19.03.2021

We have set sail across the final straits of Pisces, on our way through the tail end of the zodiac. The final tock on the astrological clock is a watershed, prelude to a tipping point. Tomorrow the sun

crosses the celestial equator and arrives to Aries, delivering equinox as the wheel turns.

Here we each find ourselves after a year's long journey like none other. Our worlds have been shaken and stirred, infected and healed, lost and hard won. The revolution of humanity is inexorably underway, seeded deep within all of us navigating life on earth right now.

All of our trying and learning, falling and churning, twisting and turning is its fodder. Everything we see now and the flapping veils yet to fall. All the shadows emerging from the depths and the flints sparking within, setting fire to minds and hearts.

Anaretic degree, thy name is change. The final stretch of any sign, its last degree is a magnifying glass and a telescope. Offered at the threshold to those brave enough to peer through and adjust their sails accordingly. In Pisces the view is kaleidoscopic, rippling with possibility and drowning in the weight of the year that precedes it.

Its dissolution shows us our commonality, even in the face of opposition and difference. It hums with the song of a new shore and drenches us in its enticing possibility. There is no turning back, circling around, backing down now. Truth arrives to put wind in winged sails as the tide draws motion from stasis and stirs the seas.

The waves rise as reckoning. The sky shifts and shimmers. Our internal spindle looks to its next notch. Wings beat aloud in our chest as others take to the sky. Lady Hurricane stands sentinel at the threshold. The tipping point asks for all our spare change.

Art by Vladimir Kush, Departure of the Winged Ship, 2016.

Words c. Kerrie Basha 2021