Anger is a dirty word.

Somewhere between political correctness and passive aggression, it was decreed that outright rage must be channelled. Reframed. Somehow remade into something less confronting and more palatable.

The strange in between is here. We have arrived to the stormy half moon fulcrum that dangles us precariously between solar and lunar eclipse. Neither here nor there, travelling between past and future without anchor or orientation by design. This place is both portal and portent, shimmering like cut glass and razor sharp on its edges.

Volatility is a curiously misunderstood force of nature. Its power is not held in fury nor fire but rather in uncertainty. Risk is measured in the size of the change made and weighed against its options, seen and hidden. Herein lies its magic. Those willing to harness themselves to unknowable futures and let their faith in themselves draw dividends their way.

This dystopian rollercoaster is quite the ride. Emotional flux daily. Changes in news / advice / laws even more often than that. Strange new conditions as old familiar routine dies quietly and without fanfare. A toll on so many fronts and a gnawing uncertainty as fear keeps peeking in the window from outside.