A Tale under the Full Moon of December 5, 2025

It is said that in those days, the Moon climbed so high into the zenith - so close, so full, so vast - that she seemed ready to swallow the sky whole.

A Supermoon: one of those moons that stir the inner tides and crack open the dams we thought unbreakable.

At 13° Gemini, it opened wide the Gate of Wind, while across from it, at 13° Sagittarius, the Sun held the Gate of Fire like a lighthouse keeper in the storm.

To the north, 13° Virgo guarded the Gate of Earth, where everything must be weighed, sorted, perfected.

To the south, 13° Pisces murmured at the Gate of Deep Waters, where everything dissolves and merges.

Four gates, four guardians, four directions pulling at the heart of the world.

Between them, the Grand Cross - this configuration we call the crucifixion before birth.

For 13 is the number of passage, of death-rebirth, of the wounded healer.

13 is also Ophiuchus - the thirteenth sign we chose to forget, the Serpent Bearer, the one who holds the snake of transformation in their hands and has learned to transmute poison into medicine.

At the center of this cross: three stars forming a water trine. Mercury at 22° Scorpio, Jupiter at 24° Cancer, Saturn at 25° Pisces. A hidden passageway toward healing, the escape door concealed within the crisis itself.

And on this night, under a moon so immense no shadow could hide, three animals were summoned to the Lake of the Thirteen Stars.

The Deep-Fox arrived first, his fur the color of overturned earth, his paws still caked in the mud of the underworld. He carried ancient bones in his jaws - truths he had unearthed.

“I carry truths that scorch the tongue,” he said, laying down his burden.

“Mercury in Scorpio taught me to dig to the bone, to trace every root back to the original wound. But my words hurt. Sometimes they kill what they touch before they can heal.”

Grandmother Bear appeared next, massive and worn, her steps heavy with the world’s fatigue. Her fur smelled of honey and mingled tears. Behind her trudged three orphans she had taken in - a fawn, a boarlet, a wolf pup.

“Jupiter in Cancer made me mother of the world,” she murmured, collapsing at the water’s edge. “My milk flows for every abandoned child, my den is always open, and my heart cannot refuse. But who feeds me? My bones are hollow. I give what I no longer have.”

Then the Passage-Heron descended from the sky on silent wings, trembling atop his impossible stilts. He landed on the very threshold - between water and earth - never fully belonging anywhere.

“Saturn in Pisces asks me to stand upright inside the ocean,” he said softly. “To build structure in what slips through the fingers, to draw boundaries within the infinite. I am the keeper of thresholds, the one who says ‘no further’ even when all things want to dissolve. But some nights, my legs tremble. I forget how to hold the line.”

The three looked at one another and recognized the same sacred weariness - the exhaustion of those who carry the world.

Under the supermoon’s merciless glare, the Four Gates opened.

From the Gate of Wind (Moon in Gemini) burst the Curious Dove, white and restless, flying in every direction at once.

She pecked at every detail, naming, analyzing, understanding.

“Why? How? What if? And then what? What does it mean? I must understand EVERYTHING!”

From the Gate of Fire (Sun in Sagittarius) galloped the learned centaur, bow drawn, arrow pointed toward the stars. His gaze always carried beyond the horizon, toward ultimate truth, profound meaning, absolute wisdom.

"I must teach! Elevate consciousness! Show the way! There is meaning to all of this - let me reveal it to you!"

From the Gate of Earth (South Node in Virgo) buzzed the Tireless Bee, wings worn from years of service without rest.

“There is so much to do… so much to repair, perfect, sustain…

If I stop, everything falls apart. I must be useful. I cannot stop.”

From the Gate of Deep Waters (North Node in Pisces) rose the Mystic Whale, immense and silent, swimming through dimensions beyond imagination.

“Let it go… Dissolve… Release control… There is nothing to understand, nothing to teach, nothing to fix. There is only the boundless ocean…”

The four guardians pulled hard, each in their direction, and the cross stretched taut - ready to snap.

At the center, the Fox, the Bear, and the Heron felt themselves torn apart.

“I CANNOT DO ALL FOUR AT ONCE!” the Fox cried, his ancient bones scattering.

“I AM BEING SPLIT TO PIECES!” the Bear sobbed, her milk drying in despair.

