November 5, 2025 : Burnout Nation — the Full Moon That Says “Stop” !

A woman lies on the treatment table. Her pelvis has been locked for years. The fascia have a long memory: they hold the imprint of violation, of touch that should never have happened, of intrusions that taught the body to turn to stone in order to survive.

It will take a delicate weaving of gentle osteopathy, myofascial work, de-armouring and hypnotherapy to gain permission — not to force, but to invite her body to release what has been held for so long. Because the body does not simply obey: it protects, it remembers, and it refuses to let go until it feels safe.

In a psychiatric hospital, a young man decides to go home. Not because he's getting better, quite the opposite. Memories of rape have just resurfaced, and fear overwhelms him. But an older patient has become violent. He's just attacked someone younger. The staff, overwhelmed, can no longer guarantee his safety. So he leaves. It's a default choice: the one you make when staying becomes more dangerous than leaving. A bed needs to be freed up. The crisis must be managed. The trauma will have to wait.

In a therapist’s office, a one-hour session has just torn open an old wound. The patient is in shock, dissociated, barely able to stand. "Take a short walk in the parking lot before you drive," the therapist says gently. The next client is already waiting. There’s no time to land, no space to feel. The shattered body will have to reassemble itself alone, on the asphalt, between two cars.

15 minutes with the chiropractor. 30 minutes with the physical therapist. Bodies treated like machines on an assembly line, in a society that has forgotten that trauma healing can only happen at the speed of the nervous system, as Bessel van der Kolk reminds us in The Body Keeps the Score.

This Full Moon on November 5th, 2025 confronts us with this burning truth: in a denaturalized and dissociated society, the Taurus-Scorpio axis becomes our survival axis, the one that forces us to reclaim the body we had to abandon in order to keep living.

THE EXALTED MOON IN TAURUS

The Moon reaches its exaltation at 13° Taurus, opposite the Sun at 13° Scorpio. The exalted Moon in Taurus brings us back into the flesh of the world. She is the keeper of natural rhythm, the one who knows that healing isn't spectacular: it weaves itself through slowness, through trust, through the return to breath.

Where the Scorpio Moon excavates, pierces, and burns, the Taurus Moon soothes, welcomes, and regenerates. She doesn't want to analyze trauma: she wants to offer it a warm bed, a steady heartbeat, a breath where life can return.

Her exaltation is a sacred reminder: the body is not an obstacle to the soul, it is its temple. Under this Full Moon, every cell demands permission to exist without having to justify its pain.

This is Taurus wisdom: honoring density, matter, simplicity. Slowing down enough to hear what the skin, the belly, the earth have always been saying: "I am here, I support you, come back into the sensory world."

But how can we root ourselves when the body has become a war zone?

VENUS, JUPITER, AND PLUTO: THE IMPOSSIBLE BALANCE

The ruler of this Moon, Venus at 28° Libra, forms a tense T-square with Jupiter in Cancer and Pluto in Aquarius. Venus seeks beauty, harmony, right relationship but finds herself crushed between two forces.

Jupiter in Cancer is the archetype of the inner child desperately needing care, protection, repair. It's the part of us crying out, "Take care of me!"

Pluto in Aquarius is the rage of the lucid adult: "The system is broken. If no one can hold us, let's burn it down."

Between them, Venus in Libra embodies the exhaustion of the mediator, the parent, the caregiver, the therapist: the one trying to maintain balance when there's no energy left to hold anything up.

The T-square reveals the tension of burn-out: one part can't take anymore, another wants to destroy everything, and in the middle, we try to stay functional when we're so exhausted, we don't even have the strength to stand on our own two feet.

THE KITE: A DOORWAY TO HEALING

At the heart of this impasse, a breath opens: the kite formation. Jupiter in Cancer, the kite's base, points toward Pluto in Aquarius, supported by Mars at 0° Sagittarius and Neptune at 29° Pisces.

