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.

Dark moon, thy name is dissolution as we make our way through the liquidity of the far end of the zodiac. Cut off from the cult of knowing and planning by design. Released from the strict safety of hospital corners and known quantities. Floating on a sea of unlimited potential whose murky depths will demand a different kind of discipline.