Deep Sound Healing by Rachel Montoya

02/01/2026

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02/01/2026

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The Peaceful Core

Beneath a sky that burns and glows,
where purple mountain shadow grows,
a bear stands still in flowers bright—
anchored deep, not by the light.
We search for anchors all our days,
in people, places, borrowed ways,
as if some external thread
could hold us steady, safely led.
But people change and drift apart,
and places shift, and break the heart,
and nothing outside you can stay
exactly as it was today.
The bear knows this: that wildflowers fade,
that mountains crumble, skies degrade,
that even brilliant sunsets die—
but something in the center won't deny.
Find your anchor in the deep,
the quiet place you always keep,
beneath the noise, beneath the fear,
in your own core, serene and clear.
Not in another's loving arms,
however tender, safe from harms—
for they are human, prone to leave,
and you must stand when others grieve.
Not in a home, however warm,
however safe from any storm—
for homes are wood and stone and glass,
and even these too shall pass.
Your anchor lives where breath begins,
where stillness wins what chaos spins,
in that unshakeable inner ground
where you are whole, where you are found.
The sunset flames across the range,
and everything will shift and change,
but in your center, calm and true,
lives the anchor that is you.
When storms arrive and try to pull
your roots from soil, your heart from full,
remember what the bear has learned:
peace is not given—peace is earned.
It's earned by turning deep inside,
by knowing where you can abide
when all external comfort fails,
when even hope itself grows pale.
The flowers bloom in purple, gold,
the evening air grows sweet and cold,
but none of this defines the bear—
it simply is, and rests in there.
So find your anchor, deep within,
beneath the surface, past the skin,
in your own peaceful, steady core—
the only ground worth fighting for.
For people come and people go,
and places shift like drifting snow,
but you remain, if you have found
your own unshakeable inner ground.
Stand like this, in flowers wild,
both ancient sage and inner child,
and know that you alone can be
the anchor that will set you free.

02/01/2026

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The Bear Who Walked Between Fire and Moon

When the moon rose the color of ember, the forest fell silent.

Not the gentle silence of sleep, but the ancient stillness that comes before truth reveals itself. The trees stood like witnesses. The wind forgot how to move. Even time seemed to pause beneath the burning sky.

Upon the ridge stood the bear.

Its fur drank the firelight, glowing with shadows of copper and ash. Behind it, the great moon hovered—too large, too close—like the eye of the universe watching one of its oldest children. The bear did not roar. It did not flee. It simply stood, carrying the weight of ages within its chest.

Long before humans named the world, the bear had learned to walk between opposites.

Between night and flame.
Between destruction and renewal.
Between fear and wisdom.

The elders once said the bear was not merely an animal, but a keeper of thresholds. When the world tipped too far into darkness, it reminded life how to endure. When fire consumed too much, it taught the meaning of restraint.

But humans forgot how to listen.

They learned to worship speed, noise, and endless wanting. They feared the dark and burned forests to chase it away, never realizing the darkness was not their enemy—but their teacher.

As the world heated with unrest, the bear awoke.

Not in anger.

In responsibility.

On the night the ember moon rose, a lone woman climbed the ridge. She had lost her home to fire, her faith to betrayal, and her sense of self to years spent surviving instead of living. She followed the path not because she believed in legends—but because something inside her whispered that healing waited beyond fear.

When she saw the bear, her breath caught.

It was enormous. Ancient. Terrible in its beauty.

Yet its eyes held no threat—only memory.

She did not run.

“I am tired,” she said into the glowing air.
“Tired of being strong. Tired of burning just to stay alive.”

The bear lowered its head.

In that moment, the fire behind them softened. The moon’s light cooled. Two forces met not in conflict, but in balance.

The bear showed her what it meant to stand without hatred.

Fire, it taught, is not always destruction.
Sometimes it is the courage to change.

Darkness is not always despair.
Sometimes it is the womb of becoming.

The woman wept—not from pain, but from recognition. She understood then that she, too, had been walking between fire and moon her whole life—between who she was and who she was becoming.

When dawn arrived, the moon faded into pale gold. The bear turned toward the forest, its task complete.

Before leaving, it paused and looked back once.

Not to say goodbye.

But to remind her—and all who would listen:

You do not need to conquer the fire.
You do not need to fear the dark.