Mars brings the courage to face what has been fragmented. Neptune offers the infinite compassion needed to welcome the ashamed or terrified parts. Together, they allow Jupiter to open to care and Pluto to release its grip. The kite says this: tension isn't a dead-end, it's energy that can lift if held with courage and compassion.

MARS OPPOSITE URANUS: WHEN THE BODY SAYS NO

Under this Full Moon on November 5th, Mars at 0° Sagittarius opposes Uranus at 0° Gemini retrograde. This opposition describes the dynamic of burn-out with surgical precision: the mind wanting to keep moving forward while the body has already called it quits.

Mars in Sagittarius is the quest for meaning that drives us to hold on at all costs. It's the spiritual warrior saying, "I have to understand, I have to transform, I have to find meaning in my suffering."

This Mars-Uranus opposition acts like a nervous system short-circuit. The body yanks the plug, the electrical system trips. The head wants to keep serving, understanding, giving, but the legs shake, the neck stiffens, the ribcage locks. Insomnia stretches longer, the heart races, pounds too hard. The body speaks the language of the nervous system: tremors, vertigo, loss of balance, tinnitus, brain fog. That's Uranus cutting the power.

Mars pushes. Uranus cuts. And we, caught between them, oscillate between guilt and collapse.

Burn-out is exactly this: Mars keeps pressing the gas pedal while Uranus has already cut the engine. The mind still wants to create, help, heal, understand. But the body, saturated, withdraws from the field. It unplugs, literally.

And society responds: "Just breathe. Do some yoga. Try a gong bath. Go walk it off in the forest. Take some ashwagandha — you’ll be fine."

But Uranus, ruler of your nervous system, answers with the same clarity Gabor Maté names in When the Body Says No: “There’s nothing left to fix, no more remedies to chase. Your body has spoken: it said no.”

Under this Full Moon, the Mars-Uranus opposition asks:

How many more times will you force yourself forward when every cell is begging you to stop? How many more times will you spiritualize exhaustion, search for meaning in collapse, transform your legitimate rage into a "life lesson"?

Your body doesn't want a lesson. It wants you to stop. Now. Not tomorrow. Not after this project. Not after you've found meaning. Now.

URANUS AT 29° TAURUS: LAST CHANCE TO COMPLETE THE CYCLE

And this "Now" resonates all the more powerfully because on November 8th, 2025, Uranus moves back from 0° Gemini to 29° Taurus, the final degree, the crisis degree, where Earth says stop. This return is a major cosmic event: the planet of revolution returns one last time to the sign of matter, to close a cycle that began in May 2018.

Uranus at 29° Taurus is the collective nervous system cracking. It's the saturation of physical, psychic, and social structures that can no longer hold the load. It's planetary burn-out. But it's also the moment when, for the first time in a long while, the body reclaims its voice. It trembles, it collapses, it cries out, it releases.

This return of Uranus to Taurus unfolds under the silent watch of the Pleiades, the star cluster that guards thresholds of passage at the end of the sign. This is where matter remembers its stellar origins. This is where healing leaves the mind and becomes biological, instinctive, animal again.

Since 2018, Uranus in Taurus has been teaching us the most radical revolution: reclaiming the body as a space of consciousness. Chronic fatigue, nervous breakdowns, unexplained illnesses, all languages of the collective body demanding reconnection. And now, at the final degree, Uranus demands the liberation of matter, the return to slowness, to breath, to inner safety.

Neptune at 29° Pisces accompanies this passage: dissolving spiritual mirages, illusions of control, flights into the search for "meaning."

Everything in this November sky speaks of cycle's end. The end of body productivity. The end of spiritualizing trauma. The end of denying limits. A final invitation to remember that the body is the soul's first home.

LILITH IN SCORPIO: THE RAGE OF WHAT HAS BEEN VIOLATED

But the Pleiades are not alone in this Full Moon. Facing them, in the opposite sign of Scorpio, both True and Mean Lilith stand as a dark and necessary mirror.

