Post eclipsia feels often manifest as a deep desire to run for the hills or the coast or whatever new land you would hit first if you just started swimming. The stomach churning wild ride that is eclipse season is always equal parts lifechanging and crazymaking. Turned up to 11 if you have much Leo or Aquarius in your chart.

What you will know for sure: life looks vastly different than it did three short weeks ago. Back when sweet little ol' you had *cough* no idea what was coming.

What you have learned: you did know what was coming, kinda sorta. Hindsight is a beautifully damning thing. You just didn't want to see it or say it or face it or change it. Enter the sun and moon's dance of destruction, to put paid to stupid useless illusions everywhere, once and for all. Oh what a celestial blessing.

What to do now: pick thyself up. Suture wounds, cry buckets, reorganise, move from wobbling to a resigned steadiness. Accept your fate. Take whatever steps are required to plant your feet so you can begin again. Softly. Slowly. Carefully. Rash decisions are the antichrist.

What comes next: is completely a function of how low you bow to the process of eclipsia. Still raging and blaming? The next six months will be no fun for you, steaming little firecracker. At least resigned to your current trajectory? Watch ease and grace rush towards you as you begin to acclimatise.

From here you rise. Stretch into your new form and begin to inhabit it. Note well how what is now gone wasn't working. See how what fills that yawning gap is more beautifully you. Claim the time and space you have now, whether you wanted it or not is past relevant. Do wild wonderful things with it. Gently accept your lessons. Continue to tweak. Mainline your intuitive guidance. Find the others. Walk on.

So endeth the lessons.

Words c. Kerrie Basha 2025