You only need to learn
how to stand between them
without losing your soul.

And so the bear disappeared into the trees, where legends are born and truths wait patiently—until the world is ready to remember again.

(Author and Artwork by William Murphy)

02/01/2026

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Full Moon Empowering Horoscope: Leo

Leo, you have always known that love, real love, should feel like being chosen by the sun. Not the negotiated, air-conditioned arrangements other people settle for, but something radiant, something that picks you out of the crowd and refuses to look away. The trouble with this knowledge is that it sets a standard the world keeps failing to meet, and the trouble with that failure is that it lands in your body as a question you can never quite stop asking: am I enough, or must I keep proving it until the proving becomes the only language I remember how to speak?

Here is the central confrontation this Full Moon stages on 1 February 2026, and it will keep returning until you answer it with behaviour rather than rhetoric: Can you love someone who refuses to be ruled? Can you shine in a room that contains other sources of light, or does your brilliance depend on comparative darkness?

The glorious Moon culminates in all its Leonine splendour on the night of 1 February, flooding your first house with instinct so raw it bypasses every strategy you have carefully assembled over the years. Pride swells uncontrollably, like the tides, and with it that hunger for acknowledgement you have learned to dress up as confidence, as leadership, as generosity, when really it remains what it always was: the child’s need to be seen, to be chosen, to be told that their light is singular and irreplaceable. Emotional reflexes move faster than thought under this sky. Your body becomes the battleground between dignity and defence, and you may find yourself reacting to slights that have yet to occur, protecting a throne nobody threatened, mistaking a partner’s need for space as a referendum on your worth.

Aquarius season placed you inside the relational rehab laboratory weeks ago, and the Full Moon in your own sign turns that laboratory into something more confronting: a stage where you can no longer hide behind the glibness of your charm, where the audience has stopped applauding and slowly starts posing questions you would rather leave unexamined. Across the axis, the Aquarian Sun speaks a different language entirely, one built from systems, terms, boundaries, principles that apply equally to everyone regardless of how brightly they burn. Your lunar core answers in blood and memory, in the childlike hunger for devotion that no amount of achievement ever quite satisfies. The polarity exposes a tension you have carried your entire life without naming it: the sovereign self against the negotiated partnership, warmth as gravitational force against freedom as non-negotiable law.

Under this Full Moon your inimitable habits surface without disguise, and some of them will sting to witness. The reflex to dominate a conversation so silence cannot swallow you. The instinct to schmooze your way through in order to maintain leverage you would rather deny needing. The expectation, buried so deep it feels like truth, that loyalty proves love and its absence proves betrayal. The tendency to withdraw into regal silence when admiration drops, punishing others with your absence while pretending you simply needed space. Aquarius mirrors each of these patterns with cool arithmetic, offering no judgement but no mercy either, simply reflecting back the mechanics of how you operate when you feel unseen. Pluto sitting in early Aquarius ensures this confrontation remains existential. Each interaction carries power. Each word reveals motive. Each silence transmits a decision already made.

The confrontation will come through an ‘other’, and it will press directly on your instinct to rule through warmth and presence. A partner asserts their independence and you feel it as abandonment. A collaborator rewrites the terms of engagement and you experience it as betrayal. A rival steps into visibility and some part of you wants war when the situation merely calls for acknowledgement. Aquarius frames connection as a contract between equals, a collaboration where both parties retain sovereignty, and this mismatch generates clarifications you have spent years avoiding. The other side of the table refuses to orbit you. They stand there with their own values, their own timing, their own right to say no, and your nervous system reads that sovereignty as threat when it might simply be health.

So here is what the Full Moon keeps illuminating, in every charged exchange, every negotiation that pretends to be casual, every moment of friction with someone who treats you as a peer rather than a centre: Leo at its best knows that true sovereignty requires no diminished court, that real warmth draws others closer precisely by demanding nothing in return. But Leo under pressure, Leo when the pride feels pricked, Leo when the applause isn’t forthcoming, can forget all of this and reach for dominance dressed as dignity, coercion dressed as care. You will feel the pull toward emotional theatre, toward gestures designed to force a response, toward loyalty tests that prove nothing except your own fear. And Aquarius across the axis will respond with detachment, with negotiation, with calm refusal to participate in dynamics it considers beneath both of you.

