We make our way through the far end of the zodiac as if underwater. The afterglow of eclipse and the undertow of retrograde combine as an odd surrealism permeates the landscape. The place just before transition is oddly still. Time shimmers elastic.

We make our way through the far end of the zodiac as if underwater. The afterglow of eclipse and the undertow of retrograde combine as an odd surrealism permeates the landscape.

We are arriving to the edge of the world, the lashing tail end of the zodiac and its strange churning frequencies. Telepathing its fathomless currents, an oceanic flood of feelings clouding all but the present. It is hard to focus and easy to get carried away.

In the place just before transition, when emergence beckons and you can hear the call of the next horizon flickering beyond the threshold, the temptation is to leap. To bolt towards what comes next, trading the present for the future in a whirling swirling haste.

We have arrived to the edge of the world, the lashing tail end of the zodiac and its strange churning frequencies. Telepathing its fathomless currents, an oceanic flood of feelings clouding all but the present. It is hard to focus and easy to get carried away. We perceive the smoke rising from the horizon, smell its warning and its welcome. Can already see the incendiary arrival of Aries season nearly here. But first we must navigate the last falls of Pisces, as prelude to the next season of our lives.

Today's supermoon in Libra is another peak in a moon cycle crammed full of them. Most are new to us, having skipped analysing graphs since high school. All of them have scary moving targets. None of them are fixed - except of course the beautiful moon. She never wavers from her natural cycle and she knows what she is doing.I've never understood the cynicism that exists towards magical thinking. While realists and pessimists cry into their coffee and rationalists claim to only believe in what they can prove or debunk, there are those of us who cultivate a deep and abiding relationship to the imaginal.

Ravens have told the tale of equinox for centuries in a language few humans understand. Crows cluster in murderous throngs cawing the change of season as the sun rises over a world painfully rebirthing. It is time and they know it, stalking the sunrise and gurgling the true tale of the next season.

This week's square dancing has certainly kept us on our toes. With every change in the music we have had to pivot or scramble by degrees, pushed towards the constraints. The tune momentarily discordant, the steps unfamiliar.

We are wobbling towards Thursday's tipping point as equinox and another initiatory full moon combine and it feels nothing like a journey to balance. More likely its wild opposite, as mighty forces continue this week to ensure we feel the full effect of our world so sorely beyond equilibrium.