A tree grows out of a glass globe on the forest floor

Years ago, I found myself on the margins of the earth-based spirituality movement. I have the sun in Taurus, and I have always felt a strong connection to nature, but the environmental movement— as I experienced it—reminded me too much of the Puritanism that was still in the drinking water when I was growing up in New England.

You were born a sinner, condemned to harm the earth and its creatures just by existing, but you can prove that you are one of the elect with severe asceticism. Reduce, reduce, reduce. Reuse until you’re full of holes. Shrink yourself until you disappear.

Despite these experiences, my intuition insisted that there was something on the other side of my resistance. It took courage, but I finally signed up to become a member of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids

As I began to work on their first level Bardic Grade course, I was startled by what I found. Instead of a syllabus of suffering, I was gently lead through the process of creating sanctuary for myself and my family, places in the inner and outer world that I could retreat to and find peace and rejuvenation. I wasn’t asked to save the world. The world, I discovered, wanted to save me.

For a long time, we have been told a lie about what civilization is. We have been told to think in pyramids, great masses of humanity at the bottom supporting a few fabulously wealthy superstars on top. When you actually read the stories our ancestors left us about civilization, however, you find a very different story. Cultures all over the world have stories about gods, heroes, and animals who bring civilization to humanity. Raven and Prometheus stole light to shelter us in darkness. Odin created a world in the body of a giant to keep us safe from the unbridled elements of ice and fire. The Sumerians and the Book of Genesis wrote about gods walking with humanity in a sacred garden.

Fundamentally, all of these stories are about sanctuary. More specifically, they are about the human need for someone to create sanctuary for us. We are the only species on the planet that doesn’t have a niche in an ecosystem that we just fall into by instinct. We rely on others—our families, those who work in specialized trades, and beings outside our own species—to make an environment in which we can thrive. Human babies are completely reliant on others, but we need others at every stage of life to thrive.

Last August, I started spending time every morning writing Leo Risings, social media posts on Instagram, Threads, and (now) Bluesky for people who were born with Leo ascendants. I had no idea why it felt so important to give Leo so much attention. I now realize that everything I write, fundamentally, comes back to an intense need I have to chip away at the false idols of kingship a little at a time. Fundamentally, that is what the Leo Risings Guide to World Domination is about.

Leo carries the archetype of the King, but real, sacred kingship isn’t about building monuments to yourself in the desert, proving to everyone that you’re so very grand. Kingship is about creating sanctuary. Leo rising people have Taurus in the 10th house, which means that even people who don’t know us personally should find shelter from the storm whenever they encounter us and our work.

Everyone on Earth has Leo somewhere in our charts. Now more than ever, it is essential for each of us to do our part—however small—to create sanctuary. For ourselves. For people and animals. For stories, crafts, knowledge, art, medicine. The stuff of life and the treasures of humanity.

The work we are here to do isn’t easy, but it would be a mistake to believe that we have to earn the right to sanctuary through sacrifice. Our suffering is not the price we pay to survive. That is the lie of the false kings. Sanctuary is a gift, and it is also our birthright. We suffer because Prometheus doesn’t care if we smolder as the lies are burned out of us. He would have us find our place at the fire—free, secure, and whole.

Seven years ago, you weren't equipped for this work, but Prometheus’s fire has turned you into a volcano that burns like a lighthouse. Your light is a beacon across stormy seas. Your suffering has lit a fire in you hot enough to melt stone. Lava pools in your heart under increasing pressure. When it erupts, it will build the islands of sanctuary that make the world.

When the eruption of creation is over, sanctuary is a quiet thing. It is lying in bed before dawn listening to the rain. It is lavender growing next to the front door and the stickiness it leaves on your fingers when you brush its stems with your hand. It is showing a toddler moss and for her surprise when she touches it and finds dew.

These experiences are so precious, the Chaldeans believed spirits would do anything to possess a body so they could experience them. This is your mission. Creating sanctuary—so you can enjoy it—is what you're here to do.