(Leo, this is an extract of your Full Moon Reading. Read your complete Leo Full Moon horoscope at the link below)

Cosmic Tribe subscribers, your Empowering Horoscopes for all twelve signs for the Leo Full Moon are available here:
https://angstoic.com/2026/01/latest-horoscopes-for-the-cosmic-tribe-3/

[Art: Kobayashi Noriyuki]

02/01/2026

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This Sunday's Leo Full Moon is intense, but doesn't occur in isolation. Bearing the brunt of a hive of planets around the Aquarian Sun, it feels as though this regal sign is being accosted by an army of radical free-agents—like an emperor ambushed by anarchists who've scrolled too many timelines and haven't read any history. Maybe that's for the best, who knows. But it occurs in a web of minor aspects that most astrologers gloss over, those 45° and 135° angles that operate like hairline fractures in the psyche—easy to ignore until the weight and complexity of the whole structure groans and rumbles like tectonic plates pushing up continents.

The last lunation before the eclipses activates the upcoming Saturn/Neptune conjunction, and though we can sense our world about to shift in ways unimaginable, a serious jolt to the system may be just what we need to snap our fantastical fancies back into our mortal selves again...

~ Ang Stoic

[Art: Kobayashi Noriyuki]

02/01/2026

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The Bear Who Carried the Sun Within

In the time before hurry entered the world, there lived a bear unlike any other.

It did not roam the forests in search of dominance, nor did it roar to claim territory. Instead, it sat in stillness at the center of the valley, where wildflowers leaned toward its breath and the air itself felt warm with belonging.

This bear carried the sun inside its chest.

Not a burning fire, but a living circle of light—layered in gold and amber—beating gently where a heart would be. The elders said the Great Spirit placed it there when the world was young, knowing that one day humans would forget how to warm themselves from within.

The bear became a keeper.

Each morning, as dawn painted the hills, people came quietly to the valley. They did not ask for wealth or power. They came with invisible wounds—grief they could not name, fear they pretended not to feel, exhaustion passed down through generations.

The bear never spoke.

It simply looked at them.

And in that gaze, something ancient stirred.

Those who stood before the bear felt memories rise—not of pain, but of who they were before the world told them to be smaller. The sun within the bear did not shine outward; it awakened light already sleeping inside each visitor.

A young boy once came, trembling with anger he did not understand. When he met the bear’s eyes, he felt his breath slow. He realized his fury was only grief asking to be held.

A woman arrived carrying shame like a second skin. In the bear’s presence, she felt no judgment—only acceptance so deep it softened her tears into peace.

Even warriors came, their hands calloused from battle. They left with lighter shoulders, having learned that strength was not the absence of gentleness, but its protector.

As years passed, the world beyond the valley grew louder.

Cities rose. Silence became rare. People forgot how to sit with themselves without distraction. Slowly, fewer visitors came.

One winter, when the snow fell heavier than memory, the bear closed its eyes and pressed its paws against the earth. The sun within dimmed—not because it was dying, but because it had already given itself away.

The light no longer needed a guardian.

It lived now in countless human hearts—quiet, patient, waiting to be remembered.

When spring returned, the bear was gone.

In its place grew flowers shaped like flames and leaves painted in blues and golds. And when the wind moved through the valley, it carried a familiar warmth.

To this day, when someone sits in stillness long enough—when they choose kindness over fear, patience over anger, compassion over pride—they feel it:

A gentle warmth in the chest.
A steady circle of light.

The sun within them.

And somewhere beyond sight, the bear smiles—not as a guardian anymore, but as a reminder:

You were never empty.
You were never broken.
You were always carrying the light.

(Author and Artwork by William Murphy)

02/01/2026

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On Sunday, February 1, 2026, at 5:09 p.m. EST, the Snow Moon rises into fullness—quiet, steady, and patient, just like winter itself.

This is not a loud moon.
It does not rush.
It does not demand.

It arrives wrapped in cold air and stillness, reminding us that even in the hardest season, light continues its journey.

Our ancestors watched this moon when snow was deep and food was scarce.
They understood: this was a time for endurance, prayer, and care for one another.

The Snow Moon teaches us:

🌕 Even when the land sleeps, spirit stays awake.
🌕 Even when paths are buried, purpose remains.
🌕 Even when breath shows in the cold, life is strong.