If the Pleiades represent the feminine that fled to survive, Lilith embodies the feminine that refused to flee and was banished for that refusal. Driven from Eden for refusing to submit, she never bent. Never asked forgiveness. Never came crawling back.

True and Mean Lilith, both in Scorpio, carry the rage of what has been forcibly penetrated, controlled, possessed, violated. Lilith doesn't forgive. She doesn't forget. She refuses the narrative that would have us digest our trauma in 45 minutes, "move on," be "functional" so we don't disturb anyone.

Lilith in Scorpio demands recognition of what has been destroyed. She doesn't want the condescending compassion of the system that enabled the violence. She wants the truth: raw, brutal, unbearable.

SCORPIO-TAURUS: THE AXIS OF BODY RECLAMATION

The Taurus-Scorpio axis becomes the theater of this tension:

Taurus (Pleiades):

• Memory of the body that had to dissociate to survive

• Forced transformation into something else (doves, stars, symptoms)

• The feminine that hides, makes itself small, becomes invisible

• Survival through flight, metamorphosis, adaptation

Scorpio (Lilith):

• Rage of the violated body that refuses to forget

• The "no" that will never be withdrawn

• The feminine that refuses to make itself small, that demands recognition

• Survival through confrontation, vengeance, refusal to yield

Under this Full Moon, these two energies converge and ask their burning questions:

The Pleiades ask: "What body did you have to abandon to survive? What part of you had to transform, hide, become invisible to avoid destruction?"

Lilith asks: "What rage do you carry for what was done to you? What in you refuses to forgive, refuses to forget, refuses to 'heal' on the system's terms?"

Together, they create the complete cycle of body reclamation:

1. Recognize what was lost or stolen (Pleiades): name the dissociation, honor the parts that had to flee

2. Allow the rage of that loss (Lilith): don't spiritualize too quickly, don't "forgive" prematurely

3. Re-embody what is left (exalted Moon in Taurus): return to the body, even damaged, even when it's terrifying

4. Let go of what must die (Sun in Scorpio): let survival mechanisms that no longer serve us die

This Full Moon asks us to integrate both the Pleiades' gentleness AND Lilith's rage. To recognize that we fled AND we are angry. That we had to adapt to survive AND that adaptation has an unacceptable cost. That we carry both the memory of forced transformation and the refusal to keep transforming to please a violent system.

Perhaps this is the true healing on the Taurus-Scorpio axis: no longer having to choose between fleeing or fighting. Finally being able to inhabit a body that no longer needs to constantly defend itself.

We often say the Virgo-Pisces axis is the health axis. But the Taurus-Scorpio axis is the axis of body reclamation in a denaturalized society.

Taurus asks: Can you reinhabit this body? Can you feel without dissociating? Can you receive pleasure, gentleness, safety?

Scorpio confronts: Are you ready to face what was done to this body? Are you capable of descending into the crypt, touching the putrefaction, holding death before rebirth?

This Full Moon tells us: healing cannot be industrialized. It cannot be standardized into 30 or 45-minute sessions. It cannot happen at the speed of the capitalist system that needs productive, functional, performing bodies.

Trauma healing happens at the speed of the nervous system. At the speed of trust rebuilding neuron by neuron. At the speed of fascia finally consenting to release what it froze to protect us.

The Taurus–Scorpio axis also governs our relationship to resources, and this Full Moon exposes a rarely spoken paradox: having too much money can be just as exhausting as not having enough.

Not having enough is the burnout of survival. It’s the body in constant alert, the nervous system that can never relax because the threat is real. It’s the exhaustion of counting, calculating, cutting back, choosing between paying rent or getting medical care. It’s the violence of a society that says “take care of yourself” while making care inaccessible.

But having too much, and this “too much” varies depending on the context, is another kind of exhaustion, less visible but just as real. It’s the mental load of managing, optimizing, protecting, multiplying. It’s the hours spent watching investments, calculating taxes, making endless financial decisions. It’s also, often, the paralyzing guilt: guilt for having when others do not, guilt for never being able to simply rest in abundance.

