Jules and Vincent, professional hitmen, have a mess on their hands. They’ve accidentally shot someone in the backseat of Jules’ car, and they need to get rid of the evidence fast. They retreat to the nearby suburban home of their friend Jimmy, who anticipates the imminent arrival of his volatile wife, Bonnie. With the clock ticking, Jules contacts his boss, who immediately dispatches Mr. Winston Wolf to the scene to manage the situation.
“I’m not here to say please. I’m here to tell you what to do.”
~ Mr. Wolf (Harvey Keitel), Pulp Fiction
Poised and impeccable in a suit and tie despite the early hour, Mr. Wolf assesses the situation and quickly lays out a course of action: get some towels, clean the car, camouflage the gore with quilts. “Boys, get to work,” he finishes.
“A ‘please’ would be nice,” protests Vincent. Mr. Wolf’s smooth, professional façade turns sharp and bristly. “I’m not here to say please,” he retorts. “I’m here to tell you what to do. If self-preservation is an instinct you possess, you better f—ing do it, and do it quick.”
Mr. Wolf could only be a Capricorn. Smooth, civilized, professional – but just beneath the genteel surface is someone even a hitman wouldn’t want to mess with. After all, Mars, the planet of war and knife-play, is exalted in this sign. In restrained, tactical Capricorn, the savage Mars warrior becomes a general, and the butcher, a surgeon.
Capricorn’s genius is his ability to size up a situation quickly, formulate a practical, effective response, and deliver orders that others instinctively obey. Capricorn is the most refined of the cardinal signs, combining the quickness of Aries with Cancer’s intuition and Libra’s veneer of civility. Above all, Capricorn is resourceful; its symbol, the goat, will eat anything to stay alive. When failure is not an option—and for Capricorn, it never is—you will do whatever is needed, however unpleasant, to get the job done.
The Full Moon is the time each month when you stand at the mountain’s summit, with a panoramic view of all the roads below – the one that led you to this point, the ones you didn’t take, and all the paths available for your return to the lowlands. When you embarked on this journey at the Cancer New Moon, you asked, “What do I wish to bring forth, what is it I care about, what is the shape of my soul?” At the Full Moon in Capricorn, the question has become, “What will I need to midwife the birth, and to make sure everyone gets out all right?”
Here’s a scenario you’ll recognize from countless movies and TV shows. A pregnant woman goes into labor at an inconvenient moment, and the most ill-prepared, unlikely character is charged with delivering her baby. He panics, protesting that he doesn’t know what to do. Then, as the expectant mother begins to wail in fear and pain, he pulls himself together. Calmly, he summons the wisdom encoded in his DNA (or perhaps born of decades of television viewing) and starts barking orders to bystanders: “Boil water! Tear up those sheets!” Then, however clumsily, he steels himself and figures out how to pull an infant from its mother’s loins.
Capricorn is that kind of guy: the one you’d want by your side if you went into labor while stuck in a traffic jam, or in a stalled elevator, or with Sherman’s army descending on your town with lighted torches. He might not do it with a lot of skill or tenderness—he might, like Mr. Wolf, deliver his orders a bit curtly—but he’ll figure out how to get that baby out of there.
With the Sun moving through Cancer, you’ve been expecting a blessed event; and before you know it, the Sun will move into Leo, and you’ll have a baby on your hands. This Full Moon in Capricorn is the transitional moment of this cycle, of the pregnancy, of the year. It brings a direct response to the call of your New Year’s resolutions, set forth near the Capricorn New Moon. Everything you’ve been waiting for can be yours, but first comes the difficult, scary part – the part where you deliver the baby with your bare hands and cut the umbilical cord with your pocket knife.
So pull yourself together, and take a look around. Begin to gather what you think you might need – scissors, clean sheets, boiling water. Something is coming, and others will be looking to you for leadership. You mustn’t show fear, and there’s no time to be polite. You’re the midwife, the general, and Mr. Wolf, all rolled up in one formidable package. At this Full Moon in Capricorn, you’re not here to say “please.” You’re here to tell people what to do.
© 2011, 2016 April Elliott Kent