Mercury at the station is unsettling at the best of times, let alone at the pointy end of 2020. We feel trickery afoot as the matrix shudders with Merc’s stop and shunt. The ground beneath us feels unsteady or misunderstood. All part of the vast sleight of hand that is the hallmark of this much maligned transit.
There is more going on than what appears to meet the eye and it gets our fox noses twitching and our antennae erect. We determine not to be fooled again, but it’s on us if we give greater power to our delusions than our knowing or refuse to take action. If we choose to be misled to forego responsibility and cultivate fingerpointing blame, we have abandoned ourselves to the trick. As Merc always shows us in the end, it is never the trickster’s problem. It is however a conditioned willingness within to play a game you cannot win or consume remnants of the past far beyond their use by date.
The trickster is an artful dodger but he is too a grand revealer of the whole of the truth, including its awful and ugly bits. He plays light and long, dancing with our illusions and our wishbones. In so doing the trick itself gets under our skin and waltzes with our shadow, so that we may too come to better know its gait and games.
As the perfectly delusional storm of the next few days plays out in jawdropping fashion, let your intuition take the lead not your fear. It ain’t over just yet and not before the blindsiding left field tangent and the total whopper. Tucked within this perfectly Mercurial storm, what lies at the heart of the ruse is an intelligence whispering a vital clue. Tune your ears only to it.
If fear of the future or galloping anxiety is getting the best of you today, I have a ritual for that. Crafted in the coven last April as viral apocalyptica hit hard, you can find it here.
Art: Susan Seddon Boulet
Words c. Kerrie Basha 2020