Why oh why, we ask eclipsia, petitioning our lesser gods – the ones that come in bottles or lean non commitally against things – for answers. We wiggle and squirm through the riddles and the madness, blindsided and scratching our heads. We cannot fathom what the actual fuq or if we momentarily can, along comes the next wave to send it shooting up the shore and out of reach.
Eclipse season is a mad mistress and a bandit for inexplicable plot twists. They are her stock in trade and her most powerful medicine. And right now, everyone is caught in her thrall, most especially those who never look up.
So let me be ridiculously clear about this: you can’t. Cannot know why. Cannot work it out to your satisfaction. Cannot be balmed by explanation or reason. This is her way. And she will not bend or bow to ours.
Eclipse season is a process in play. A weeks long marathon not a pinball sprint. She ripples between our past and future. Her sphere of influence is six months either way with a 19 year tickler who tends to grab your past by the short and curlies.
And yet, here we are staring bleakly at the carnage or the fray, trying to Figure It All Out. The reason hindsight works is because way down the road you will have all the information and significantly less of the tremoring emotion. But now darklings? That equation is flipped the wrong way: all the feels and barely half the puzzle pieces.
We are not supposed to know what is going on all the time. It is patently dangerous to think you do, a trick of the mind that only fools narcissists and control freaks and not for long. Can you sit in your not knowing? Can you wait and wait and wait and then see?
If after all the shirt pulling and frustrated tears the answer is still no, pick up the red phone. I’m on the other end with my cards and a strong cup of something, here to talk you down and it through and dispense the kind of magic words that only come through a witch for whom eclipsia is her natural state.
Art by @emotionalclub
Their membership must be overflowing right about now.
Words © Kerrie Basha, 2018