It was 2 years ago today, on the then equinox, Morsel's final edit passed through my hag stone and sailed out into the world. I kept the oldest promise I made to myself as a fervent writer of journals, poetry and short stories. Still, with more on the way.

The Aries ingress delivers equinox as the wheel of the year creaks to its next notch. The time of exact balance between day and night, light and dark where the door swings open to the next season of our lives. The veil thins as we cross the threshold of this liminal space where the ancestors gather.

The equinox tipping point beckons but nature never goes early. Her time is ever ours to keep. For more than a day yet we are plunged and resurface gasping through the fathomless whirlpool of Pisces. Its inherent dissolution loosening the bonds to what has already passed. Its inexorable draw torrenting over the falls at the far end of the zodiac.

We are arriving to the edge of the world, the lashing tail end of the zodiac and its strange churning frequencies. Telepathing its fathomless currents, an oceanic flood of feelings clouding all but the present. It is hard to focus and easy to get carried away.

Venus swept into Pisces by the new moon's tides, its waters embracing the queen of stars like a lover returning. After her torrid Aquarian excursion with her lover Mars, Lady Love swans deeper into her pleasure state. Swollen with the magic of Neptune, rampant revolution cleaves to form fresh union with the fathomless psychospiritual currents that underpin it.

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.

This performative annual bullshit routinely finds me furious. Cupcakes and coffee while we politely discuss genocide in couched careful terms? Overpriced brunch in sunny AC while the world dies around us? Pretty empty speeches that change absolutely nothing from politicians committed only to re-election as femicide and domestic violence stats continue to rachet unchecked as we lose rights, respect and equality.

Swimming deeply through the mythical mutable realms of revolution and we are being relentlessly dazzled by the skies of the farthest reaches. Auroras have been blazing across a wide band from both poles, further afield since Pisces arrived as prelude to eclipse season.

The rampant revolutionising of life and love paired with the gentle oblivion of the far end of the zodiac demands mutiplicity but it is a slippery sucker to hold. Its pretty fleeting fish swim in two different directions. Hope defies certain death. Grief mingles with joy in brackish water. The future is a promised land just over a border we can feel but can't see.

In the cloudy backwash of last weekend's full moon, strange creatures are emerging from the depths. As though the supersonic blasts of sun and moon, frequencies and fuckery, keep conspiring to dissolve the barriers to necessary change.

The water always called, whispering in strange tongues as her blood rushed and the tides surged. Between the moon and her there were no secrets. Nothing hidden from the gloaming that promised its night of strange fables, already stippling her skin as she dreamwalked the shoreline.

Depth charge, anyone? Pisces season arrives now, inconveniently ensconced between the Aquarian search party on the hunt for something truer and Aries' cauterising of the old world in service of the future. Resilience building in the grift betwixt all the 'cides colliding and oblivion. The ever present threat of delusion and subtefuge disturbing what once passed for peace.

Today, on this particularly magical day in my world, Venus rose with the sun. A phenomenon which, like so many others that regularly pepper our lives, we shall not see again in our lifetime. Not until 2117 will Lady Love streak across the face of her sun king trailing stars in her wake.

We don't fall in love. Not ever at first, we rise in it. Our hearts bloom and our blood rushes. Blessed as love even briefly takes its shoes off at our front door, enters without knocking and makes a hell of a smiling mess in our kitchen. We rest snug and delighted in the first flush. Love blossoms simpatico. The strings in our chest gently plucked by another who may have walked on by a hundred other days.

There always be dragons. Since time immemorial the creatures whose genesis mirrors earth's, whose spirit carries ours, whose formidable power spawns the greatest ambitions for lives lived in service to the magic of this too often mundane realm. By no coincidence dragon years mirror significant shifts in humanity.

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.

This week is utterly magic though what that looks like and how that manifests is up to you. Magic is neutral until you add intention, charge and reception. The shockwaves common to it can evoke or electrocute, largely dependent over the next few days on whether you have already boarded the revolutionary train to The Future.