Sabina Seibel Astrology

What part of you did you abandon along the way?

The one that didn’t fit. The one that wasn’t safe. The one you disowned because it wasn’t acceptable—maybe not to them, maybe not to you.

Spirit says you don’t get to leave parts of yourself behind without feeling the fracture. That nagging sense of something missing? The ache of not being fully seen? It’s all connected.

Astrologically, we can map where these pieces were hidden. The 12th house—buried in the unconscious. The 8th—locked behind shame. The 4th—echoing in childhood. The 2nd—dismissed as unworthy.

Self-love isn’t about forcing yourself into wholeness—it’s undoing what told you certain parts didn’t belong. It’s saying: I want to know everything inside me. I want to love what I was told to hate.

Real love—the kind that can be felt—requires self-acceptance. But most people don’t experience that. They present a version of themselves they think will be loved, but in doing so, they’re never truly known.

The heart doesn’t light up until the body feels safe. Until your needs are met. Until you stop chasing the dangling carrot of almost enough and step into what’s already yours.

This is your invitation.

To wrap your love around everything that shows up. To reclaim what was left behind. To step forward, whole.

Happy Self-Love Day.

As part of this, I’m offering a 20% self-love coupon through Sunday—$50 off the regular $255 for a reading. Some spots are open through March 31st.

DM me for the link to purchase + schedule.

Big Cosmic Wholehearted LOVE, 💕 Sabina.

Show Stopper 🌝 Full Moon in ♌️ Leo.

This Full Moon in Leo is no whisper in the night—it arrives in full theatrical splendor, demanding the stage, roaring for truth. Expect the air to crackle.

A square to Uranus in Ta**us—disruptor, wild card, lightning in a bottle—ensures the unexpected. The Leo and Ta**us sectors of your chart are in a sudden, electrified rewrite. You may not have asked for change, but it’s arriving anyway, dazzling and uninvited.

Opposing Mercury in Aquarius, this Moon pits heart against mind, instinct against intellect. A tug-of-war between raw knowing and calculated detachment. You may crave the bold move, the grand gesture—but will it work for the collective, or just you?

And then there’s Pluto, hovering like a shadow in the wings, ready to rip the veil off what you’ve known but refused to face. Secrets surface. Power dynamics tighten. That thing you thought you could keep buried? It demands reckoning.

But here’s the grace: Venus and Chiron in Aries extend an invitation—to love yourself anyway, to claim your courage, to release what was never yours to hold. There is balm here. Healing in the fire.

This is not a moon for smallness. It’s a moon of audacity, stripping away the false so the real can stand. It may rattle you, but on the other side? A version of you unafraid to take up space.

Imbolc Blessings to you all.

🔥🌱✨

Isn’t It Plutonic? (And yes, I hear Alanis Morissette’s song, Isn’t It Ironic, too.)

Pluto Cazimi—the overlord of this week’s astrology—lands today in Aquarius, staring down the fragile scaffolding of our identity. The Sun, our beacon of ego and selfhood, stands in Pluto’s relentless gaze, and there’s no looking away. Pluto doesn’t just suggest change; it demands obliteration of what isn’t real, what isn’t true, what isn’t yours. It’s an existential audit, and the findings are often uncomfortable, if not downright excruciating. If you’re feeling a certain… psyche spiral, you’re not alone. And know that you could have been feeling this up to three or four days ago and into this present week. …a visceral, somatic sensation that might have felt like you’re actually dying—because parts of you are.

Cazimi means getting to the heart of the matter and it is when the sun and another planet are exactly conjunct.

But remember this—this post isn’t meant to traumatize you. Pluto’s force feels severe, it feels harsh. And it is. It would be dishonest to discredit the power of obliteration that you might feel closing in. But Pluto is not stagnant. It doesn’t stay. It moves. It sweeps through in an infinite loop of death and rebirth, destruction and creation. It exposes, it dismantles, it transforms—but it doesn’t trap you. It’s a force that demands movement, not paralysis. And self-care is necessary. Grounding, slowing down, and tending to your nervous system will help you integrate the intensity rather than be consumed by it.

If change feels like it’s tearing you apart, it’s because Pluto never deals in half-measures. But it is not eternal. What remains after Pluto’s passage is exposed—not raw, not ruined, but honest. It’s an invitation to reclaim your power from the wreckage and step forward, lighter and sharper than before.

If you’re needing support, DM me. I am here. Your birth chart can reveal more than what meets the eye, offering insights hidden in the unseen realms.

The Card of Sacred Stocktaking

You shuffle the deck, and this one slips out—
a card with no title, only a mirror smudged at the edges, reflecting back a version of you that feels like home.

This is not the card of fleeting pleasures or passing fancies. No, this is the one that asks uncomfortable questions under its breath and won’t leave until you’ve answered.

