DECAN DELINEATIONS

The First Decan of Aries: Where Fire Finds Its Spark|March 20-30

Picture this: the cosmos sitting at the edge of winter’s long shadow, shivering with anticipation, waiting for something—anything—to crack open the hardened shell of inertia...

Enter the first decan of Aries, a fiery little spark that doesn’t knock politely. It kicks down the door, charges into the room, and announces, “Alright, universe, it’s time to get moving!”

Ruled by Mars, the first decan of Aries is not here to philosophize or pontificate. It’s here to act. It’s the match igniting the bonfire, the sprout breaking through the frostbitten soil, the primal scream that reminds you you’re alive. This is the zodiac’s raw beginning, the untamed edge of spring, and it’s as subtle as a bullhorn at a meditation retreat.

The 2 of Wands and the First Decan of Aries: The Cusp of Conquest

If there’s one thing the 2 of Wands understands, it’s that standing still is an insult to existence.

Here we have the restless architect of potential, the cosmic gambler rolling the dice on the future, the voyager gripping the map in one hand and the hilt of a sword in the other. And in the first decan of Aries, governed by Mars—the planet that never met a challenge it didn’t want to headbutt into submission—this card doesn’t just suggest movement; it demands it.

The 2 of Wands is the moment before the leap, the inhale before the war cry.

It’s a man standing on a high vantage point, holding the world in his palm, knowing damn well he’s got options but feeling the slow burn of frustration that comes with choosing just one.

He’s the entrepreneur with a business plan scrawled on a napkin, the artist with a half-formed vision thrumming behind their eyes, the pioneer staring at the uncharted horizon, torn between the thrill of adventure and the stubborn gravity of the familiar.

Mars, Aries & the Agony of Almost

Mars doesn’t believe in waiting. It believes in blood-rushing, muscle-clenching, full-throttle action. So when it takes the reins of Aries’ first decan, it’s like throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire. This is the decan of pure, undiluted initiation. It doesn’t pace itself, doesn’t weigh the pros and cons—it sees the finish line before the race has even begun, and by sheer force of will, it knows it’s going to win.

And yet, the 2 of Wands lives in a peculiar space—the space between impulse and execution, between the knowing and the doing. It’s not the strike of the match; it’s the moment when your thumb hovers over the flint, when you know that once you set this thing ablaze, there’s no turning back. That’s where the tension lies. Not in hesitation—because Aries doesn’t hesitate—but in the agony of almost, in the unbearable knowledge that potential is both intoxicating and useless until it’s turned into action.

Choice: The Double-Edged Sword of Fire & Fury

The 2 of Wands holds the world, but he’s not satisfied. Because here’s the thing about Aries—what it already has is never quite as thrilling as what it could have. This is the energy of the conqueror surveying their kingdom and thinking, Yes, but what’s beyond that mountain? It’s the thrill of decision, the burden of ambition. It’s standing at the crossroads with one foot twitching to sprint forward and another foot still planted in the safety of what’s known.

Mars in Aries isn’t interested in “safe.” It scoffs at comfort the way a wolf scoffs at a leash. This is the decan of breaking inertia, of pushing past the limits of who you’ve been to reach for the terrifying, tantalizing unknown of who you could be. But therein lies the catch—because choice is a terrifying thing. Pick the wrong path, and you could lose it all. Pick the safe path, and you might as well have never left at all.

The War Between Now & Next

The 2 of Wands, in the context of this first decan of Aries, is not just about making a decision—it’s about making the decision that sets the course of everything that follows. And that’s where the real battle lies. Because despite Aries’ reputation for reckless abandon, there is something excruciatingly painful about standing at the threshold of transformation, staring down the road that will take you somewhere new, and realizing you still have a choice.

There’s a reason why the figure in the card is holding the world. It’s not just an image of power—it’s an image of responsibility. Because the moment you choose a path, the moment you take that first step, the moment you ignite the engine of Mars’ unstoppable momentum, there’s no turning back. You don’t get to stand on the sidelines anymore, blaming circumstance or fate or bad timing. You have to own the fire in your belly and the consequences of whatever that fire burns away.

