Here's Your Horoscope! Including Your Best Day For Sex And A Warning About Family Drama, Old Wounds And Misunderstandings
Plus how Bjork helped a friend who was divorcing a narcissist and fighting for custody.
Hi everyone!
When the one-of-a-wonderful-kind Bee told us in her last column which day of the month was the best for sex, her accuracy was off the fucking charts. (Try reading that sentence emphasizing the next to last word and then emphasizing the last word and both are true! If you want to.)
So let's see what predictions and advice we get from her for this, the best season, Scorpio season, which starts today. And then use the comments section to ask her any questions you have – don’t hold anything back and don’t worry about being greedy with your lengthy requests for help to further your self-serving motives - each request can be really specific and beneficial only to you. We Scorpios do that all the time.
While you take advantage of how much Bee is available and ready to help you, you can also thank her for being so open about her own life in all her columns here, which makes me trust her and her advice all the more.
We love you, Bee!
See you all in the comments!
Jane
PS Let’s also be inappropriate and talk about who we are voting for on this day with so many critical elections.
By The Zine Witch
“Look out for birds as messengers this year,” I told my best friend as she stepped into one of the hardest years of her life. There was a rare astrological configuration in the sky that year, one that mirrors a pattern I was born under. I have always been able to see patterns, across people, across time, through art and music. I have a rare neurological condition called synesthesia, which allows me to see sounds as colors and taste tones as sensations. So when I studied this particular configuration, I did what I always do. I listened. I went back through a hundred songs that were released under the same sky pattern in past decades, and there it was again and again. Birds. As symbols, as sounds, as messengers.
It wasn’t always literal. Sometimes it was a single lyric or just a feeling that fluttered beneath the melody. One song that stood out was Björk’s “Hunter” from Homogenic. It came from a story about two birds her grandmother used to watch. Every morning, one guarded the nest while the other hunted. At some point, those birds must have made a choice, who protects, and who goes out to survive.
Björk, who is autistic, was under immense pressure at that time. After two wildly successful albums, she had an entire industry leaning on her creativity. She was drained, but capitalism kept asking for more. “Hunter” became a story about being trapped in a system that feeds on your brilliance. To me, it was also about survival, about what it means to be both the one who guards and the one who hunts. Birds, I told Shannon, will be the messengers this year.
That year became her crucible. Shannon was divorcing a narcissist and fighting for her daughter in a court system that so often protects abusers and punishes survivors. I could write an entire newsletter on the human trafficking that happens inside family courtrooms, but that is a story for another day.
This week, she walked into her therapist’s office. Her daughter’s therapist brought out the child’s early drawings to show her how much she had healed since the divorce. Shannon flipped through page after page, families of birds. Her eyes filled with tears. The signs were always there.
This month, Mercury goes retrograde. Like Shannon’s story, this transit brings messages from the past. It rules communication, travel, technology, and the people closest to us, siblings, neighbors, coworkers. When Mercury retraces its steps, misunderstandings surface, and we are asked to slow down and listen differently.
And here we are again in Scorpio season, the emotional equivalent of an ex texting “we need to talk” just when you’ve finally started to breathe. Everything feels heavier, more intense. Old wounds stir. And with the holidays approaching, family drama rises like smoke from a fire you thought was long extinguished.
I grew up in a household where honesty was optional and truth was whispered or avoided. I learned that subtlety could be a survival skill. Conversations felt like tightrope walks. As an autistic person, people assume I miss social cues, but when someone is being disingenuous, I feel it in my body like static. It hurts. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin. So I fell in love with honesty. I adored artists who were messy but truthful. That kind of bravery lights something inside me, like a spark in the dark.
But being raised among half-truths left me craving intensity. I wanted connection so real it could hurt, because at least then I knew it was real. My late sister Jamie craved that too. She was a Scorpio in every sense. She could walk into a room and speak the one truth everyone else was afraid to say. And somehow, I always understood her. Truth has a pulse, and she followed it.
I never got to attend her funeral because of Covid. My family never mentioned a memorial. The wound still lives in me, too deep to name. My feelings never had a home in my family. Every time I reached for understanding, I met avoidance. And avoidance, I have learned, is a quiet kind of death.
Once, my other sister and I hit a deer while driving. I felt it coming before it happened, but I told myself I was just anxious. When it happened, I stared at the animal’s body while my sister told me to stop crying. Even in that moment, I was told not to feel. To this day, I still apologize to that deer in my mind. It became a symbol of every time I silenced my intuition to keep the peace. Every time I betrayed myself to be loved. I wish I had been raised to trust that voice inside me instead of doubting it.
That is what Scorpio season asks of us, to feel what we have buried, to stop pretending it does not hurt. It drags the ghosts back to the surface and asks us not to look away. I think of my family and how none of us were ever allowed to name our pain. The grief became an heirloom, passed down like a cursed object no one wanted but everyone carried. Most of my clients carry that same inheritance. Depression. Rage. Loneliness. It all comes from the same wound, not being seen.
It is hard to make someone understand that feeling if they have only ever lived inside their own comfort. But understanding is not a gift, it is a practice. Donna Hicks, a conflict resolution expert at Harvard, writes that truly seeing and hearing another person is one of the ten essential pillars of human dignity. When you give someone your full attention, you give them permission to exist. Scorpio season makes you crave that kind of depth. It makes you want to stop performing and finally speak what is real.
So how do we begin? We show up. We take off the armor. We listen without planning our next response. We let people speak their truth, even when it stings. We sit in the silence that follows. We name our shadows without shame. We admit where we have failed and where we have hurt others. It is not comfortable, but it is sacred work.
These conversations will shake you. They will make you want to hide, or pour yourself a glass of wine and forget. But you are not doing this to stay comfortable. You are doing it to be real. Scorpio does not settle for half-truths. It wants transformation. It wants the soul.
From November 5 to December 4, we move between the full moon in Taurus and the new moon in Scorpio. It is a time of release and renewal, a time for facing what still festers. Mercury’s retrograde may bring miscommunications, travel delays, and resurfacing memories, but perhaps those ghosts are not here to haunt you. Perhaps they are here to deliver a message you could not hear before.
Trust your instincts this month. Trust your body when it says no. Trust your intuition when it whispers. Protect your peace like it is sacred. Have the conversations that make your hands shake. Let the truth be messy. That is how you transform.
And when you are not sure what the universe is trying to say, look up. Look for the signs. The universe speaks in symbolism. But maybe this time, you are the messenger.
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