ready yet, but then your legacy will be a blur, and more importantly, so will your heart. 

Cancer: It’s easier for me to be real with you from a distance. Up close, your eyes always overwhelm me and I begin to stutter. But let me say that I admire how you love—it is slow, but it is seismic; it is silent, but it is luxurious—even if it doesn’t offer easy thrills. That said, it won’t kill you to act on impulse once in a blue moon. This month, you don’t need to express yourself exactly. There’s too much to name. Just pick a piece of the feeling and tell it to her. Allow yourself a touch of mischief, too. Glamor isn’t shallow; it’s another way of honoring the moment.

Leo: You’ll be amazed what happens to your conversations when, rather than using them as fuel for your next joke, you listen to the answers to the questions you ask. People will reveal themselves to you, and then you’ll know if you actually get along—not just whether you can make them laugh. You would do well to learn a little less about yourself this month; instead focus your light on the face of the moon. She’ll glow.

Virgo: Unfortunately it’s time for you to hold your tongue and, instead, read a book of poems or an interior and mystical novel, preferably without a plot. Send a photo of a paragraph to your crush, a paragraph that makes you feel vulnerable or exposed. Or: Think of three things you admire about your partner. Write them all down, and next time you want to criticize them, tell them why you admire them instead. Now think of three things you admire about yourself. And repeat. Or: write a list of your fears—not in a horror movie, but in a relationship. Afterwards read them out loud, alone, in your bedroom, then hold yourself and say it’s okay. Say: it’s okay, I understand, I love you.

Telling someone how to fix their life (what I’m doing right now) isn’t actually helping them, so if you find my instructions annoying, consider the ways you habitually express affection.

Libra: Time isn’t right or wrong. Timing, on the other hand, is often less a matter of action than observation. You can’t make the timing right; you can only prepare yourself for when it is. But if you’re too busy decorating the cake and making sure the slices are equal, you’ll forget to notice when you feel a rush of blood, or a blush of heat—forget to know how to know when you feel relaxed, and when you feel on guard. This month, pay less attention to signals and more to sensations.

Scorpio: Okay, so you know how to find the secret hidden within the secret; that’s a terribly useful skill when you’re writing a piece of investigative autofiction, but did it save your relationship? This month try skimming the surface; there’s more to find than you suspect. Learn to rely a little less on your stinger—a little less on stunning, and a little more on the mysteries of the obvious. What you really want is a feeling of safety, and you won’t find it in the high noon sun, nor down in the pit. Seek shade, not shadow. Become a watering hole, and all manner of people, all manner of knowledge, will come to you.

Sagittarius: In 1996 Coen Brothers’ classic The Big Lebowski, The Dude famously proclaims, “You’re not wrong, Walter. You’re just an asshole.” Sagittarius, you would be wise to consider that honesty is not a blank check; intimacy is predicated as much on what you don’t say as what you do. Not sharing a thought is not the same as lying. In fact, true care involves paying attention to the particularities of time and place. This month, when you want to deliver a proclamation, ask a question instead. And look for a mentor; not for a lifetime, but for an hour or, if you can stomach it, for a season.

Capricorn: I hate to be the one to tell you this, but at least one night this month, when the opportunity appears, you’re going to have to sing karaoke, or go out dancing—and you’re going to need to do it sober. And it doesn’t matter who cancels or who shows, and it doesn’t matter whether your favorite outfit is dirty. If you ever want to love again, that is. If not, keep doing what you’re doing!

Aquarius: Ask your friends for advice. Not because I don’t have any to offer, but because you don’t want any; or more precisely, you want to hear it but you don’t want to listen. You see from a bird’s eye view—or an angel’s. This gives you sweep and distance, even a kind of prophetic hint: you sense the synchronicities in the system. But you forget the pleasure of the details; of allowing a moment to be a monument to itself. Of refusing to see the shudder and replication of possible futures. And even though a woman’s eye view is interrupted by trees and steel cranes and skyscrapers, that doesn’t make it less vital; knowing how to move through the stuttering chaos of a city is just as important as knowing the pattern of its avenues, or assessing it like a two dimensional map. So, just for this month, ask your friends for advice and then apply it. You don’t have to adopt their angle forever, but you need a break from your own crystallized rules. It’s time to get a little dirty.

Pisces: Let’s get literal. Your challenge this month is to express your feelings without any word or syntactical pattern you’ve learned in therapy, without making a playlist about it and without writing or quoting a poem either, or even, say, a film still. Your second challenge is to say yes or no without elaborating, to say: “I want you” or “I won’t be there tonight.” And that’s all.

Backstory isn’t always necessary—and is, often enough, entirely irrelevant to negotiating the present. Look, I didn’t say it would be easy. Start with this horoscope: if you don’t like it, just throw it out. ♥