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.

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.

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.

Saturn's seachange has arrived, towed in by the virgin's moon. She who has already moved on, now ensconced with Neptune at the zodiac bar that overlooks the great falls of Pisces. These cocktails could take down a dragon or two. Nothing is clear. Hard and fast borders and exclamations have dissolved. Feelings have been spilt all over the floor.

Though the moon is newly reborn in Pisces, this is not a start line from which to clang or bolt or proclaim. Not all moons are created equal and lunar solidarity resists such limiting prescription, tis the feminine after all. In Pisces the new moon is curtains parting to reveal a deep ocean, gently lit by moonlight whose shining surface promise only its depths.

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.