For several nights, this moon will appear full—hovering over frozen rivers, silent forests, and quiet homes—whispering:

“You are still here.
You are still walking.
You are still becoming.”

Let this moon be a moment of reflection.

Stand outside if you can.
Feel the cold on your face.
Look up.

Offer gratitude for what you’ve survived.
Release what no longer serves you.
Gather strength for what is coming.

Because after the Snow Moon,
the days grow longer.
The rivers remember how to move.
The seeds remember how to rise.

And so do you.

Ekosi.
And so it continues.

02/01/2026

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When the weight of the world crushes our well being, art reminds us of the creative soul still shining within. Every work of sacred art can plant a seed of liberation in the mindstream of the viewer. Keep creating and sharing the light.

Seed of Liberation, 2021, graphite on paper

02/01/2026

Full Moon — Feb 1

Feeling on edge or extra-sensitive lately?

This powerful full moon is in the area of the sky called Ashlesha, where mystical naga-snakes live. Ashlesha is coiled in the deep waters of the unconscious—the place where instincts, memories, and attachments are buried, but also where wisdom lies hidden.

This full moon is also Magha Purnima, which is said to be one of the most auspicious full moons of the year for spiritual openings and inner work.
Learn More https://anandastrology.com/2-1-full-moon-poison-medicine-vedic-astrology

02/01/2026

02/01/2026

"I am God's Lion, not the lion of passion....
I have no longing
except for the One.
When a wind of personal reaction comes,
I do not go along with it.
There are many winds full of anger,
and lust and greed. They move the rubbish around,
but the solid mountain of our true nature stays where it's always been."
~ Rumi

Cosmic Lion
Talon Abraxas

Intuitive Astrology: Leo Full Moon February 2026

We are welcomed to the month of February with the Leo Full Moon. Falling on the 1st of the month, the Leo Full Moon is our opportunity to bring some playful and lighthearted energy into our lives.

Allow any heaviness to fall away, even if it’s just for the day, and embrace the courage, confidence, and flow of this Leo lunation!
The Leo Full Moon and the Start of Eclipse Season

Full Moons represent a climax point for our lunar cycle. As we approach a Full Moon, we can feel a surge of energy and inspiration. Just like the Moon shines bright in the dark sky, we too can feel a sense of illumination growing. As the Full Moon wanes, energy falls, and we are called within to prepare for the closing of one lunar cycle and the beginning of a new one.

It is worth noting that the next lunar cycle that follows this Leo Full Moon kicks off with a New Moon Solar Eclipse. This means that this February Full Moon is likely to be followed by some powerful illuminations, insights, and inspirations. New Moon Solar Eclipses often open new pathways for us, which means this Full Moon will bring to our attention what needs to be cleared and released for the new to arrive.

We may receive new insights into what is no longer working for us and what has served its time. We may feel called to let go of all that is holding us back or keeping us stuck in a repetitive loop.

The Leo Full Moon and Relationships

Venus, the planet of Love and Relationships, is activated under this Full Moon, which seems fitting as Leo is a very heart-focused zodiac.

We are called to lead with our hearts and to connect to the wisdom they are sharing with us. So many of us get caught up in our thoughts and minds, which definitely have their place, but we are missing some of the picture if we don’t acknowledge the wisdom of our hearts, too.

To listen to the wisdom of our hearts, we have to get out of our minds and into our bodies. We have to allow ourselves to feel. We have to slow down and pay attention to the sensory experience of our bodies.

This can take some practice, but meditating, having a warm bath or shower, or sitting outside in the beauty of nature can all help.

When you are in this quiet space, you can place your hand on your heart and whisper to yourself- “What is my heart trying to say to me?” And then trust the answer that arises. Don’t second-guess it, just observe it. Write it down, and come back to it when the time is right.

Along with giving space for our heart wisdom, we may also find relationship issues coming to the forefront.

To navigate these, we can turn to the Goddess Asteroid Vesta, who is also activated by this Full Moon. Vesta is the Goddess of Hearth and Fire. She reminds us to return to ourselves and our home environment to create comfort and security.

Drawing on Vesta’s wisdom, we are encouraged to create a safe space for ourselves so we can make the best decisions for our relationships. We are encouraged to create a feeling of safety, warmth, and a sense of belonging. From this place, the right answers will find us.

