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.

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.

Saturn's move into Pisces less than an hour after the Virgo full moon exacts next week is undeniably a big deal. His anaretic squat in Aquaria has been keenly felt, its heavy weight reinforcing the themes of the transit while nodding to what lies just across the border.

More than a week into the mythical mutable realms and we are being relentlessly dazzled by the skies of the farthest reaches. Auroras have been blazing across a wide band from both poles, even further afield since Pisces arrived promising the next big things.

The Phoenix Motel languishes at the end of a long dusty highway, the bugs on your windscreen betraying how hard and fast the drive has been. The rooms are filling quickly as they always do this time of year. The smart money is getting locked in for the scorpion's moon.

You have arrived to the Pisces waiting room and all that bobs patiently in its fertile pond of dreams. Here we sit in odd solitude biding time and tides and waiting for the big change we feel coming deep in our marrow. Bones worn weary by a world chewing its own arm off in spite and a revolution of the species that will no longer broker refusal.

Last night I found myself wandering back through time. I lay my body down to sleep and my soul slips out to set sail on the old currents that still sometimes lap at my shore.

Every dark moon found her wandering these enchanted moors, a practice she had employed for lifetimes as she bore witness to painful rising and falling in the world of men. For far too many centuries now she had held the terrible cost to her aching heart as the moon turned her face to darkness. They wept together, tears turning to crystal in the frozen night air and falling from the sky like diamonds to litter the landscape with hope.