An incendiary dark moon descends over us all now, its pull to rest and recalibrate at odds with broiling revolution. If you needed an omen for the eclipse season incoming, the days between now and the Pisces new moon will likely deliver it. Try not to baulk when it lands like a bomb, like a blast of past angst, or dripping in blood. The gloves have actually always been off.

This week begins in the hazy daze of Neptunia, its surreal half light obscuring and conjuring by design. Its been a wild weird wired weekend on planet rebirth. Emerging from the fray like a blessed slingshot, Mars finally concludes his months long hamstrung retrograde in Cancer. Though this will not instantly dry up all the tears nor quell the shouting, it does offer significant hope for fresh resolution and resolve on the way.

Quietly now, below the braying noise of the world, the moon takes her leave. On soft silver she slips silently behind the veil that shepherds her transition. Her rebirth in Aquaria will deliver the next lunar year and fresh threshold in a brand new cycle full of them. Mythologies will glitch and shift as wings and fire breath give way to the itch of ill fitting skins and a promising gleam beyond the moult.

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.

Every dark moon found her wandering these enchanted moors, a practice she had employed for lifetimes as she bore witness to painful rising and falling in the world of men. For far too many centuries now she had held the terrible cost to her aching heart as the moon turned her face to darkness. They wept together, tears turning to crystal in the frozen night air and falling from the sky like diamonds to litter the landscape with hope.

This dark moon is anything but restful, rippling with revelation in its starkest terms. The lunar ebb has been delivering a deluge that crams our wide eyes with scenes of devastation and despair, an inevitable tide that none can stem. We all know how we got here, to this existential tipping point of a world now in constant rolling crisis, whose powerbrokers remain only interested in saving themselves.

This week, in the stars and in the world, is crammed with aspects and perspectives that will draw a firm line between past and future. Between the old world still raging in its brutal efforts to survive through sheer force and the new world emerging from its smoke and ruins.

Though you may not know it, see it or feel it yet, this week is golden. Hidden within the waning folds of the moon, lurking in dark corners we have not noticed before, tucked beneath the masks and mayhem of life as we knew it. Once upon a terrible time, nevermore.

This month's dark moon bolthole is welcome refuge and scrying pool. A place to lay our world weary head away from the cumulative horror of the world of men and conjure an equal music of our own.

Every month in a row she calls us to temporary retirement. The beautiful moon hides her face, the stars blaze in her absence and the tides within us ebb. The bone tired exhaustion of all these modern gauntlets run on repeat catches up with us. We are world weary and craving retreat, rest and recalibration. The dark moon envelops us in her soft folds.

Not all moons are created equal. The journey through the deep treacle of the Aquarian balsam is no ordinary dark mooning. Descending like an otherworldly cloak as beneath its soft sparking folds you are transported, this caravan of selves.

Dark moon bolthole, anyone? You know by now darklings my penchant for the isolation and wonder of the dark moon. And its blessed bliss is now upon us in the midst of madness, mayhem and a solid first week Mercing.

One of my most brilliant teachers, a rakish afficionado of high school history, taught me two most important life lessons. The first was critical thinking: that it is crucial not to slavishly believe what you have had plopped in front of you. The second was to remember your history because as he proved to us ad infinitum: those who refuse to remember their history are condemned to repeat it.

In the midst of the dark moon and the dour imperatives from Capricornia, Mars' move into Gemini late last weekend has delivered some welcome fresh air and fuel for his fire. Ours too darklings, even if the kindling still feels wet and heavy.

Deep in the dark of the moon before our world quakes with change, we occupy a curious confounding space. It will not answer our constant questions or petitions for mercy and grace. It ignores our demands and discomfort. It offers little beyond its balming void. It is without boundaries, an unknowable abyss that asks only for our surrender.

Dig in darklings for this is likely to be the deepest dark moon of the year. It is the deep breath in and the pause prior to the revolution. It is built on solitude and surrender and gently sifting through the detritus of the last eight years on a quest for uncommon wisdom.

We have officially entered the balsamic phase or the deepest dark of the moon. How well you dance through your darkness is the scene setter (and greatest determinant, in this witch's opinion) of how effective your new moon will be. And this next new moon in a few days - a solar eclipse and the lunar new year - is a Very Big Deal and the mightiest this year.