The fourth installation in A Year of Ritual and Rebellion, this reading offers themes to consider, questions to take to your journal pages and meditation mat, a small ceremony to practice throughout the month, and suggestions for the Full Moon ritual.

I know I’m coming in a bit late with the reading this month, given that the full moon is literally today. It’s been weird times, babes, what can I say. Thanks for sticking with me and hold on to your hats! The Ten of Cups is radical, full-bloom Venusian pleasure personified. I love this card for the Libra full moon lunation, especially with the exact full moon making a gorgeous trine to Jupiter, supporting emotional growth, openness, and optimism. The art on this cup, says the artist, of Sedangogh Studios, "is an homage to Dita Von Teese's martini glass performance and the fat liberation movement, particularly in regards to the freedom to live widely, take up space, and splash around."

Ten is at the end of a long emotional journey — phew!

They are ready to get sublimely freaky, soaking in the joy (and maybe even also the glorious, ravishing grief) of being surrounded by juicy, delicious love. In the full light of the setting sun casting its amethyst shadows across a field of flowers, the sun that has returned after our last lunation’s solar eclipse, Ten is soaking it in: glowing, glistening, gorgeous. Are you ready to be seen in all your glory?

What are you ready to hop right into? Where is the water nice and warm?

The Ten of Cups, of course, also has their shadow. In this card, the shadow is reaching off into the distance, hard to see... but so long. When we widen, when we take up space, who else are we in space with? Who or what might be obscured by that long shadow?

Ten's shadow is alienation, deep sadness, an inability to connect. When we are performing, when we bare it all, who is watching, and how do they respond? Who is your audience and how do you want them to experience what you’re putting out into the world?

Sardine Doree, the two spot astyanax, is a tetra native to South America. This fish in particular among tetras is known to be highly aggressive to other fish of their own species. Even though Sardine Doree lives and moves in schools with other fish, when being pursued by a predator, they will lash out at others in the school, leaving a weakling behind as a sacrifice.

Astyanax comes from The Iliad, the firstborn son of the Prince of Troy, a child martyr slain by the gods for what he might represent to his people.

Sardine Doree is a reminder that if you are going to be open and free and take up space, to be aware of your audience. They ask, is this person who seems fine with genocide definitely someone you want to be organizing with? Whatever the answer may be — Sardine Doree continue to live with each other despite their specific one-up-fish-ship — be sure you are aware of your position in the group if a threat arises.

Speaking of genocides, this card reminds us that we are not just responsible to those in our own homes, our own neighborhoods, or our own cities, states, or countries. We are responsible for the web of our connections, however globally they span, even when they feel utterly out of our control. This is the emotional maturity of the Ten of Cups. This is what it is to responsibly take up space, to know whose lives are touched by our expansion and what influence we can have on the consequences of our interconnectivity.

What does it mean to be aware of your surroundings and your role within a group on a larger, trans-local scale, especially in situations that test your values and integrity? What trans-local connections and practices do you have, especially with regards to mobility of people and goods, with organization, and the circulation of resources?

We can also think of "trans-local" as referring not just to our locality, but to that which passes through it. In particular, we can think about how translocality affects and informs the formation of our identities. The vast majority of people who read this book will have some kind of personal or ancestral experience of migration, displacement, settler colonialism, or disconnection from the land, whether forced or chosen.

What has that translocality done to the formation of your identity in relationship to other people, to non-human creatures, to land? How does that impact the risks or privileges involved in you taking up space? How has that informed how you experience emotional fulfillment and pleasure?

The magpie oracle item for this lunation was the baby. This is a time to protect ourselves. There is a reason that many cultures have traditions where new mothers spend their first weeks or even months in near-solitude with their newborn child.

A time for gratitude, gift-giving. and congratulations! And also, a time to get so so quiet. A time to sit and stare for hours at the tiny miracle of life, and to rest and rest and rest. A time to take all the pleasure you can get in every little moment, to experience a new kind of awe in every minute, to accept help and care and tending where it's needed and offered, and to hold tight to everything near and dear, to grow close around each other in small, tight circles.

This lunation, I want you to focus on pleasure. Not in a superficial easy-gratification way, not in a shut-out-the-world way, not in a commercialized buy-all-new-things way, but in a deeply rooted in the body, self-aware of our patterns, ready to walk through the portal of this year's eclipses way.

Each day, or as regularly as you can, dedicate just a few minutes, or a few hours, to pleasure. Focus intently on the deliciousness of a great meal rather than watching TV or your phone. Luxuriate in a soaking bath and let your body release into salty water. Listen to the birds sing. Gently caress rather than plucking a beautiful flower.

But also, notice the pleasure in moments like when you are feeling sad and you put on the perfect sad song to match your emotions and the rain is falling outside and your forehead is cool on the windowpane and the salt water of your tears surrounds you. Or when you are grieving for a terrible loss and you recall a beautiful memory that turns your tears suddenly sweet. Pain and pleasure go together in so many contexts beyond what we commonly consider the limits of the erotic. This month, explore those limits.

This is our first full moon in Libra since the nodes shifted away from the Aries/Libra axis. (Fellow Libra risings, are you ready??) So this month we will be back to celebrating on the full moon. That said, because we are still in a lunation that began with an eclipse, we are going to take things a bit easy. We will be hearkening back to the work we did at the new moon last month, continuing to play with charm and glamour, but this time through a decidedly Venusian lens.

This month we are going to revel in how good this Venus-ruled sign can feel when we are able to let loose! While you may turn this into a ritual for some kind of transformation, I encourage you to consider instead just a big, beautiful ceremony of celebration today.

How can you celebrate emotional balance, harmony, social relationships, beauty, and luxury today?

Personally, I finally learned Las Mañanitas to be able to sing it at a birthday party tonight at a local artist residency and retreat, Casita Queer, where apparently some brave souls will be riding the mechanical bull! I’m bringing the birthday girl a pair of lovely plant babies from my houseplant cuttings, a few bottles of unlabeled mezcal (source known, variety not), and Bex Mui’s book, House of Our Queer.

What pleasures do you bring to the party? This is a time to revel in stimulating conversation, delicious food and drink, hearty laughter, roaring camp or hearth fire. How do we gather under the shadow of looming threats, how do we come together, and what is your contribution to the quilt we make of this social fabric? You do have something to offer. Let this full moon shine a light on it.