Cancer Star Vision
The Moon Gently Weeps

Written on the Gemini New Moon.

A Love Letter

Oh dearest of Oaks, how I love you, how I can hardly bear to see your loving, massive branches on the ground, lying there in stillness. You protected us, sheltered life, grew like you were reaching for the sky, and blossomed a canopy that was breathtaking year after year. Every time my eyes met yours, I felt a stir inside, a breath of life form, and a joy tickle me.

Exquisite beauty, deep roots, warm ground even in the freeze, standing there like a sentinel day and night and all the hours in between. My children played under you, blew bubbles around you, hugged you, had picnics on your lap, visited with their cars and dolls, read books, watched your seasons change, jumped in your tapestry of colored leaves in the autumn, stared in wonder at the snow on your branches, and rested at times against your strong back.

Oh the ceremonies you anchored, the prayers you heard, the secrets you held, the stories you listened to, the hearts you tended, the joy you brought, the healing you held, the creativity you sparked, and the meaning of life you reflected every day. How many times the Moon has illuminated your branches and soaked into your roots. How many stars have connected with your branches and whispered their essence into your hands. The streaming of the Sun through your branches is surely a most magnificent, breathtaking work of art.

153 years is a long life, yet not long enough for my heart.

The day we arrived to look at the house for sale on South Lincoln was a warm summer June day. The children were 3 and 6, and when we landed in the backyard they ran to you and squealed and danced circles around your body. It wasn’t the historic architecture, the fireplaces, the staircases, or the rooms themselves that drew me to the house. It was you and that feeling you get when you just know, no second guessing, just a smiling yes. Those are rare.

My arms and hands are quivering as I form these words. I recall coming up the driveway and looking at your arms blowing wildly in the wind, being pelted by hard rain, and quietly inside, root to root, I heard you say—remember to always be like me and not resist life but move with her, flow with her no matter what the elements. And that moment I have never forgotten.

I thank you for your perpetual wisdom, your steadfastness, your devotion, your love, your company, and your solid presence.

I don’t really know how to let you go, to let men cut you down and haul you away. I don’t know how to do that. I never imagined I would have to do such a thing.

Before you go, though, I will pour a cup of tears upon your roots that you may pass with dignity, sacred humility, and peace, my beloved friend. I will sit with you and hold your hand and lean against your lovely bark one last time. And together, we will continue to grow, just in a different way.

You have been the truest, most trusted of friends.

I will love you forever.

The Season of Cancer

Join us in the field, in the heart of the Moon.

While Cancer is the Moon’s ruling sign, we all carry the resonance of Cancer within our blueprint—through a house cusp, a planet, an asteroid, or perhaps Cancer fills a house with no cosmic bodies present.

And if there were ever a time to feel into how Cancer is seeking to move through us and with us, it is now.

In this two-hour sharing, Ellias will address the transiting star coordinates impacting us, illuminating what Cancer has been wanting us to experience, yet perhaps could not fully embody until now, in 2026.

As he so articulately and enthusiastically does, he will offer his vision and pulse of where we are headed, and how to deeply attune to and love the Cancer within us.