Best way to know you are in shadowy territory? You can't make it all add up. There are holes in your position you could drive a bus through. It's not working anymore. Because everything becomes business under capitalism - just ask organised religion - we all have a glaring stinking problem in the whitewashed West. Find it at the intersection of spirituality, capitalism and abundance.

The first day of the next season on the calendar, its tendrils wrapping around us like creeping vines long before now. The sky keeping its own time, the soul self biding its allocation and weighing it against glitchy unruly transformation.

Gemini season arrives annually to haul stale thinking out of its doldrums and boots stuck in the mud blood of the old world. Its twin skinning of perception and faculty is not a figment of your imagination. Gemini came to play, already messing maniacally with the stubborn fixations revealed by a storming Taurus season.

Welcome to the end of your tether. To the glitching place of before and after. The exact spot you will look back on and realise you felt the quake coming. The change subtle but seismic, the shift tectonic.

Billed as an exasperating hellscape, I'm starting to wonder if the end of all our tethers isn't the place the new world begins.

In astrology, as in life, it's easy to get ahead of yourself. To float above or beyond the present moment. Gemini season begins in a frenetic nanosecond, accelerating the pace with its switch hitting shape shifting buttons pressing ch-ch-change on repeat. But first darklings, press pause to make the very most of our last moments in the langorous little bull's realm.

In the aftermath of the last annual meeting of the Sun and Urania in Taurus, the sustainability jig is up. Lightning struck and it served to sharply illuminate - or eviscerate - any last remaining denial of what's at stake here if things continue unabated. It's on you if you keep squeezing your eyes shut. Timeline jumping isn't convenient late stage panacea for privilege that refuses its own stink or shadow.

It used to be that the ebb tide of the Scorpio full moon was its own scrying pool, a wake of ubiqitous clarity and potent post mortem. But this mad year? Its finger of god is still blinking. All the turning points still warp and beckon. The not no mores loading the bases to toppling.

And we are being held beneath the rapids at the lashing tail end of Pisces... again. If it feels like there's no room to move you can thank Saturn's heft, teetering here on the anaretic degree of the zodiac before his world tilting move into Aries in ten momentous days time.

Oh Mamas, how we love you.
Mothering is the stewardship of one soul by another for all that journey will contain, its many varied peaks and wide deep valleys. It is relentless and unfathomably demanding. Motherhood is an all terrain vehicle whose endurance is formidable, whose devotion is sacrosanct and whose imprint never leaves us.

Already a third of the way through this Year of the Snake, its body politic wound tightly around us and all the world now. Smooth concentric muscle contracting like a birth canal, constricting like a stranglehold, compressing our life's worth of smoke and mirrors in an effort to shed everything not in service of The Future.

Try as we might it is nigh on impossible to ignore the siren song of the shadowlands when it keens to you. All this shedding year and well before it, shadows bigger than just the wayward facsimiles of tender selves and past participles, the vaster kind we pretend are not ours too.

Anzac Day and we wake before dawn. A nation of sharply divided loyalties lighting candles and wandering to shrines in the half light to honour. Alone together we observe in rare silence the sacrifice of those who came before us. Who endured war and hardship, trials by fire and unfathomable loss of life. We feel the thread of connection that tugs deep within and imagine what we see in the news in our backyards as we pale by comparison.

Counting the minutes to this month's dark moon, she who will deliver us beyond our first eclipse season of the year and slingshot us towards the future. After a rampant season of retrograde designed to shift the hold of the past, this seismic new moon operates like a deep space pulse that will ricochet through our worlds. The Taurus new moon incoming is heavily aspected by design and some incredible cosmic geometry is already taking shape.

The online inversion of our shadow, lightwashed for those looking for cheat codes to their underworld, isn't working. There are none but there is just so much more to authentic shadow work, the kind that changes lives and communities. Any wilful refusal to partipate in unspooling the cultural shadows that hold our worlds stuck at the crossroads of evolution is not everybody else's fault.

Taurus season hits different as the wagging tail end of eclipse season, just a week and change to go. Now grounding our freshest initiations into the body by reconnecting us deeply to the realm of our many senses. Here what we feel inside translates as bespoke wisdom for sentient beings coded for nature and wired for ground.

The world we inhabit is built on cycles of life and death and rebirth. We bear witness through unseeing eyes to the rise and fall and return of the moon, the tides, the seasons, our bodies. Yet resurrection remains a brutal story from a book we read once that we think bears no resemblance to our lives; to be observed with a toss of the head or chocolate bunnies.

There are moments in our lives that are portals. Quantum leaps we make effortlessly that shunt our reality from here to so far over there. The most recent eclipse season was such an animal, brimming with shadow and light. Often it is only with the passage of time and hindsight that it begins to make sense. We feel precisely how our worlds have tipped on their axis. We accept that nothing will ever be the same. We recalibrate.

I can hear a whisper, deep beneath the clatter and smash of the overworld. Finally far enough away to be struck in the middle of the quiet forest, in the still of the bright moon, in the shadows and grief that now walk boldly as stewards of evolution.

Spend a dreamy Wednesday eve in lovely bush surrounds as Kerrie transports us with her storytelling. Working at the intersection of imagination, creativity and the magical arts, together we will journey into realms of mystery and enchantment.