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.

Venus withdraws to contemplate, revise and thus reinvigorate all that tickles and tugs at our hearts this us about far more than avoiding the ex files or changing your lewk. Venus rules those areas of our life that bring us pleasure - or her counterbalance, pain - and which reflect our values, desires, taste and attractions. Her retrograde is part of a far larger revolutionary agenda marked by two lifeshifting eclipses, another retrograde as Merc shifts perception, and the move of our blue planet to this same fire sign.

At the moon chime, sleep gave way to dreaming. Last night I found myself wandering back through time. Having laid my body down, my soul slipped out to set sail on the old currents that still sometimes lap at my shore.

An incendiary dark moon descends over us all now, its pull to rest and recalibrate at odds with broiling revolution. If you needed an omen for the eclipse season incoming, the days between now and the Pisces new moon will likely deliver it. Try not to baulk when it lands like a bomb, like a blast of past angst, or dripping in blood. The gloves have actually always been off.

This week begins in the hazy daze of Neptunia, its surreal half light obscuring and conjuring by design. Its been a wild weird wired weekend on planet rebirth. Emerging from the fray like a blessed slingshot, Mars finally concludes his months long hamstrung retrograde in Cancer. Though this will not instantly dry up all the tears nor quell the shouting, it does offer significant hope for fresh resolution and resolve on the way.

This weekend tells a tale of two cities, distinct in form and function, beholden only to their sphere of influence. You probably already know which is having its way with you and all in your sightlines by the stark difference in experience.

This weekend tells a tale of two cities, distinct in form and function, beholden only to their sphere of influence. You probably already know which is having its way with you and all in your sightlines by the stark difference in experience.

As Aquaria's wake leaves a trail of stars for us all to collect later, Pisces season rushes in to drag us over its falls. This year delivering inexorable evolution through eclipse and retrograde, threshold and dissolution, its riptides already pulling us in. The ides of March have the old world in their thrall already as its extinction lip curls and snarls.

Though it is not long now until the sun leads the charge into Pisces, these final hours in Aquaria plant us all at its anaretic degree. Cue the scrambling and tangents, strike up the complicated circus band and open wide the water bearer's floodgates.

My everloving gift to you darkling on this hallmarked V Day is to know and deeply understand love's greatest truth. That your capacity for love is utterly and absolutely a function of your self love. Truly madly deeply. The most important relationship you will ever have is with your own hummingbird heart.

The lion goddess does not trifle, ever. Her full moon rises now over a world at war with its horrible histories and life itself. Whose overlords know their grip is slipping and the game is up. Whose people teem and scatter as this bright lune plucks at heart strings and shadows.

Ramping to a shocktastic full moon midweek and the wake up calls are raining like lightning strikes as this new era forces the old to account for itself. Uranian wake up calls are frequently eviscerating, burning through whatever was keeping that shit contained and challenging truth to actually come roaring out of all the wells.

This wild week arrives with an unmistakeable snap crackle and pop that will only ramp from here as we bound towards the Leo full moon roaring. More than expecting the unexpected from the already surreal, the next round of storms are designed to alter us forever. Radical by design, their power coiled inside shock value and sudden irrevocable change. Every little notch there is no going back from.

Before mankind invented time as we know it in order to correct the pesky lag between equinoxes and the maths that couldn't keep up, there was the wheel of the year. This is nature's time determined by the uncalculated movements of our luminaries, the sun and his lover the moon.
Today is the cross quarter, the middle point between solstice and equinox. This is marked by the sun sitting at 15 degrees of Aquaria, an esbat often observed on the first of the month because it's more convenient and easier to remember.

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.