The inversion is upon us now. We already exist in a mirror world where things are not as they once were. Our animal bodies have long struggled to keep pace with a galloping tech assault on our senses, knowledge and understanding of the world we inhabit. All that we once trusted to support or care for us, as part of a social contract that was assumed rather than agreed, has morphed into the monster that will kill us all.

An ancient Imbolc tradition was the divination of the end of Winter. Old tales tell of the Cailleach gathering sticks to determine remaining fires, or the bone hag staying in bed on foul weather as Winter contracted to an early end.

These tales evolved into local folklore including a favourite, immortalised in film, featuring a groundhog with a name longer than its body whose fear of his shadow determined how long he stayed underground and Winter continued. No better metaphor for humanity and its fractured relationship to its own darknesses.

In the brackish space between old and new, something else entirely emerges. Minds slavishly entrained into neuroconformist norms devour the details without thinking. Aligning hungry spiritual innards to the next trending thought field, without pausing for even so much as a nanosecond to consider what it actually means to them, for them or their worlds at large.

The outrageous glitching is more than just a herald of change. The constant shock horror one two isn't just an awful coincidence. Constant alarm bells are the calling card of Urania, clanging against all that remains sleeping in our souls. Waking us like our lives depend on it while concluding a feisty retrograde zapping the lot.

The Aquarian chime that rang out across our universes as the lunar year rebirthed in the dark reset everything. All that has previously distracted or defeated you sits behind you now, excised by an unseen cosmic order that has far loftier goals in mind.

The Aquarian chime that rang out across our universes as the lunar year rebirthed in the dark reset everything. All that has previously distracted or defeated you sits behind you now, excised by an unseen cosmic order that has far loftier goals in mind.

Quietly now, below the braying noise of the world, the moon takes her leave. On soft silver she slips silently behind the veil that shepherds her transition. Her rebirth in Aquaria will deliver the next lunar year and fresh threshold in a brand new cycle full of them. Mythologies will glitch and shift as wings and fire breath give way to the itch of ill fitting skins and a promising gleam beyond the moult.

Australia remains on the wrong side of its history and we're such slow learners. We recoil from genocide in far flung places and refuse to acknowledge the same horrors that Australia was borne of. An invasion that degraded and brutalised the oldest living consecutive culture in the world. We proved it again in 2023 with the shameful result of our referendum, refusing even the most basic acknowledgement of our indigenous people and their right to self determination.

What if, in the middle of dystopia and poppycock and all the braying noise of the world, fate yet took you by the hand smiling? Stopped you right in the middle of what you weren't really doing and turned your head just so. Enough for you to sigh and spy the beautiful blindfolded goddess staring you down, the horn of plenty in her outstretched hand.

In far less interesting times than these, the annual tête-à-tête between the sun king and our dark lord had a tendency to turn the tables. Happening now in the revolutionary portion of the zodiac, the annual meeting of Pluto and the sun generates a mighty force that ripples new truths through ageing power circuits, blowing all manner of fuses and wiring crossed by design.

Anaretica. The sharp threshold of change whose lore is unequivocal. Whose true name is destroyer. Whose point of no return drags fate over its falls. The bleeding edge of resistance, teetering at its own inevitability. The moment right before everything changes forever.

Five years ago this was what Australia looked like from above. In the grip of catastrophic firestorms that had been raging for months and cost us all dearly. We could not see the sky. It was hard to breathe everywhere. Our PM took off anyway for his Summer holidays in Hawaii and famously told the journos who tracked him to a luxury hotel, mate I don't hold a hose. Or give a shit, as it turned out. A new norm was revealed, as dangerous as any inferno.

January 6th rings on the calendar as Epiphany. Its roots far more ancient than the Christian celebration of the Magi who followed a star. Far more seditious than storming the capital of ailing empire. Far more prophetic than either lets on. Ancient wise ones scryed these past twelve omen days, throwing bones in darkness to deliver cryptic keys and clues to the year ahead, falling like snowflakes brief and silent.

Early days of this fledgling year and change keeps dragging us across fresh thresholds. Get used to it this year because nothing will end up unmoved or unchanged.

First sweet cab off the old rank is Venus who has arrived into Pisces, deep waters embracing its queen of stars like a lover returning.

There's no rush. No need to bolt towards what has already arrived and smother it with exhortations and expectations, to give it a word or a number or smoosh it into a plan. Uncertainty remains the revolution's greatest tutor because it forces us to cultivate safe places far away from empty narratives and false promises, the webwide directives or the ever changing rules.

Anger is a dirty word.

Somewhere between political correctness and passive aggression, it was decreed that outright rage must be channelled. Reframed. Somehow remade into something less confronting and more palatable.

Cue the trumpets and reshuffle the get out of jail cards, darklings. Merc is now direct and will be taking names as he makes his way back across the Aries fireground and through the waning of a torrid eclipse season that has completely reshaped our ground zeroes. It is impossible to separate the two, their myriad impacts indelibly entangled in a hail of shock and revelation that continues to ricochet.

Eyes of fire turn now as Taurus season arrives like a balm, a field of corporal belonging we can sink deeply into no matter which way eclipse season has spun us. As the sun crosses the border from an incendiary Aries season that saw many an old world burn, he squares Pluto to refresh the dark lord's oldest refrain. The old world's death cult reaching its expiry as all the 'cides collide.