It is 30 years today since Gen X lost our prophet to the weight the world had placed on him, stupid and contagious. Well ahead of the times he occupied as we all came of age in a world that appalled us with its judgements and dictates. It spawned an alternative culture that we still harbour beneath long sleeves under t shirts, tucked somewhere deep inside Gen X's painfully salty identity wounds.

Though Chiron has been in Aries since Feb last year, with the world burning then flooding then completely freaking out there has been precious little time to dive into our deepest existential identity wounds. Survival mode makes hasty decisions and rash vows. But there ain't nothing like isolation - and a gentle shunt from the stars - to push the world's individuals to grander considerations.

Next cosmic cab off the evolutionary rank during this Saison du Flux is Chiron, following the moonlit path into Aries. Our wounded healer remains our emblem of overbloodycoming. Tempting as it is to see only the claret oozing and float away on a sea of tears and fingerpointing, Chiron is always far more interested in our healing. In how we rise, not what knocked us flat. In how we each alchemise that shit into gold.