Count Your Chickens

Spirit animals by The Muppets

As we fairly hurtle to the end of the astrological year and our equinox balancing act looks increasingly wobbly, we would do well to sagely count our chickens. There are influences aplenty at play, each wielding a peculiar magic whose combined weight is staggering.

Merc in the final stretch of his utterly batshit retrograde is approaching Neptune in his power. His shamanic insight is as on offer as his delusional cocktails. Secrets are falling from the sky. Gadgetry has a hive mind of its own. Pluto plonked on the south node is courting chaos, dredging up The Past within and without. As if dealing with the present just wasn't enough. Our first full moon in Libra (we're doing two in a row this year and resetting the lunar cycle) is shining an interrogation light on the me versus we seesaw. Relationships are naturally quaking just as Mars in truculent mode and hankering for action squares off with Venus in another dimension. One where she gives no mind to his stomping hooves.

Wobbling much, world at large?

Gonzo journalism presumes you as part of the action, an integral part of the story. And you are. There is no shirking what's utterly apparent right now. Gonzo The Great counts his chickens knowing that is his true source of comfort and care. And they are. Now is no time to be lost in idealistic nor delusional notions of past and future. Particularly as the crucial moment of balancing creeps closer to you. Here. Now.

This equinox eve as mighty forces converge, the very wire beneath our shuddering feet is pulsing. The next days are a powerful place to let go, complete and begin again. Whether you are springing into new life or letting wither what now must be rested, tonight is built on fire and farewell. Bid this season of your life adieu and give it the last supper it deserves.

Words c. Kerrie Basha 2019