Dark Moon Shapeshifting
Art by Adam Burke
Dark moon, thy name is dissolution as we make our way through the liquidity of the far end of the zodiac. Cut off from the cult of knowing and planning by design. Released from the strict safety of hospital corners and known quantities. Floating on a sea of unlimited potential whose murky depths will demand a different kind of discipline. A commitment to unfathomable currents whose names still elude us as eclipse season glitches the horizon.
Mercury sits with Neptune at the zodiac bar that overlooks the great falls of Pisces. These cocktails could take down a dragon or two and will muddle thinking. Nothing is clear. Hard and fast borders and exclamations have dissolved. Feelings have been spilt all over the floor. The next agenda written in magical ink on a parchment that has already slipped beneath the waves.
In the dark sky Aquaria still holds Mars and Venus in her thrall. Lightning arcs from Urania as gauntlet and guide for those who can hold the charge. The moon hides her face and readies to reset herself for the precession to equinox and eclipse. Seasons are giving way to flux and fluid transformation, the kind that ripples and drags.
Reaching for a guidebook won't necessarily help, even if you have been here before in glory days long gone. This return to dissolution is designed to drag us all out of our depth, and all the way into it too. Contradiction is the new frame whose pretty fish will lure us in all kinds of unseen directions. Liminality is a safe harbour that only welcomes those whose morphing keeps time with their dreams.
On a lilypad in a quiet corner of the pond, your soul exalts. It shuffles visions of possibility with the full deck in its formless hands. Calls to the realms we dismiss for something more solid or credible and asks them to place their calling cards in easy reach. Conjures the unseen from its hiding and places it directly in plain sight. Tinkles distant bells that will lure your steel trap mind elsewhere and promptly carries it away.
What if everything you thought was solid is just an illusion? What then, darkling? And who? And how?
I have spread my dreams under your feet; tread softly
~ WB Yeats
Words c. Kerrie Basha 2024