DECAN DELINEATIONS

2nd Decan of Aries| March 31-April 9

If the first decan of Aries bursts onto the scene like a champagne cork on a trampoline—raw, wild, gloriously unedited—then the second decan is the moment just after the pop, when everything slows into focus and the horizon suddenly matters…

Welcome to the middle stretch of Aries: days ruled not by brute beginnings but by the dawning awareness of direction. This is the part of the fire that thinks—that watches—that waits. Not with passivity, mind you—but with that hot-blooded intensity of someone scanning the edge of reality for the spark of their next magnificent becoming.

Here, Aries doesn’t just act—it anticipates. It holds the pose of purpose before leaping into it. There’s leadership here, yes, but of the more luminous variety—the kind of presence that doesn’t need to bark orders because its very stance says, “This way...”

Governed by the sun, the second decan is ambition with integrity, fire with foresight. Think of it as solar consciousness wrapped in a visionary cloak, with a tarot card (the 3 of Wands) tucked like a map under its sleeve. The drive is still Aries, through and through—but it’s no longer just about winning the race. It’s about seeing what lies beyond the finish line, and choosing which future is worth running toward.

This is the decan of soulful risk and sacred patience. The one who’s already lit the match—and now watches the smoke signals rise.

2nd Decan of Aries—

Somewhere between the fuse and the firework, between a soul’s spring fever and a monk’s silent scream, lives the second decan of Aries...

Ruled by the sun and always teetering on the edge of exodus and ignition, this decan doesn’t march—it arrives. It cracks. It spills light.

Picture a warrior-poet who’s traded their sword for a tuning fork, ringing it out into the cosmos just to see what the void sings back. This is Aries not as brute flame, but as a horizon-hunter, scanning the edge of what-is for the tiniest ripple of what’s next.

If the first decan was the matchstrike, this one is the lean forward, the hitch in breath, the moment before a world is remade.

The 3 of Wands—

Ah, the 3 of Wands, that card of long glances and even longer shadows...

Here, fire learns to wait—not with passivity, but with posture.

It’s the visionary’s card, the intermission between the spark and the spectacle. The figure on the cliff isn’t just watching ships come in—they sent those ships. They dreamed them into shape. They staked something sacred on the idea that what was once inside them could touch the edge of the world and return changed.

This card is equal parts longing and confidence, the pulsing awareness that destiny has left the harbor but hasn’t docked yet. It’s a sacred watchtower moment—where action becomes awareness, and foresight is the true fire.

The Sun as Governing—

To be governed by the sun is to be kissed into being each morning by a flaming god with no off switch…

It’s clarity with charisma, boldness with benevolence. But here in this decan, the sun doesn’t just shine—it scans. It plays the part of the seasoned director calling for silence on set, waiting for the actors of destiny to hit their marks. It’s leadership by illumination, yes, but it’s also the burden of vision.

The sun here is the keeper of the seed that’s already broken its shell, but hasn’t yet breached the soil. It is radiant restraint—a king on his way to coronation who already feels the weight of the crown in his bones.

The Sun through the Decan—

This year, the sun’s only precise pit stop through the decan is a sextile to Jupiter in Gemini—a handshake between spotlight and storybook, the gold-threaded page meeting the wide-open mouth of meaning…

But these degrees? Oh, honey.

These degrees speak in riddles and wear the cloak of the exile, sipping stillness like it’s a sacrament. We’re talking about watchers here—soul scouts stationed at the border between Now and Next, fluent in the tremors of becoming.

It’s a lonely gig, this one.

You’re not rewarded with applause, but with knowing. Not celebrated for your effort, but for your endurance.

Outwardly, you may wear the face of the Everyman—the kind of person who knows how to hold a screwdriver and quote weather patterns—but beneath that practical disguise? There’s a nuclear heart, waiting for its cue to detonate something dazzling.

This transit doesn’t promise fireworks—it promises the prelude...

The quiet click of readiness.

The subtle rehearsal of self behind the curtain.

The sun meets Jupiter via the ancient tunnel of truth-telling, where one learns to hold the entire sky in their chest and still pass for someone who just popped out to get milk.

Conclusion—

So here you are, second-decan Aries: perched, poised, and potentially prophetic…

You are the hush before the Yes—the breath before the shout.

This decan doesn’t offer a guarantee—it offers a vista. And from here, you can see the world not just as it is, but as it’s aching to become. You’ve got the sun in your gut, Jupiter winking from the wings, and the 3 of Wands stitched into your soul like a compass.

So take your place on the edge of the moment.

Watch. Wait. Know.

And when it’s time to act, do so not for glory, but for the sheer ecstatic truth of becoming exactly what you always were beneath the skin of pretending.

You are not just the flame.

You are the keeper of futures.

And the spark you protect? It’s holy.