It wants to know what truly feeds you.
Not the glittering distractions or those sugar-spun moments that dissolve on the tongue—
but the marrow, the grit, the people who call you by your oldest name.

It speaks in symbols.
The bent spine of a beloved book.
A face you haven’t seen in years but still feel in your chest.
That one place you return to when the world feels too sharp.

This card carries the weight of old lessons—the kind that didn’t come softly but shaped you like river rocks wear down jagged edges.

It asks:
Where is your psychic wellspring?
Who are the ones who see you when the mask slips?
What memories do you keep pressed between the pages of your survival?

Pull this card and don’t put it back.

It’s telling you to gather these fragments like rare coins, tuck them into your pocket, and feed them as if your life depends on it.

Because it does.

Welcome 2025.
Draw your card.
Hold it close.

It carries more than just a year.

It holds you.✨

The Obsidian Oath

The New Moon/Black Moon in Capricorn on the last day of 2024—there’s something primal and ancient in that. A moon rare enough to bend time (once every 33 months), marking the place where endings harden into the bones of new beginnings. A Black Moon isn’t just a second chance at intention—it’s the ghost of every intention we abandoned or betrayed, resurfacing to ask if we’re ready to mean it this time.

Capricorn, the architect of structure, presides over this threshold. But this isn’t the mountain goat we know. This is the Sea Goat—half terrestrial, half mythical, born from the undercurrents of forgotten realms. It carries the bones of old ambitions and the seafoam of dreams too vast to fit inside the walls we once built.

A Black Moon at the year’s closing doesn’t politely ask us to reflect. It summons us to stand at the edge of our lives, looking down at what we’ve constructed—and what we’ve destroyed. Capricorn asks: Was it worth the weight? Did we build from integrity, or did we construct monuments to false gods of validation and survival?

The rare Black Moon is like the final breath of a dying fire. You can either let the embers collapse into ash, or breathe something wild and unfamiliar into them. This isn’t a moment for passive resolutions. It’s a crossroads, where one path leads back to repetition and the other plunges headfirst into the unknown.

The Black Moon’s value isn’t in setting goals—it’s in the art of release. Capricorn teaches that building begins with demolition. At the stroke of midnight, what shackles will be torn down? What structures will be left behind without apology?

In the dark, there’s an opening—a rare black seam where the fabric of reality feels thin. This is where intention becomes spellwork. The Sea Goat knows the deepest mysteries lie beneath the surface.

What truths have been surfacing in the silence?

What ambitions feel honest, not performative?

Can the wisdom of endings be honored without rushing to fill the void?

Capricorn’s Black Moon is the alchemist of time. It bends cycles and crumbles clocks. Let this be the year that linear resolutions are left behind for something circular—spiraling deeper, where the beginning and end are the same breath.

The Black Moon isn’t here to offer comfort. It’s here to offer completion.

The Black Moon in Capricorn on the last day of 2024—there’s something primal and ancient in that. A moon rare enough to bend time, marking the place where endings harden into the bones of new beginnings(once every 33 months). A Black Moon isn’t just a second chance at intention—it’s the ghost of every intention we abandoned or betrayed, resurfacing to ask if we’re ready to mean it this time.

Capricorn, the architect of structure, presides over this threshold. But this isn’t the mountain goat we know. This is the Sea Goat—half terrestrial, half mythical, born from the undercurrents of forgotten realms. It carries the bones of old ambitions and the seafoam of dreams too vast to fit inside the walls we once built.

A Black Moon at the year’s closing doesn’t politely ask us to reflect. It summons us to stand at the edge of our lives, looking down at what we’ve constructed—and what we’ve destroyed. Capricorn asks: Was it worth the weight? Did we build from integrity, or did we construct monuments to false gods of validation and survival?

The rare Black Moon is like the final breath of a dying fire. You can either let the embers collapse into ash, or breathe something wild and unfamiliar into them. This isn’t a moment for passive resolutions. It’s a crossroads, where one path leads back to repetition and the other plunges headfirst into the unknown.

The Black Moon’s value isn’t in setting goals—it’s in the art of release. Capricorn teaches that building begins with demolition. At the stroke of midnight, what shackles will be torn down? What structures will be left behind without apology?

In the dark, there’s an opening—a rare black seam where the fabric of reality feels thin. This is where intention becomes spellwork. The Sea Goat knows the deepest mysteries lie beneath the surface.

What truths have been surfacing in the silence?
What ambitions feel honest, not performative?
Can the wisdom of endings be honored without rushing to fill the void?

Capricorn’s Black Moon is the alchemist of time. It bends cycles and crumbles clocks. Let this be the year that linear resolutions are left behind for something circular—spiraling deeper, where the beginning and end are the same breath.

The Black Moon isn’t here to offer comfort. It’s here to offer completion.