Taurus season hits different as the wagging tail end of eclipse season, just a week and change to go. Now grounding our freshest initiations into the body by reconnecting us deeply to the realm of our many senses. Here what we feel inside translates as bespoke wisdom for sentient beings coded for nature and wired for ground.

The world we inhabit is built on cycles of life and death and rebirth. We bear witness through unseeing eyes to the rise and fall and return of the moon, the tides, the seasons, our bodies. Yet resurrection remains a brutal story from a book we read once that we think bears no resemblance to our lives; to be observed with a toss of the head or chocolate bunnies.

There are moments in our lives that are portals. Quantum leaps we make effortlessly that shunt our reality from here to so far over there. The most recent eclipse season was such an animal, brimming with shadow and light. Often it is only with the passage of time and hindsight that it begins to make sense. We feel precisely how our worlds have tipped on their axis. We accept that nothing will ever be the same. We recalibrate.

I can hear a whisper, deep beneath the clatter and smash of the overworld. Finally far enough away to be struck in the middle of the quiet forest, in the still of the bright moon, in the shadows and grief that now walk boldly as stewards of evolution.

Spend a dreamy Wednesday eve in lovely bush surrounds as Kerrie transports us with her storytelling. Working at the intersection of imagination, creativity and the magical arts, together we will journey into realms of mystery and enchantment.

There's quite a full moon on the rise already and we're feeling a familiar ratchet. This usually lovely Libran peak is the first in what feels like forever that has not been an eclipse. Though we are still in the ebbing tide of that mad season, this full moon will rise from beyond it to deliver punchlines and spotlights on all that has been quaked and shifted.

Though Venus may have been out of sight since she slipped back across the border into Pisces, her retrograde influence has been working steadily below ground. In the darkest recesses of our hearts and its deepest hidden chambers, tendrils like acrid smoke seeping into the locked boxes stacked behind the thumping.

I attended and hosted Kerri Basha’s Imaginal Playground. And let me tell you: it was nothing short of astounding.

I went in curious. I came out cracked open. Yes, I learned things. Deep things. But more than that, I felt things—emotions I’d nearly forgotten how to have. Not performative catharsis. Not spiritual bypassing dressed up in gauze and glitter. I mean the kind of raw, unfiltered feeling that makes you question whether you’ve been living in grayscale and someone finally turned the saturation up to eleven.

Kerrie Basha took me—and others—on an imaginal journey as part of the Women of Wisdom 25 Summit. Not the soft, feathered kind, but the kind that waits until your back is turned before it slices you clean through. The point of the journey was to meet your oracle. Not just any oracle—yours—the one that has waited just out of reach, behind veils of thought and breath.

I've never understood the cynicism that exists towards magical thinking. While realists and pessimists cry into their coffee and rationalists claim to only believe in what they can prove or debunk, there are those of us who cultivate a deep and abiding relationship to the imaginal.

In the crowded hullabaloo of last weekend's epic apocal'eclipse, it was not easy to discern what was torrenting through our worlds. Many streams of influence converged to drag us all across the threshold of before and after. This period of time will be the passage generations to come will look back on to see the split, the place where history cleaved and the past's grip loosened its hold on the future.

April fools are some of my favourite pagans. The term a quaint shaming that dates back to the 16th century when annual inception was pushed from Spring back into midwinter by cardinals with other designs on power.

Tonight without leaving my bed I make my pilgrimage to the darkest corner of the forest. The shadow of black granite rises to pierce the rumbling sky. I do not let the chill in my bones slow my determined progress. I drag the ache in my heart behind me as I place my well worn doll into the empty chamber for safekeeping.

The dark moon shroud has settlled deeply upon us. Even as we feel the weight of the rampaging Aries eclipse taking shape, we still have blessed hours left in the balsam of the dark. Here may we tie a final bow on much of the unholy madness and mayhem ready to be left behind.

The dark moon descends like a blanket thrown over us just in time. Drawing the shutters - if you will - on a rampaging last month that arrived with full notice of revolution and then knocked it into the stratosphere. The constant step ball change of retrograde mania. That full on full moon eclipse that tipped us all over its falls. Lifequake after truth bomb after rabid revelation. Tides and tempers peaked and rinsed on repeat. And all as own ready renovations and reckonings - or is that whole life edit - echo and churn.

Something missing from your night sky, love?That would be Venus, taking her leave from the world and the chaotic revelation her retrograde is delivering. In cahoots with eclipse season, in conjunction with Merc's batshit rx, as a cauterising force for irreversible no going back change.

We have just made the strangest crossing, one and all unwittingly. While we were sleeping without dreaming, wishing without hoping, forgetting the true nature of the frame. Tiny pulses and synapses in a constant exchange beneath thick earth skins as sky paths roared and ribboned all about us. All our worlds woven through us in this one, danced through the sequence again by ancient cogs that creak and shimmer eternal.

It was three years ago today, on the then equinox, Morsel's final pen and paper edit passed through my favourite hag stone and sailed out into the world. The product of a creative vision I couldn't get anyone else's head around, I self published her with very specific structure and content to weave a spell all of its own.