Both extremes lead to the same place: an exhausted body.

Taurus reminds us that resources aren’t just a banking abstraction, they are what allow us to feel safe, grounded, nourished. And Scorpio confronts us with the taboo question: how much vital energy do we sacrifice, whether rich or poor, to the management of money rather than to life itself?

Here’s what this Full Moon invites us to do: let it circulate.

Give. Give to lighten the load. Give to break the cycle of anxious accumulation. Give so that money becomes again what it was always meant to be: a means of care, not an end in itself.

Give to those who don’t have enough. Give to initiatives that heal differently. Give so that others may rest, breathe, and heal at their own pace.

Scorpio teaches that true wealth lies in transformation: what we release circulates, nourishes, regenerates. Money that stagnates rots. Money that moves heals.

This Full Moon asks us to find the right measure, the place where money serves life, not the other way around. Where resources allow us to breathe, and allow others to breathe too.

LETTING THE BODY TREMBLE: ANIMAL WISDOM

Yet there are approaches that honor the body's temporalities. TRE (Trauma Release Exercises), developed by David Berceli, returns us to an animal wisdom we've forgotten: after a shock, animals tremble.

Watch a zebra that's just escaped a lion. Its body begins to vibrate, to shake uncontrollably. These aren't fear tremors, they're neurogenic tremors, the nervous system discharging the survival energy accumulated during the chase. Once the trembling ends, the animal returns to grazing as if nothing happened. The trauma doesn't lodge itself because the body was able to complete the cycle.

Humans have learned to interrupt this process. "Stop shaking. Calm down. Pull yourself together." We freeze the trembling through shame, social control, dissociation. And trauma becomes encysted in the fascia, the muscles, the nervous system, exactly where that woman's pelvis has been locked for years.

TRE proposes something revolutionary in its simplicity: postures that gently fatigue the muscles until they trigger involuntary trembling. Not trembling we control. Not movements we decide. But vibrations emerging from the brainstem, from the autonomic nervous system, that part of us that froze the trauma to allow us to survive.

This is Scorpio passing through Taurus: buried trauma (Scorpio) releasing through the body that vibrates, trembles, lets go (Taurus). Without words. Without narrative. Just the body doing what it should have been able to do at the moment of shock.

And here's what's radical: the trembling cannot be forced. We can only create conditions for it to emerge and ask its permission. If the nervous system doesn't feel safe, it won't release anything. The body decides the rhythm, the intensity, the timing.

A

TRE session might last 15 minutes, or 45, or stop after 3 minutes because that's enough for today. The therapist doesn't decide. The body does. That part of us that knows exactly what it can metabolize, and at what speed.

This is what this Taurus-Scorpio Full Moon reminds us: healing isn't a matter of willpower, mind, or "I should be able to." It's a matter of permission given to the body, of authorized trembling, of unconstrained time. It's a return to the animal wisdom we never should have lost.

THE SLOW REVOLUTION

Under this Moon in Taurus, facing the Sun in Scorpio, it is no longer about doing more. It is about slowing down. Returning to that forgotten tempo: the body's vibration, the Earth's breath.

Giving the body's permission:

Permission to produce nothing today.

Permission to breathe without purpose, like the tree that expects nothing from the wind.

Permission to feel the fatigue without judging it, to settle into it like a stone at the river's bottom.

Like the therapist who waits for the fascia's "yes," we are called to this same patience: waiting for the body to say "I can," not "I must."

This Full Moon reminds us that the body has its inner tides, that healing ripens like fruit on the branch, at the rhythm of breath, of heart, of nerve finally consenting to release.

It doesn't ask us to get better. It asks us to be here: in this body that trembles like a leaf in the wind, in this weary heart that still beats, in this uneven breath finding its way.

To stay here, without forcing spring, without rushing dawn.

Because it is here, in this reclaimed slowness, that life returns. Gently.

As if remembering our name at last.

As if whispering:

"There you are. I've been waiting for you."