DECAN DELINEATIONS
Taurus 2: the Moon, the 6 of Pentacles & the Solar Aspects to the Moon| April 29-May 10
Welcome to the slow thrum and secret blaze of the second decan of Taurus—a stretch of sky where the sweetness of survival ripens into the sacred art of generosity…
Here, under the governance of the moon, life stops being about simply holding on and begins to hum with the question: what will you do with what you have?
This is the kingdom of real abundance, and also of real vulnerability—the place where wealth is measured not by accumulation but by the willingness to offer, to risk, to release. In this decan, we learn that nothing truly thrives unless it circulates. That what we clutch too tightly calcifies. That what we share blooms.
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The 2nd Decan of Taurus
Taurus II is a lush paradox: rooted yet responsive, still yet stirring…
The moon’s rulership here infuses the sturdy Taurus soil with the lunar tides of give and take, ebb and flow. What you cultivate is not just meant for you—it is meant to be placed into the hands of others, trusted into the keeping of the wider world.
But this is no naive giving.
This is a conscious, embodied generosity—the kind that knows exactly what it costs to tend a garden through drought and storm, and chooses to offer the fruit anyway. Beneath every act of sharing in Taurus II lies a profound personal reckoning: What am I willing to risk? How deeply do I trust the Earth to renew itself—and me with it?
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Tarot: the 6 of Pentacles
The Six of Pentacles is the soul mirror of this decan: a card of exchange, circulation, and the delicate balances between giving and receiving.
In its highest form, it reminds us that generosity isn’t about charity—it’s about recognition. About seeing the web of mutuality that binds all living things.
But the 6 of Pentacles also brings its warning: power dynamics lurk in every offering.
Who gives? Who receives?
What is the cost of the exchange?
In Taurus II, we are challenged to move beyond performative largesse and into true stewardship—giving because we are in relationship, not because we are in control. And learning, too, that receiving with grace is its own sacred labor.
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The Sun Through the Decan
The sun’s journey through Taurus II illuminates the aching, tender task of learning how to love the world as it is—and how to keep loving even when love feels like both a triumph and a loss.
On May 4, the sun squares the moon (ruling this decan), activating a charged, bittersweet threshold…
Love here is revealed in all its rawness: the way it penetrates walls, how it refuses to be neat or safe, how it aches when old forms dissolve. The Leo moon at this square roars with individuality, with the burden and blessing of having so much light to offer—and the challenge of doing so without playing into ego or excess. We are asked to love not for admiration, not for security, but because love itself demands to be given.
Even when it bruises.
Especially when it bruises.
Then, on May 6, the sun trines the moon, bringing a rush of karmic ripeness…
This is the great unclenching—the moment when what was held too tightly for too long finally spills out, gloriously and messily.
Old karmas, old stories, old weights: they break open, not with vengeance but with a fierce kind of grace. The Virgo moon at this trine speaks to unvarnished truth—the no-frills, no-lies honesty that makes real freedom possible.
It’s not about dressing wounds prettily.
It’s about healing them by exposing them, raw and real, to the purifying winds of life.
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What This Decan Asks of You
Taurus II asks you to risk loving where you might be hurt, to risk giving where you might be misunderstood, to risk building where you might be broken.
It demands that you trust the great cycles of flow, even when fear of loss gnaws at your heels.
It asks you to trade control for commitment, transaction for trust. To move past the shallow economics of the ego and into the deep, breathing circulations of life-force that say:
Give because you are alive. Receive because you are loved.
It asks you to remember that abundance is not a possession but a practice—and that every hand you open makes the whole world richer.
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Conclusion
In Taurus II, the Earth reminds you that the fruit you’ve labored so hard to grow is not just for your table—it’s for the feast of life itself.
Love will break you and make you.
Generosity will test you and transform you.
Honesty will sting, and then it will save you.
Stay rooted. Stay open.
The soul of this decan does not ask for perfection. It asks for participation. It asks for willingness.
It asks you to trust that in giving yourself fully to the cycles of exchange, you are not losing—you are becoming immortal in the only way that matters: by feeding the life that will outlive you.