The Liquid Pull To Equinox
Art: Trish Woodford
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 between beginnings and endings, then and the next now. Things are hazy, lines are blurred slack. Worlds are overlapping, mingling in brackish corners. Even with the looming storm of multiple extinction thresholds and ticking bombs, a strange hanging calm belies these powerful turning point days. The ides, whisper the ancient sages with a knowing nod.
Now is the drawing out of so many old tides, an ancient and tender ministration that turns slow in our bodies almost without notice. A kind of osmosis whose salt calls your oldest deepest to surface. Nostalgia lurking like a large shadow, a pull back, a drag. Its current confounding the magnetic pull of the future.
The star year is leaking already over the equinox falls and waiting for us to hover trembling at its slippery precipice. We seek the lure of fine balance and our next action stations simultaneously, the strangest bedfellows that ever there were. Still a few days and change to go yet. Still we float and wobble and wonder what and why.
The ramrod riddle of balance is that it requires dynamism to obtain. We imagine a perfect fixed still point but only find its true meaning when we tip wildly, or stumble or crash. Better to float just a little while longer gazing at a glimmering, a true north star that will keep heavy heads looking up not down.
The final days of Neptune holding court in this fluid terroir our cosmic shaman calls home, a realm all of its own. So very much flashing by in schools of possibility that catch your eye and the light just so. The dreamscape explosive, a rendered galaxy of stories and codes and keys that shimmer all about you if you tune yourself to what's forking your soul.
The only compass that works is internal. Time means less than space. Once your lungs were gills and you did not need dulled eyes to see what has long been written in light upon you. Read it and weep.
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Words c. Kerrie Basha 2025