And that’s the razor-thin edge the 2 of Wands walks in Aries’ first decan: the moment when the match is struck, but the flame hasn’t caught yet. The unbearable moment where you realize you are the one holding the spark, and the only thing left to do is set the whole damn thing alight.

Final Thought: The Only Way Forward is Through

There is no waiting room for destiny. The 2 of Wands, under the reign of Aries and Mars, knows this better than most. This is not the realm of passive dreams or wistful longing. This is the forge, the anvil, the moment before metal meets hammer. It is standing on the precipice of your own becoming, gripping the reins of your life so tightly your knuckles turn white, and realizing—no one is coming to make this choice for you.

So what will you do? Will you let the weight of possibility keep you stuck in the space of “almost,” or will you take that first, irreversible step into the great unknown? Because the first decan of Aries doesn’t believe in hesitation. It believes in the power of ignition.

And ready or not, you’re holding the match.

The Spark of Life

This decan isn’t about sitting around waiting for inspiration—it is inspiration, distilled into pure potential and then promptly set ablaze. It’s where the soul stretches its limbs, cracks its knuckles, and says, “Let’s go.” And while its intentions are often noble (or at least enthusiastic), subtlety and foresight aren’t exactly its strong suits. The first decan of Aries doesn’t dwell on the past or even plan for the future—it is unapologetically now.

This energy is primal, like the first heartbeat or the first breath. It’s raw and unfiltered, wearing its urgency like a badge of honor. But don’t confuse its simplicity for naivety—there’s wisdom in its willingness to leap before it looks. This decan understands, instinctively, that overthinking is the enemy of beginnings.

The Warrior’s Spirit

With Mars as its ruler, the first decan of Aries carries the warrior archetype in its bones. It’s the part of you that knows how to fight for what matters, even if you don’t have a battle plan. This energy isn’t about strategy—it’s about instinct, the pure gut-level knowing that action is required. Whether it’s standing up for yourself, chasing a dream, or diving headfirst into the unknown, the first decan of Aries does not hesitate.

But let’s not pretend this energy is all polished armor and heroic deeds. It’s messy. It stumbles. It sometimes swings its sword before realizing there wasn’t an enemy in the room. This decan learns by doing, often the hard way. And while it might collect a few scars along the way, those scars are worn proudly—they’re proof of life lived fully, boldly, without apology.

The Innocence of Courage

Here’s the thing about the first decan of Aries: beneath its fiery bravado is an innocence that makes it utterly endearing. This is the zodiac’s newborn, wide-eyed and ready to take on the world without the baggage of experience to weigh it down. It doesn’t know what’s impossible, and that’s exactly why it can achieve the improbable.

There’s a purity to this energy, a willingness to leap into the fray simply because it feels right. And while that innocence can sometimes border on recklessness, it’s also what makes this decan so vital. It reminds us that courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s acting in spite of it.

The Shadow of Impatience

Of course, no fire burns without smoke. The first decan of Aries has a shadow side, and it often shows up as impatience, impulsivity, or a tendency to bulldoze over anything (or anyone) that stands in its way. This energy wants now—not later, not someday, but right this second—and it doesn’t have much patience for obstacles.

Left unchecked, this can lead to burnout, frustration, or the kind of stubbornness that insists on fighting battles that don’t need to be fought. The challenge for the first decan of Aries is learning to temper its fire, to recognize that not every spark needs to become a wildfire.

The Mythic Archetype: The Hero’s First Step

In mythology, the first decan of Aries embodies the archetype of the hero at the start of their journey. This isn’t the seasoned warrior or the wise sage—it’s the eager youth who sets out with nothing but a dream and a sword too big for their hands. Think Perseus embarking on his quest to slay Medusa, or Joan of Arc hearing her call to battle. These stories remind us that every great journey begins with a single, bold step into the unknown.

And that’s the essence of the first decan of Aries: the willingness to take that step, even when the destination is unclear. It’s not about guarantees or plans—it’s about trust in the process, in the fire that burns within.

Living the First Decan of Aries

If this decan rules your Sun, Moon, or Rising sign, you’re likely no stranger to its fiery energy. You’re a natural initiator, someone who doesn’t wait for permission to act. But your challenge is learning when to pause, when to channel your fire into something sustainable rather than burning out in a blaze of glory.

