Still may we be, sitting through the spin cycle of les eclipses. In moments or minutes or more. Mars continues to throb away, testing the true nature of our firepower. The divine scramble is palpable, nostalgic and prophetic all at once.

The dark moon has slipped on its Aquarian coat and the heaviness of the agitation cycle is giving way to Neptune's call as visions now travel both ways down our personal highways.

This has not been your garden variety full moon. Rising in Virgo there was high likelihood of forces grounding us for good, anchoring us to home and hearth. Instead the lead up to this full moon just peaked was an extended player in whose strange grasp we found ourselves jolted.

This guy is a walking community service announcement for the back end of this particular eclipse season and we all have Uncle Mars to thank for this. Our planet of Get Shit Done can fast turn into a war mongering trail of destruction when engaged the wrong way.

Time once and again for the deep dark moon dreaming that is de rigeur for the balsamic lunar phase, aka right now. You know the dark moon drill my darlings: declutter, release and repeat. This is *the* time every single month in a row to let go of anything / everything that irks, niggles, pains, blocks or bothers Beautiful You.

Sometimes when you're deep in the countryside you'll meet three girls, walking along the hill tracks in the dusk, spinning. They each have a spindle, and on to these they are spinning their wool, milk-white, like the moonlight.

I could not possibly list the myriad talents that constitute my femme friends. Mothers, lovers, daughters. Sisters all. Creatives, rebels, carers, weavers. Witches all.

Eclipse seasons 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 simmering as though about to boil over, remember this sandpaper is how we (all) make change. Not one of us is immune.

Monday will be the day we recall when the collective consciousness / worldwide Grammys audience was schooled in the gentle art of the divine feminine. Fully inhabiting the archetype of the Mother in every sense, Queen B's performance was grace personified.

Oh Valentines Day, here you are again already. Another Hallmark hero looming over us and the lore behind the day swallowed up in a sea of satin hearts and overpriced roses. Tosh.

Musing on catastrophe as a giant swathe of Australia today sweltered through a heatwave that induced catastrophic conditions. After our last fatal firestorm the top tier was upped, in order to avoid a repeat of that heartbreaking natural disaster.

By now the bizarre magic that is the core competency of eclipse season has its claws in your life. It ramps up from here. Feel the door to that cage of yours rattling as the entire structure starts to swing. Our lunar Leonic version of the species is less than a day away and in my little corner of the conservatory, temperatures are rising in every sense.

We are deep in the zone of the next pretty pair of eclipses. Our full moon in lovely Leo this weekend is a lunar eclipse and the new moon in Pisces' mystic river at the end of Feb is a solar eclipse. Notorious for their ending / begin again two step, eclipses also ripple along particular astrological axes and always ping the prior pigeon pair.

When I think about the twists and turns my life has taken thus far it occurs to me that the very best of it has come as a bolt from the blue, a random tangent through happenstance or circumstance forcing a giant deviation from The Plan.

Under these slow cooked retrograde skies, all that was fixed and known is shifting. The movement is slow and organic without our constant adjustment and intervention, tectonic in its changes.

The intensity of the Scorpio full moon is in full throttle and her beams are searing through us. If you woke this morning gnashing your teeth or sobbing at the awful news or at breaking point know that Lady Lune is doing her good work on you.

The Scorpio full moon is on the rise. The time is nigh to dance with your denizens in the pale moonlight. Yes in this economy. Excuses have run out. If you have never bravely stepped toward your own shadow, preferring instead to select a saccharine excuse or point the finger all too quickly at everyone else's dark side, this Scorptastic lunation will make short work of your unholy two step.

The sun sweeping into Taurus is ever the grounding antidote to the Aries firestorm. We need the Ram's chutzpah and vim to put a rocket beneath us, drying our tears and heating us back up after nearly drowning in Pisces eclipse season. And then as the weeks roll by in a blur of imperatives and explosive breakthroughs, I crave the Venusian vibes that our little bull brings.