Aries I

The Pioneer

Some people tiptoe into new beginnings… Aries I kicks down the damn door.

This is the first ten degrees of Aries - pure, undiluted, “screw it, I’m doing it anyway” energy. The Axe, as Austin Coppock calls it, cuts through hesitation, fear, and sometimes common sense. This is the decan of bold moves, gut instincts, and charging forward before the dust settles.

But what about when it’s not? What if you don’t suddenly feel bold and brave? Guess what? That can also be Aries I. A wet and diluted Mars roaming through Cancer right now. There really is no “Get up and Go”. But it’s not just the current transit. It’s ok if you feel the pressure and still care what others think of you.

I moved through these first 10 days that make up the first piece of Aries waiting for the “spark”. Banging the flint on steel expecting results. But when the spark is missing, Aries I becomes a flint rock held in idle hands—full of potential yet inert. The pressure isn’t right, the strike doesn’t land, and instead of fire, there’s only the dull sound of stone against metal. Frustration builds, restlessness simmers, but nothing quite catches.

It’s the difference between an explosive beginning and a false start. Both moments exist in Aries I—sometimes the fire roars to life, and sometimes, it’s just a hand gripping cold stone, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

Aries I, as the spark, isn’t just about ignition—it’s about friction, tension, and the will to create fire. When the conditions are right, there’s no hesitation. The strike happens, and the flames leap into existence as if they were always meant to be. It’s instinctive, raw, undeniable.

But when the spark is missing, the struggle becomes evident. Flint, no matter how sharp, won’t ignite without the right pressure, the right angle, or the right steel. This is the Aries I frustration—knowing the fire is within but feeling stuck, like energy pent up with nowhere to go. It’s the moment before ignition, filled with restless anticipation, the tapping foot, the clenched fists, the urge to move but not knowing where.

And yet, even in defeat, the flint is unchanged. The potential remains. Unlike a match that can be used up, flint is enduring—it can be struck over and over until the conditions align. Aries I will find a way to light up. It’s just a matter of when.

It looks like, for me, the “when” was as soon as the Sun moved into the second decan of Aries. The idle hands are no longer still. And many things suddenly make so much sense.