For everyone else, the first decan of Aries is a reminder to embrace your inner spark. It’s the part of you that knows how to begin, even when the road ahead is uncertain. It’s the voice that says, “Leap,” even when the ground isn’t visible.

The Sun Through the First Decan of Aries

The first decan of Aries is not for the faint of heart or the sluggish of spirit. This is the great cosmic starting pistol, the electric jolt that reanimates the bones and sends the blood racing. It’s fire in its most unfiltered form—raw, unapologetic, the kind of heat that forges blades and burns away hesitation in a single breath. There are no pleasantries here, no meandering introductions—just a head-first collision with existence itself, a baptism by fire, a reckoning with the fact that now is the only moment that matters.

March 22—Sun Conjunct Venus Rx (2°40’ Aries)

Venus in retrograde has no time for pretty illusions or polite half-truths, and the sun is all too happy to drag those hidden distortions into the light, kicking and screaming. This is a cosmic striptease, but instead of lace and velvet, what’s being peeled away is every last scrap of pretense, every sugar-coated pleasantry you’ve ever clung to in the name of social nicety. What remains? Candor. Stark, naked, undomesticated honesty. This is truth as jackhammer, subtle as a brass band in a monastery. No charm, no tact—just raw, gutsy exposure. This is the energy of someone who will tell you exactly what they think, consequences be damned. Not because they want to hurt, but because falsehood is intolerable and anything less than the absolute, unvarnished reality feels like an insult to existence itself. If you’ve been hedging, dodging, or sidestepping your own truth, prepare to be confronted.

March 24—Sun Conjunct Mercury Rx (4°25’ Aries)

If the sun and Venus dragged the truth out into the open, the sun and Mercury take that raw awareness and launch it straight into the stratosphere. This is a heady, intoxicating communion with the divine, but not in the soft, gentle glow of candlelit enlightenment—no, this is a lightning bolt straight to the brain, the kind of revelation that leaves you dizzy, laughing, maybe a little mad. This is truth as holy fire, as frenzied devotion, as a delirious need to express the inexpressible. Your mind is a temple, and the gods are speaking—are you listening? Are you willing to let the message flow through you, unfiltered, unedited, knowing full well that it might upend everything? The danger here is getting lost in the ecstasy of knowing, of understanding at such a core level that the mundane world starts to look like a child’s game. But if you can ground it—if you can find a way to translate the divine without setting yourself on fire in the process—there’s no limit to what this energy can reveal.

March 29—New Moon (9°00’ Aries)

And now we arrive at the razor’s edge—the threshold between the old world and the new, between the self you’ve always been and the self that aches to emerge. This new moon isn’t whispering sweet nothings about fresh starts and gentle beginnings. No, this one comes with a smirk, arms crossed, saying You think you’re ready? Prove it. Because the truth is, you are ready—at least, some part of you is. But another part, the part that clings to the familiar, that resents disruption even as it craves change, is still throwing a tantrum in the backseat. This is the war between past and future, between the part of you that wants to remain predictable, and the part of you that knows you can’t.

The world outside may see someone cool, controlled, even aloof, but inside? Inside, a revolution is brewing. There is an unbearable hunger for the new, an ache that won’t let you rest. You see what has been, you see what could be, and you know—deep in your marrow—that standing still is no longer an option. But the path forward isn’t free of obstacles. The past does not let go without a fight. Old habits dig their claws in. Fear whispers that reinvention is just a fancier form of self-destruction.

And so, here you are, standing on the battlefield of your own becoming, knowing that the fight is inevitable, knowing that the wounds will be real. But also knowing, beyond any doubt, that to stay where you are is a far greater risk than stepping into the fire of transformation.

So what will you do? Will you let the old patterns drag you down, or will you burn them for fuel? Will you let the past dictate your future, or will you finally, finally break free?

Because make no mistake—this is the moment that decides everything.

The Takeaway: The Courage to Begin

The first decan of Aries is the universe’s declaration of yes. It’s the spark of life, the leap of faith, the heartbeat that reminds you that you’re alive. It’s messy and bold, impatient and courageous, innocent and powerful all at once.

So, if you ever find yourself stuck, waiting for the perfect moment to begin, channel this energy…

Let it remind you that beginnings don’t have to be perfect—they just have to be yours.

Trust the spark. It knows the way.