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.

Anaretica. The sharp threshold of change whose lore is unequivocal. Whose true name is destroyer. Whose point of no return drags fate over its falls. The bleeding edge of resistance, teetering at its own inevitability. The moment right before everything changes forever.

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.

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.

Neptune's fathomless depths draw mighty forces towards the falls at the end of the waterworld. A messy tangle of planets caught in the drag net and tumbling over one another, sometimes swimming in an enchanted synchronicity and other times gasping for air.

We make our way through the far end of the zodiac as if underwater. An odd surrealism permeates the landscape. We are between beginnings and endings, then and the next now. Things are hazy, lines are blurred slack. Worlds are overlapping, mingling in brackish corners.

The far end of the zodiac is nigh, and more besides drawing inexorably towards its passing. As we navigate the dissolution inherent in the outer reaches of the last sign, so too are we bearing witness to the end of the world as we knew it.

It was back in Pisces of 1859 that Charles Dickens penned the first instalment of what would become A Tale of Two Cities, musing on the fervent intersection of the individual with revolution.

We have set sail across the final straits of Pisces, on our way through the tail end of the zodiac. The final tock on the astrological clock is a watershed, prelude to a tipping point. Tomorrow the sun crosses the celestial equator and arrives to Aries, delivering equinox as the wheel turns.

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.

Astrology for the apocalypse continues unabated, darklings. The dance of the planets is eternal and does not disrupt its constant choreography just because the seething ball of gas third from the sun is crippled by the labour pain of its rebirthing. As one of its handmaidens and scribes, you can bet your hand sanitiser on its prescriptions continuing here.

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.