The Leo Full Moon Holds Some Fire

Leo is a fiery energy, and at the time of this Full Moon, there are four major cosmic bodies in fire signs and six in air signs. Air energy is going to fan the flames of this fiery energy, bringing some heat and possibly tension.

We are likely to see this playing out on the world stage or even in our local communities. If you are faced with any hostile or tense situations, come back to the highest vibration of Leo energy: simplicity.

Leo is a fun, playful, and creative energy that can help us to look at things with a light-hearted tone. We don’t have to get wrapped up in the heaviness of what is bothering us. Instead, we can try to focus on simplicity.

How can you take whatever is troubling you and lean into the idea of simplicity? Can you find ways to take a simple approach or to clear the clutter so you can just focus on what is important and what is in your control?

Sometimes the simplest answer is the best answer.

Leo Full Moon Ritual February 2026
https://foreverconscious.com/leo-full-moon-ritual-february-2026

09/19/2025

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Full Solar Eclipse Message for LIBRA:

A week out from the 21 September South Node solar eclipse at 29° Virgo, you will be standing in that charged hush between tides—two weeks after the Pisces total lunar eclipse rang the bell, and just before the lights cut in Virgo’s hidden cloisters—feeling the peculiar heaviness that announces not failure but a systems shutdown: the old spiritual operating system powering down so you can stop running ghost programmes you’re no longer meant to serve. You will call it a slump. It is a mercy. The twelfth-house Virgo reflex—endless purification, clandestine corrections, tight little rituals that promise safety while draining the very courage you need to live—will flicker, then black out, and in that moment you’ll hear a truer instruction than “be cleaner”: come back to the daylight of the body, to work you can touch, to service that includes you.

This is the recalibration at the most soul-level essence. You have been trained by your own conscientiousness to believe that invisibility equals virtue: if you perfect the routine backstage, if you do the unseen labour, if you carry the anxieties for the room upon your shoulder, then perhaps life will grant you a pass. But the twelfth house is a hall of mirrors; you keep tidying corridors that, like a maze, lead back to the same locked cell. The Virgo South Node has kept you loyal to fault-finding as a form of devotion, and while that has kept certain monsters at bay, it has also kept you away from colleagues, from the sweet monotony of shared tasks, from the table where your needs get counted along with everyone else’s. The eclipse will not ask politely; it will cut power to the worry grid so you can feel, without anaesthetic, the cost of living as your own hidden janitor. Will you mistake that sudden quiet for abandonment, or will you recognise space where the noise used to be?

Because as the tail empties, the head calls: North Node through Pisces in your sixth house—ordinary holiness. Saturn returning to 29° Pisces in that same sixth will act as the clock and the gatekeeper, insisting that compassion is not a mood but a method; that routines aren’t punishments but covenants; that rest has a schedule and boundaries have a tone. Watch how this timekeeper both frustrates and liberates you: he will deny you the glamour of martyrdom (no more heroic, secret overwork), yet he will gift you the dignity of a timetable that honours your nervous system. The sixth house is where you stop trying to heal the world by disappearing into it; you will heal the world by showing up on time with a clear brief and a body you treat like a colleague.

And yes, Neptune retrograde just at the Aries threshold will sit near Saturn in a dissociate tangle, supplying holy confusion precisely where you would prefer clean lines. In the coming days, you’ll be invited to make promises in fog, to trust an intuition that has not yet written a proposal, to begin a practice before you know its theology. Is that carelessness—or faith in action? You know the difference: when you use fog to avoid commitment, your chest tightens; when you use faith to begin, your breath deepens. Let Saturn provide the rails—hours, limits, scope—while Neptune allows the work to breathe; this is how you exit the cult of purity without slipping into chaos.

Meanwhile, the air signs keep drafting the future over your shoulder. Uranus retrograde in Gemini and Pluto retrograde in Aquarius form the kite’s high wings, trining one another across your ninth and fifth: ideas mutate, curricula flip, the stories you tell and the skills you teach get rewired; creative sovereignty and intellectual courage become non-negotiable. You will see it in the headlines and the hallway: institutions bargaining privately for “order” while publics demand an honest reckoning; industries refactoring roles faster than job titles can keep up; collectives wrestling over who holds the mic. Those crosswinds don’t exist to destabilise you; they point you toward the exact scale at which your daily service must evolve. If the world is renegotiating what counts as expertise and what counts as care, you are meant to lead locally—within your team, your studio, your clinic—by modelling fairness that doesn’t disappear you.