“I WILL FALL AND DROWN!” the Heron cried, sliding toward the water.

It was then that the lake itself began to boil. From its depths rose a form no one had seen for millennia - a form that had been banished from sky maps, erased from zodiacs, deliberately forgotten.

Ophiuchus - the Serpent Bearer - emerged from the waters.

Androgynous, ageless, scarred by a thousand healed bites, they held a silver serpent that shifted between an infinity loop and the number thirteen.

The serpent was both alive and dead - the serpent of transformation, shedding its skin to be reborn.

“You have called me,” Ophiuchus said, their voice ringing like thirteen bells struck at once, “for you have reached the breaking point - the threshold where the old must die so the new may be born.”

The animals fell silent.

“I am the thirteenth sign - the one they tried to erase because I carry an inconvenient truth:

the healer must first accept being wounded.

I hold the venom-serpent not because I am immune, but because I learned to turn poison into medicine. I was bitten. I nearly died.

And it was that death that taught me how to heal.”

Ophiuchus gazed at the three creatures with deep tenderness.

“You three: Fox, Bear, Heron are my disciples.

You carry the cross of the wounded healer, but you do not yet know its secret.

“You cannot resolve a square by staying inside it,” Ophiuchus continued. “The Grand Cross crucifies you - that is its purpose.

It pulls you in four directions until you surrender your old ways.

But look…”

A blue-green triangle of light appeared on the lake, pulsing like a heart.

“The hidden gift of this crisis is this water triangle.

Three points of grace in the heart of the cross:

Mercury - Jupiter - Saturn.

Speech - Sustenance - Structure.

Truth - Love - Boundary."

Ophiuchus touched each animal with the silver serpent:

“Fox: your truths do not need to choose between being understood, taught, useful, or abandoned.

They must be nourished by the Bear’s tenderness and held within the Heron’s container.

Only then do they heal instead of destroy.”

“Bear: your giving does not have to meet every need, transcend everything, be perfect, or vanish.

Your milk must first flow toward your own heart - lit by the Fox’s truth that tells you when enough is enough, and protected by the Heron’s boundary when you cannot say no.”

“Heron: your structure does not have to explain all, elevate all, perfect all, or surrender all.

Your limits must be rooted in the Fox’s clarity about what matters,

and softened by the Bear’s compassion, which allows vulnerability inside strength.”

“Let your medicines work together.

Not separately.

Not in isolation.

TOGETHER.”

The three animals drew close and formed a triangle in the lake.

The Fox pressed his muzzle into the Bear’s flank.

The Bear leaned her weight into the Heron’s legs.

The Heron spread his wing over the Fox.

Then the miracle began.

The Water Trine absorbed the tension of the Grand Cross—

like a sponge drinking water,

like a root drawing poison from the earth and turning it into sap.

The Dove’s frantic questions found a resting place - within the Fox’s healing words, nourished by the Bear, held by the Heron.

Her questions became wisdom rather than anxiety.

The Centaur’s arrow, once lost in infinity, struck the earth with a deep, resonant thud. Meaning condensed - sharpened by the Fox, warmed by the Bear, aligned by the Heron.

His teaching became medicine.

The Bee’s compulsive service softened into choice.

She learned to set down her burden - guided by the Fox’s truth, soothed by the Bear, protected by the Heron. Her service became a joyful offering.

The Whale’s abyssal song, once too vast for the world, accepted a form. The Fox gave it words, the Bear gave it warmth, the Heron gave it a vessel. And her song awakened the crystal heart of the lake like a living organ.

As Ophiuchus dissolved back into the depths, only their voice remained - light as breath, heavy as prophecy.

“Listen well, children of the living.

For a time will come when the Four Gates open again,

more violently than tonight.

The Dove will weave labyrinths of thought,

the Centaur will shoot arrows toward shattered horizons,

the Bee will try to carry a world that is not hers,

and the Whale will sing so loudly that many will long to dissolve.

On that day,

those who have forgotten the harmony of the Triangle

will be crucified upon the Cross.

But those who remember

truth,

love,

and boundary

will cross the waters as I have crossed them.

For thirteen always returns.

And with it, the necessity of rebirth.

Not by force alone,

but in union - together.”