This weekend tells a tale of two cities, distinct in form and function, beholden only to their sphere of influence. You probably already know which is having its way with you and all in your sightlines by the stark difference in experience.

This weekend tells a tale of two cities, distinct in form and function, beholden only to their sphere of influence. You probably already know which is having its way with you and all in your sightlines by the stark difference in experience.

As Aquaria's wake leaves a trail of stars for us all to collect later, Pisces season rushes in to drag us over its falls. This year delivering inexorable evolution through eclipse and retrograde, threshold and dissolution, its riptides already pulling us in. The ides of March have the old world in their thrall already as its extinction lip curls and snarls.

Though it is not long now until the sun leads the charge into Pisces, these final hours in Aquaria plant us all at its anaretic degree. Cue the scrambling and tangents, strike up the complicated circus band and open wide the water bearer's floodgates.

My everloving gift to you darkling on this hallmarked V Day is to know and deeply understand love's greatest truth. That your capacity for love is utterly and absolutely a function of your self love. Truly madly deeply. The most important relationship you will ever have is with your own hummingbird heart.

The lion goddess does not trifle, ever. Her full moon rises now over a world at war with its horrible histories and life itself. Whose overlords know their grip is slipping and the game is up. Whose people teem and scatter as this bright lune plucks at heart strings and shadows.

Ramping to a shocktastic full moon midweek and the wake up calls are raining like lightning strikes as this new era forces the old to account for itself. Uranian wake up calls are frequently eviscerating, burning through whatever was keeping that shit contained and challenging truth to actually come roaring out of all the wells.

This wild week arrives with an unmistakeable snap crackle and pop that will only ramp from here as we bound towards the Leo full moon roaring. More than expecting the unexpected from the already surreal, the next round of storms are designed to alter us forever. Radical by design, their power coiled inside shock value and sudden irrevocable change. Every little notch there is no going back from.

Before mankind invented time as we know it in order to correct the pesky lag between equinoxes and the maths that couldn't keep up, there was the wheel of the year. This is nature's time determined by the uncalculated movements of our luminaries, the sun and his lover the moon.
Today is the cross quarter, the middle point between solstice and equinox. This is marked by the sun sitting at 15 degrees of Aquaria, an esbat often observed on the first of the month because it's more convenient and easier to remember.

The inversion is upon us now. We already exist in a mirror world where things are not as they once were. Our animal bodies have long struggled to keep pace with a galloping tech assault on our senses, knowledge and understanding of the world we inhabit. All that we once trusted to support or care for us, as part of a social contract that was assumed rather than agreed, has morphed into the monster that will kill us all.

An ancient Imbolc tradition was the divination of the end of Winter. Old tales tell of the Cailleach gathering sticks to determine remaining fires, or the bone hag staying in bed on foul weather as Winter contracted to an early end.

These tales evolved into local folklore including a favourite, immortalised in film, featuring a groundhog with a name longer than its body whose fear of his shadow determined how long he stayed underground and Winter continued. No better metaphor for humanity and its fractured relationship to its own darknesses.

In the brackish space between old and new, something else entirely emerges. Minds slavishly entrained into neuroconformist norms devour the details without thinking. Aligning hungry spiritual innards to the next trending thought field, without pausing for even so much as a nanosecond to consider what it actually means to them, for them or their worlds at large.

The outrageous glitching is more than just a herald of change. The constant shock horror one two isn't just an awful coincidence. Constant alarm bells are the calling card of Urania, clanging against all that remains sleeping in our souls. Waking us like our lives depend on it while concluding a feisty retrograde zapping the lot.

The Aquarian chime that rang out across our universes as the lunar year rebirthed in the dark reset everything. All that has previously distracted or defeated you sits behind you now, excised by an unseen cosmic order that has far loftier goals in mind.

The Aquarian chime that rang out across our universes as the lunar year rebirthed in the dark reset everything. All that has previously distracted or defeated you sits behind you now, excised by an unseen cosmic order that has far loftier goals in mind.

Quietly now, below the braying noise of the world, the moon takes her leave. On soft silver she slips silently behind the veil that shepherds her transition. Her rebirth in Aquaria will deliver the next lunar year and fresh threshold in a brand new cycle full of them. Mythologies will glitch and shift as wings and fire breath give way to the itch of ill fitting skins and a promising gleam beyond the moult.

Australia remains on the wrong side of its history and we're such slow learners. We recoil from genocide in far flung places and refuse to acknowledge the same horrors that Australia was borne of. An invasion that degraded and brutalised the oldest living consecutive culture in the world. We proved it again in 2023 with the shameful result of our referendum, refusing even the most basic acknowledgement of our indigenous people and their right to self determination.

What if, in the middle of dystopia and poppycock and all the braying noise of the world, fate yet took you by the hand smiling? Stopped you right in the middle of what you weren't really doing and turned your head just so. Enough for you to sigh and spy the beautiful blindfolded goddess staring you down, the horn of plenty in her outstretched hand.