This is why the power cut in Virgo must be thorough. You cannot carry on as the invisible fixer while the era asks you to practise visible, mutual service. Expect the eclipse window to expose where you over-function in secret: the late-night email triage no one asked you to do; the unclaimed emotional labour of smoothing fraught personalities; the private asceticism that passes for “self-care” but is really penance. Expect sleep to claim you, dreams to speak too loudly to ignore, the body to veto your drive with a simple “no”. Expect, too, a strange grief as you watch the old moral calculus fade: the belief that your worth depends on how spotless you can make the unseen.

In the week leading up to the eclipse, Mars in Libra marching through your first house will oppose the Chiron/Eris knot in Aries across the table. This is confrontation as medicine: who benefits from your self-erasure, and why have you called it diplomacy? You won’t need a scene; you will need a sentence—calm, proportionate, exact—naming the load you will no longer shoulder solo. Mars’ sextile to Venus lends charm to the blade; you can renegotiate terms with grace, ask for shared responsibility without converting the room into a courtroom. And with Mars spearheading a yod, you’ll discover how many micro-adjustments it takes to live your stance: posture, timing, phrasing, pacing—no single heroic act, but a hundred exquisite corrections that re-train your nervous system to choose presence over appeasement.

Saturn’s presence in your sixth will assist whenever you operationalise compassion: calendars that include rest blocks; protocols that prevent the quiet exploitation of “the nice one”; job descriptions that forbid the creep of invisible tasks. He will frustrate whenever you flirt with martyrdom, whenever you romanticise exhaustion, whenever you try to earn love by suffering attractively. Neptune will keep you porous enough to care and visionary enough to reimagine the dirty work; keep an ear out for the small, illogical idea that refuses to stop knocking (the practice at dawn, the meal pattern that makes evenings humane, the modest service offering that nobody else can deliver like you).

Uranus in your ninth will ask for learning that destabilises your tidy frameworks—could you study with people who don’t flatter your refinements, publish something that privileges clarity over cleverness, let curiosity trump propriety? Pluto in your fifth will ask for creative power without apology—could you stage the work, claim authorship, let pleasure appear in public without negotiating it down to palatability? These airy allies don’t need fanfare; they need you to stop spending your best wattage on precision in the dark and start spending it on the living project of fairness in the day.

So, when the lights dim in Virgo’s back rooms, don’t panic and run for more candles. Let certain corridors go black. Allow the anxious rituals to miss a turn and discover that nothing terrible happens when you don’t appease the phantom auditor. Feed your body as if it were on your side (it is). Bring your worries to the table where other hands can touch them. Share the list; share the load. And if guilt hisses that you’re letting standards slip, ask the only question that matters: do these standards make me kinder, braver, more available to the people I serve—or do they make me small?

What if your devotion, at this stage, is not to being unimpeachable behind the scenes but to being available where it counts? What if fairness—your native genius—begins at home, in the daily apportioning of time, calories, care? What if the sacred lives not in self-denial but in well-tended usefulness? You will not become less holy by eating lunch; you will become more honest. You will not betray the cause by declining a thankless add-on; you will teach the room how to love each other properly. You will not lose your edge by resting; you will regain your aim.

By the time the eclipse has finished its quiet surgery, the hum of ordinary life will return, and with it a gentler form of mastery: not the anxious excellence of keeping everything spotless in secret, but the relaxed competence of working with others in the light. You are learning to let closure come to whole chapters of invisible labour, to let the monastery dissolve back into a studio, a kitchen, a clinic, an office where fairness is not a slogan but a schedule. Let the past recede without drama. Step into the day with your name on the rota. The holy waits there, in the dishes, in the inbox, in the shared task that becomes beautiful because you insisted it include you.

~ Ang Stoic

Cosmic Tribe, click here for your Virgo Solar Eclipse empowering horoscopes for all twelve signs: https://angstoic.com/2025/09/latest-horoscopes-for-the-cosmic-tribe-3/

[Art: Walter's Mom]