The tides are rising. We are riding the waves as the eclipse tempest swirls toward its peak, crossing the torrenting channel to meet the shadow cast by the next eclipse. From now we ratchet in tandem, surging and swelling as the luminaries conspire to shift and shunt us through revelation and revolution.

When it comes to spirit animals, Miss Piggy has a place in my pantheon. As she rightly articulated this week - and I respectfully paraphrase - we fight to hold on and oh my giddy aunt how hard we fight to simply let go. Held fast as we are in the syrupy thick of the dark moon, we are now painfully brutally aware of all that eclipse season has excised from our lives.