Most every dark moon I leave a photo of a dreamy bolthole here, a fantasy escape from the every day hustle and grind in which to rest and renew. But this is not life as we know it and the last lunar cycle has been one for the history books. Not one of us has escaped its impact, adjustment or shocking upset to our applecarts.

Taurus season always arrives like a balm, a field of belonging we can sink deeply into no matter which way our year and world has spun. That has never been more true than this ride around the sun. As he crosses the border from an incendiary Aries season that saw the old world burn, the earthy grounding of the little bull's playing field proffers welcome relief and good grounding.

There are three things that have always soothed my soul, no matter how my head is rolling or my heart is crooning. The first is the ocean. She is never the same girl twice. I love her wild storms as much as her glittering glassy calm. The second is birds and their signature songs. Winged creatures are my allies and friends. The final and always most effective at settling understanding into me is to write.

After a rather average week of challenging astrology, a global pandemic and isolation blues, I am in just the mood for a let loose with my witches!

Our inaugural coven cocktail party this Friday evening AEST will be a rollicking delight.

Personal power is actually built by chewing on your own gristle. It is strengthened in times of adversity and challenge, particularly those that kick out the crutches and leave you to go it alone. Power is not restricted by external conditions, dictates or the actions of others - though all can knock you off your spot. It pivots on perspective and is nourished by our whole truth.

If you are beginning to feel your head just above water, you can thank Mercury's recent move into Aries after the longest time in the wavy Piscean waterworld.

I rise in the dark
dress quickly and fly
before dawn gives the game
away

Today's supermoon in Libra is another peak in a moon cycle crammed full of them. Most are new to us, having skipped analysing graphs since high school. All of them have scary moving targets. None of them are fixed - except of course the beautiful moon. She never wavers from her natural cycle and she knows what she is doing.I've never understood the cynicism that exists towards magical thinking. While realists and pessimists cry into their coffee and rationalists claim to only believe in what they can prove or debunk, there are those of us who cultivate a deep and abiding relationship to the imaginal.

Feeling the snap, crackle and pop, darklings? Welcome the curtain raiser to tomorrow's full moon peaking as Mars glowers at Urania. Their square dance is disruptive and reckless, unlikely to play by the rule book that was tossed out the window

Last weekend's meet cute of Jupiter and Pluto sent a chime through our rebirthing world, yet another veil dropping to reveal. So riddle me this darklings, now with time to muse upon it. How did the bell toll for you?

This dystopian rollercoaster is quite the ride. Emotional flux daily. Changes in news / advice / laws even more often than that. Strange new conditions as old familiar routine dies quietly and without fanfare. A toll on so many fronts and a gnawing uncertainty as fear keeps peeking in the window from outside.

Today the cosmos delivers a welcome chime designed to ripple favourably through dystopia, as Jupiter and old captain chaos himself Pluto meet in Capricornia. This bell will toll three times this year, marking it a key influencer. They meet again at the end of June mid eclipsia and once more in November before their age of Aquarius rewrites history.

Mars has strapped on a dodgy ancient facemask he found in his kit and finally made it through the crumbling carnage of Capricornia. Fighting an enemy he couldn't see as the towers fell, Mars crossed the threshold into Aquaria. Momentarily neutralised, the briefest respite to lay down his sword and grab a pitcher before the flames leap again.

That is the thing about comfort. It soothes no matter the malaise and steadies the ship. It alleviates our suffering and allows us to find some ease and grace in situations that don't arrive chockers with either. And so darklings I have crafted a new reading to salve strange days.

I have an almost unnatural aversion to the word should. It comes with a faint whiff of shame as a hypothetical nod to something other than prevailing reality. It smacks of obligation and expectation, rooting it in nose wrinkling disappointment. Too often it governs our choices, reducing them to someone else's idea of what's right for us. Perhaps that is the presumption that ever sticks in my craw.

Today without leaving my bed I make my pilgrimage to the darkest corner of the forest. The shadow of black granite rises to pierce the rumbling sky. I do not let the chill in my bones slow my determined progress. I drag the ache in my heart behind me as I place my well worn doll into the empty chamber for safekeeping.

This dancing beauty is milkweed. Her leaves are toxic but their poison offers food and protection to the grubs that consume them, fat little 'pillars who go on to become beautiful Monarch butterflies.

The dominoes are falling in a steady stream now, no longer permitting the denial and reframing that was the early hallmark of this pandemic. Those skidding in late to the distancing game are only now telling everyone how to do what they could not. Control freaks worldwide are declining to submit to the loss of their grandest illusion. Refusal to accept the economic impact that accompanies such a giant pause button is a fresh hell.