The Worm Turns
Depiction of Aker, God of the horizon on the Khonsu wooden sarcophagus, Cairo Museum, Egypt
In the wake of the weekend's Aquarian peak, nothing looks like it once was. Stark illumination serves cool purpose and stone cold hearts on fire. As the eye of the revolutionary storm, the water bearer's moon offers remote learning and distance healing in spades. Manna for those no longer mired in the bait and switch games of an old world whose predators have long forgotten how to pray.
We slipstream now into the final moments of Merc's magic trick of a retrograde, only interested in how you have made the crossing between head and heart. Dangerously cunning at the station point and with an endless retinue of thaumaturgy to boot, the psychopomp takes no prisoners as he guides us through the breach.
In secret places you don't talk about out loud, this retrograde has already done its best work. Nimble cosmic fingers unpicking centuries of clumsy suture and manic defence against the dark arts. Your heart exalts and charge torrents through locked chambers. The shadow never trifles at pathetic armour built in weaker moments. But it will concede as long as you do, no matter how many empty reframes you offer this lack of courage as a sighing act of tough love.
Still the worm turns like the seasons do, deep underground long before blossom or fall. Narcissistic grift holds no sway, not no more. Now a parlour trick as flimsy and full of shit as its cheap magicians. Those still scared of their feelings and too emotional for leadership are being consumed by the revolution. The heartless are falling behind and cannot transplant anything else into the void.
Watch carefully how this week cements your most recent shifts in perception. Knit the wisdom of the transit in as its morsels settle into fresh terrain. Hold your heart to its new promise, unencumbered by what once was and shall not be again. A new season is almost upon us. Make ready for its rippling horizons.
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
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Words c. Kerrie Basha 2025