As the Sun enters the cadent decan of Capricorn, the winter solstice is approximately twenty days behind us, and the days are slowly beginning to lengthen. Because of seasonal delay – the fact that the ground gives off more heat than it absorbs for a period after the shortest day – the coldest day of the year comes some time after the shortest day. The average date of the coldest day varies. In the continental United States, the coldest day can be as early as December 26^th in Seattle, or as late as January 30^th in Miami. On average, however, the coldest day appears to fall around January 11^th, so in most of the U.S. before the Sun moves on into Aquarius the days will have started to warm up, as well as to lengthen.

The Sun provides us with power in the form of both light and heat, and with the passing of both the shortest and coldest days we can say that the power of the Sun is truly starting to return. Whilst Spring is still some weeks away, with the passing of this decan the tide has truly turned, and the Sun is growing in strength and is preparing the way for the first signs of new life. Appropriately, this decan is ruled by the Sun.

Capricorn as a whole is ruled by Saturn, representing restriction and heaviness, and its cadent decan represents the fading of this restriction, the breaking of winter, although Aquarius, which follows it, is also ruled by Saturn. This illustrates the fact that restriction is required for power to be generated; the force of flowing water can only be transformed into power by restricting it to a narrow channel through a turbine or water wheel, and the energy generated by the combustion of gasoline can only be transformed into power by confining it to an airtight cylinder in an engine, which is itself connected firmly with the crankshaft and forced to move in time with the other pistons. The “fading” of restriction that this decan represents, therefore, is not the disappearance of it, but the result of it. The restriction of Saturn will therefore continue into the next sign of the Zodiac, but as a generative rather than an inhibitory quality.

In what at first appears to be a paradox, this very restriction of winter is necessary for new creation. The falling of dead leaves from the trees in autumn enables the trees to retain more water, and the reduced weight and surface area protects the tree from damage due to ice buildup. Further, many plants flower before the leaves return, the absence of leaves providing less of a barrier to wind-pollination and greater visibility for insect-pollination. What appears on the surface to be death and loss is actually necessary for new life.

Similarly, general household clutter and disorganization can inhibit efficiency; a build-up of dirt can reduce the effectiveness of ovens, and can block shower-heads and vacuum cleaners. The removal of extraneous matter, and the bringing of order – which is restriction – is necessary to restore this effectiveness. All mechanical parts wear out, and must be replaced if the efficiency of the machine is to be maintained.

We can extend this observation to human life itself. With eternal life, the world would quickly become extremely crowded – as, indeed, it has – and the resulting competition for space and other resources would and may yet render life extremely difficult, to the point where competition squeezes out cooperation and order fails altogether. Yet even here, the resulting disorder would lead to widespread death – we could expect diseases to be transmitted a lot more easily, for instance, and the disorder would render less effective the means for prolonging life, such as hospitals and simple human kindness – which would reverse the over-population, correcting itself. By definition, an unsustainable situation cannot be sustained, and must soon end.

In the same way, death brings life to the young. The young man cannot realize his dream of a home and livelihood of his own if both of those things are already taken by those who have come before him. Death is loss, but with loss comes space, and room to grow. The restriction of death makes way for new life to flourish.

All structures must ultimately fail, and just as the greatest of civilizations must fall, so must the most oppressive of tyrannies. Death is often feared, but the certainty of death, and the certainty of eventual failure, is a requirement for the existence of hope. Death is the destruction of form, and without that destruction the restrictions from which freedom is hoped for could never topple, and we would face an eternity of grinding servitude.

On an individual level, death is freedom from life itself; it is the ultimate freedom, and is the crowning achievement of all lives, whether short or long. Without the promise of death, no other achievement is worthwhile or meaningful. Indeed, in the sense that death is the passing of a previous state, no achievement would even be possible without it. Life itself is change, and change implies death. Death is therefore something to be accepted and welcomed as the greatest of all changes, and the capstone of life itself, not shunned and feared.

Therefore the ten days of the cadent decan of Capricorn represent both the fading of death and the first fruits of it; the scythe of the Grim Reaper has cut a path for the new life which will first raise its head in Spring; the house has been put in order; the channel for the power of life has been cleared; the old has been swept away in preparation for the new. There is little to be done; it is a time of quiet anticipation, for the end of the cycle of death must be followed by the beginning of the cycle of life. At Northern latitudes, the snow still lays heavy on the ground and the air is yet chill, but the turning point has arrived, and the first breath of hope is in the wind. It is a time for reflection and for the tentative drawing of plans before the first work of the new year must commence.