Eclipses should come with a similarly succinct warning. But even with all possible due diligence, this mad season oft gets the best of us. If everyone or everything is feeling chaotic, unsteady or hard simmering towards boil over, remember this gristle and grinding down is how we make the change eclipses always herald. Not one of us is immune to their sandpaper loving and violent reconfiguration. Fuck you, says the eclipse to the earth’s meat in its sandwich, I’m hardly going to do what you tell me.

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.

Being a witch does not preclude enchantment by the beautiful fables, tenets and architecture of other religious paths. If anything it has connected me more deeply. Tales of protection and betrayal, crucifixion and resurrection, grit and grace are more than stories from old books. Their resonance echoes in us and offers a vast humanist learning.