Pisces III: Every New Beginning

by Lindsey Turner

I feel a little vulnerable writing the final piece for our Astrologers’ Co-op Journey through the Decans. My vulnerability stems from a need to properly acknowledge the tremendous amount of effort the Steering Committee and each one of our authors have put in, a need to grieve well for our project’s ending, and a need to hope big for whatever is coming next. These needs: to acknowledge history, to grieve endings, to hope for futures, are all to be found in the wilderness of Pisces III.

My friend Sam calls me “Jukey,” because I have a song for everything, like a human jukebox. While researching Pisces III, the final 10 degrees of the zodiac, Semisonic’s Closing Time kept sliding into mind. (For you younger bucks, this was an instant rock hit in 1998.) I practice something I call Ear Worm Divination, and when a song won’t leave me alone, I investigate. To my delight, I pulled the chart for the release date of Closing Time: March 10, 1998–the day the sun entered Pisces III that year.

Anyone over the age of 35 can probably recall these lyrics to Closing Time:

Closing time, one last call for alcohol

So, finish your whiskey or beer

Closing time, you don't have to go home

But you can't stay here

So, gather up your jackets, move it to the exits

I hope you have found a friend

Closing time, every new beginning

Comes from some other beginning's end

While the song’s more obvious implication is of a bar shutting down for the night, writer Dan Wilson disclosed the imminent delivery of his first-born inspired the lyrics, as well. The birth of a child meant the death of an old way of life and the promise of a new one. Therein we can locate the ruler of this decan, Mars (in both the Chaldean and Triplicity schemas). Tucked into the final chapter of Jupiter’s sign is the lord of severance, separation, and blood.

To that end, Austin Coppock calls Pisces III “A Cup of Blood.” A former church minister, this summons me to the Eucharist, the ritual table of the Last Supper. In this rite, we narrate Jesus’ final moments with the disciples:

“Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, ‘Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.’”

(Matthew 26:27-29, NRSVUE).

Here again we see the Pisces III triptych of acknowledgement, grief, and hope. First, Jesus offers gratitude for what has been and what is; then he outlines his impending death, where his blood will be spilled as a consequence of his love and relational ethic; third, he promises reunion with his friends in a new world that they are building together.

In this scenario, the arguments of transubstantiation (the wine really was blood) or consubstantiation (the symbolic essence of Jesus’ blood is within the wine) don’t matter as much to me as the idea that Christians are to drink a cup of blood as a sign of communion with God and neighbor. What a Mars-Jupiter melange! Blood reminds us we are both human and divine. Here and beyond. Vulnerable yet inconquerable. Individual but all the same.

Ministers often proclaim during the Eucharistic ceremony:

“Christ has died. Christ is Risen. Christ will come again.”

I say all this not to proselytize but to convey the spiritual truth of Pisces III: that violence and domination happen, that love is real, and that death is not the end of the story. Acknowledgement. Grief. Hope.

The 10 of Cups of the Rider-Waite Tarot

Speaking of cups, this decan’s minor arcana tarot correlate is the 10 of Cups. The Rider-Waite image boasts a happy couple with two children dancing under a rainbow. When reviewing the image I thought, “well, why not toss a white picket fence in the mix,” which signaled to me the idyllic, idealistic nature of this card. Many of us strive in life for this perfect moment, to have it all, the partner and the family and the home. Many of us, however, thrash against this ideal, knowing much of it is a fleeting mirage, a symbol of happiness that may not be achievable or even desirable.

The rainbow lording over the figures in the 10 of Cups signals this fleeting, mirage-like perfection. As Kermit the Frog sagely sang:

“Rainbows are visions, but only illusions.”

And it’s true. Rainbows only exist because our eyes can see them. They are not some external, objective phenomena that live on their own without observation. Like rainbows, ideals only exist because we can envision what they look like in our mind’s eye. Like rainbows, ideals cannot truly be captured, only chased.

Pisces III challenges us to wrestle with our ideals, to refine (Mars) what we are seeking (Jupiter). Is our pursuit rooted in delusion, or rooted in love? In a faithful life, the lines between the two are often blurry. Every bit as much as Jesus is a Pisces III figure, so too is Don Quixote, who chases the ideal of chivalry and battles windmills along the way. Those of us with placements in Pisces III may benefit from some self-awareness around the ideals that inspire us and how we measure the success of our own questing strategies. We are the “go big or go home” type; the Hail Mary passers, the dreamers of impossible dreams. The foolish martyrs and the righteous ones. No matter how discerning we might be, Pisces III reminds us that the only way to be righteous is to risk being foolish.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to the astrologers who made this Journey through the Decans possible. Every one of you is brilliant, and your contribution to this project matters. What began as a foolish dream has ended with a team of over 50 people chasing the ideals of collectivity, mutuality, and diversity.

As chair of the Steering Committee, I would like to personally thank Jess, Marissa, Nanci, Rebeka, Tarah, and Wandia, our incredible volunteer global Steering Committee who has put countless hours into making this public offering a reality. However fleeting, our dream came true. Thank you, thank you, onward, and upward!

About the Author

Lindsey (they/them) is a consulting astrologer and minister. They work at the nexus of liberationist theology, traditional astrology, and art, music, and ritual. They especially love working with folks who find themselves at the intersections of queer/trans and Christian/post-Christian identity, and who are interested in learning astrology. They reside in New Mexico, USA, on a communally-owned apple orchard, and have Libra rising, Cancer sun, and Leo moon.

Website: Bad Pastor

Instagram: bad.pastor

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