New Moon in Taurus – April 27, 2025: Rest Before the Bloom

Focus: Taurus isn’t fast. But it is fertile. And when we slow down, we begin to notice: there are seeds in the soil. Things we forgot we planted. Dreams we set down out of fear or fatigue, beginning to stir under the surface again.

Some months feel like entire seasons. And March, with its eclipses and firestorms, felt like a year crammed into four weeks. We are only just beginning to re-enter our balance.

And as the New Moon darkens in Taurus, we arrive at a threshold shrouded in weariness. We are exhausted, financially, emotionally, and spiritually. This New Moon does signify this in fact, it lands in the first decan of Taurus, the place aligned with the Five of Pentacles, the image of lack, of cold, of being locked out of the temple. It’s a difficult card to begin with but an honest one for the times. It names the ache before the healing. The hollowness before the light.

So much of this lunation is about acknowledging where we are. And many of us are tired of pretending we’re not tired. We’ve been grinding forward on empty waiting for the future to finally shift. We’ve been told if we just believe hard enough, manifest and realign fast enough, fake our way into confidence then that joy will return. But that’s (low grade) Leo logic, Taurus doesn’t operate in performance. Taurus asks you to feel it. To be inside the body and to sit with the truth of your depletion without trying to dress it up.

This New Moon is a mediation, because it makes a T-square to the ongoing Mars–Pluto opposition—a volatile and exhausting configuration. But here’s the thing about a T-square: it’s not just pressure for the sake of it. It’s a kind of courtroom, and the planet at the apex, the one forming squares to both sides, becomes the third voice, the arbiter.

And in this case it’s the Moon, still carrying the light of our last roughshod aries eclipse.

That changes everything.

Because the Moon is exalted in Taurus. Which means she has power here, not loud, not flashy, but quietly stabilizing. She can hold the weight, Taurus makes great chefs and knows how to mediate this kind of heat. While Mars in Leo pushes to be seen, and Pluto in Aquarius threatens to reveal what’s been buried, it’s the Moon in Taurus who steps in and says: we don’t need to solve this with fire. We can meet at the table, we can slow down and speak from a grounded and growth oriented place.

So this New Moon carries pressure, yes, but also wisdom.

And it comes with what is a precious gift these days: time.

There’s a sense of being alone with our thoughts and feelings here. After this lunation, the Moon makes no other major aspects until she reaches Uranus at the end of the sign. That means she travels “void of course” for over 13 degrees—a full day’s journey in the dark, untouched. This is a kind of sacred pause, an intermission. A suspension of new action while we metabolize what’s just occurred. We’ve been overwhelmed, let’s bring it back to just “whelmed”.

Up until the moment of renewal this moon is still carrying the echo of that eclipse light. The Aries eclipse that cracked open the sky—the spiritual earthquake of a generation, perhaps the beginning of a new and uncertain age. That eclipse lit a fire that demanded action, but not necessarily resolution. We’ve been burning fast. Some bridges need to collapse, and some masks need to slip, some leaders need to be set up to fall so that we can move on without the curse of their selfish greed. But this New Moon feels like the moment we bury these embers. Like we’re putting the eclipse to rest, planting its story into the soil and waiting to see what grows in its place.

And this brings us to the most Taurus part of all this: resource-checking. And it’s not just about money, though that’s part of it. It’s about energy. It’s about noticing that you can’t lead yourself or others to new heights if you haven’t eaten. That you can’t give your gifts to the world if you’ve given yourself nothing. That true strength isn’t loud—it’s sustainable.

Taurus isn’t fast. But it is fertile. And when we slow down, we begin to notice: there are seeds in the soil. Things we forgot we planted. Dreams we set down out of fear or fatigue, beginning to stir under the surface again.

And there’s a reason for that.

Jupiter at the Midheaven: Conversations That Open Doors

Even amidst the exhaustion, this chart carries a shimmer of invitation. Jupiter sits at the Midheaven—the highest and most visible point in the sky.

This isn’t the slow, grounded growth of Taurus. It’s something more nimble, more curious. Jupiter in Gemini plants the seed of possibility through ideas, conversations, and exchanges. The future you’re building won’t come through silence and stoicism. It will come through connection—by asking new questions, sharing your truth, and staying open to unexpected perspectives.
Through allowing your branches to grow in new and unexplored directions, to take in sun and water from new angles, to see the changes and growth this can bring.

So we are renewing ourselves to continue this last bit of important conversation before Jupiter heads into Cancer (his exaltation! I really can’t wait!) this June. We have to remain in dialogue, with ourselves, with others old and new, with our world, listening to the other as much as speaking ourselves.

So if you’ve hit a wall this week… you’re not failing. You’re arriving.

You’ve reached the place where pretending doesn’t work anymore. And the Moon, placing emotional health above all else in her exaltation, is inviting you to sincerely sink into gratitude of the good in your life and honest acknowledgement of the terrible. In this way, we stop performing resilience and actually feel it. Subtly, We connect with divinity in this way, when you let yourself be held by something older than ambition—something like earth, something like breath, something like time.

Because when you give yourself permission to rest before a catastrophic burnout happens, you protect the parts of you that still want to bloom.

And this lunation? It’s not the bloom.

It’s the well-earned restful slumber.

The deep exhale after months of holding it in.

It’s the start of a different relationship to effort, one that includes softness. One that counts recovery as part of the plan. One that understands: whatever you’re building next… needs you whole.

So take some preventative wisdom here. Rest. Let the weight fall off your shoulders. Let the silence, who was here before all creation, have a say. Tend to your inner ground the way Taurus does best: patiently, reverently, slowly.

The big moves are coming.

But for now, we breathe.
We feel.
We rest before the bloom.