Plutonic Trigger Warning
This is a trigger warning, darklings. And not just your particular flavour when the gun is cocked, oh my word no. Today is an across the board recipe for blown tops, epic frustration and the kind of sandpaper niggling that shreds even the thickest of skins.
We are deep in the balsamic phase of the moon, the cauldron space before she is shiny and new. Here we do well to chuck as much as feels comfortable out of the pot, decluttering and decamping to a safe quiet space. But then here comes Monday, dragging life's relentless requirement to show up and a crankypants aspect between Uncle Pluto and jolly Jupiter to really stir that pot instead.
You may have already felt the momentum increasing over the weekend, if not from last week. We are being pushed, poked and prodded to find a steadyish spot on the balance beam. One that lies between the way we have always made things work and our evolution-in-progress. That gap is necessarily increasing, shoving us to pick the only side we can, even though it remains shrouded. Bizarrely enough, it is the nigglers and snarks that pollute our lives we have to thank for its blooming girth - and for forcing us to examine another way through or around their button pressing.
Today they are out in force: a veritable army of shit stirrers, sanity gobblers and me me me's who are likely viewing Beautiful You through the same cracked lens. You will feel like throwing your hands / plate / life in the air. Fists and teeth will be clenching. Deep dissatisfaction and a clamouring need for revolution right now will pump through your throbbing veins.
Rather than engaging the fray, do everything you can to be that (apparently) dizzying oasis of calm. Cultivate the wherewithal to look within before raging without. Remove yourself. Count to five hundred thousand. Breathe past the back of your throat. Avoid known offenders and high muggle quotients at all costs.
Do *your* dark moon instead. Look for the billboard sized clues about what needs to go, to shift, to be strapped to a missile and fired into deep space. Go home and box it up. Attach to the weaponry you would rather be aiming elsewhere and set it on fire. Watch it streak across the sky and away.
Repeat as required. At least until you can pull the covers up to wait for the delicious new moon on her way.
Words c. Kerrie Basha, 2019