Wizard's Weekly Wrap-Up: Constitution Overboard and the Rising Goddess of the Deep
Trump's Slush Fund, Blanche's Pardon, Andrew's Reckoning and Massie's Last Stand: The Week That Was May 17-23 2026
This week felt like everything that mattered was being thrown overboard - the law, the founding, the architecture of restraint - but by week's end, the deep started throwing things back.
Thames Valley Police announced they were expanding their criminal investigation of the former Prince Andrew - already arrested in February over allegations he passed sensitive trade information to Jeffrey Epstein - to explicitly include sex crimes. Buckingham Palace, in a striking change of posture, is reportedly "actively assisting" the police investigation of allegations that a woman in her 20s was trafficked in 2010 from the United States to Windsor for a sexual encounter with the then-prince. Though Andrew has always denied any wrongdoing, the monarchy appears to be throwing him overboard to keep its own boat afloat.
Across the Mediterranean, the Israeli navy boarded the Global Sumud Flotilla in international waters, intercepting more than 50 boats and detaining over 400 activists from 40 nations - civilians attempting to bring humanitarian aid to Gaza. Far-right National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir posted footage of himself taunting hand-tied activists kneeling at his feet while he held aloft the Israeli flag, calling them "terror supporters" - a display so naked that even Netanyahu publicly rebuked him. By week's end, deportees arriving home in Istanbul, Amsterdam and Johannesburg were alleging beatings, torture and sexual assault in Israeli custody, and European governments were lining up to condemn the treatment.
Russia launched one of the largest aerial assaults of the war on Ukraine this weekend, with more than 50 missiles and upwards of 700 drones almost entirely targeting Kyiv. Residential buildings, schools and a veterinary clinic were hit across the capital, killing at least one and wounding dozens.
In the United States, Tulsi Gabbard became the fourth female cabinet member to go overboard from Team Trump in as many months, though unlike the others, she bowed out willingly, according to reports. Meanwhile, Trump bowed out of his own son’s wedding to stay home at the White House and have another crack at a peace deal with Iran that may or may not be imminent, or could be entirely fictional - you never know with this administration - only to find the White House ducking for cover under a hail of bullets from a gunman who died after being shot by the Secret Service. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg of the crazy that came out of the US this week.
Team Trump hosted a taxpayer-funded evangelical worship event on the National Mall intended to re-dedicate America to Christianity - though it was never dedicated to any religion in the first place (it’s right there in the Constitution). Vendors handed out buttons that read “WIVES SUBMIT, HUSBANDS LOVE, CHILDREN OBEY,” and Trump appeared on video (he was too busy golfing to attend) reading a Bible verse that promised destruction to any people who “forsake my statutes and my commandments.” It was just totally normal stuff.
Then the Justice Department announced a $1.776 billion “Anti-Weaponization Fund” whose architecture seemed designed to flow toward the men who attacked the Capitol on January 6 - 1776 being the number the rioters chanted as they breached the Capitol, and the year of America’s founding. The fund was framed as the “settlement” of Trump’s $10 billion lawsuit against the IRS, after he dropped the suit when it looked likely a judge was about to dismiss it because he can’t sue the government he runs, landing instead on a private agreement allocating nearly $2 billion of taxpayer money to be paid out, potentially, to insurrectionists.
After the 14th Amendment to the Constitution - which explicitly prohibits the federal government from paying any debt or obligation “incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion” - was thrown overboard this week, officers who were in harm’s way on January 6 sued the president, the Treasury Department’s top lawyer resigned in protest, and Representative Jamie Raskin introduced the No Taxpayer-Funded Settlement Slush Funds Act of 2026. Across the Republican Party, not a single member of Congress publicly defended the fund - one veteran observer called it “as popular as poison ivy.”
But the crazy didn’t stop there. Acting Attorney General Todd Blanche then signed an addendum adding that the United States is “FOREVER BARRED and PRECLUDED” from pursuing any IRS claim against Trump, his sons, their business, or any “related or affiliated individuals” - past, present, or future - which legal analyst Joyce Vance called “a pardon on steroids.”
Even the faithful found this all hard to swallow, with as many as 25 Republican senators speaking out against Trump’s fund. Mitch McConnell, of all people, said out loud: “So the nation’s top law enforcement official is asking for a slush fund to pay people who assault cops? Utterly stupid, morally wrong - take your pick.” After the Senate met with Blanche for nearly two hours in a meeting described as “incredibly hostile,” Republicans were so angry they pulled a $72 billion immigration funding vote rather than let Democrats force them to vote on the slush fund on the record.
While Blanche was being raked over the coals in the Senate, Trump called a sudden, unscheduled press conference - not about Iran, or gas prices, but about his blessed ballroom, and how drone-proof and missile-proof it will be, if he can just get tax payers to pay for it. After Republicans tried to slip $1 billion into a reconciliation bill to fund these “security measures” for the ballroom, the Senate parliamentarian, Elizabeth MacDonough, ruled it out, and by the end of the day, Trump was on social media demanding she be replaced - “a woman appointed long ago by Barack Hussein Obama” - and calling for the Senate to kill the filibuster and pass the SAVE Act restricting voting. “If we don’t pass at least one of these two provisions quickly,” he posted, “you will never see another Republican President again.”
Trump also took down Senator Bill Cassidy - one of the seven Republicans who voted to convict Trump after January 6 - who lost his primary to a Trump-recruited challenger, marking the first time a sitting Republican senator has been successfully primaried by his own president.
Trump also turned his ire towards Thomas Massie - the Republican who led the charge for the release of the Epstein files - who also lost his primary this week to a Trump-backed challenger in the most expensive House primary in American history, with $35 million in outside spending against him. Most primary races cost in the hundreds of thousands, not the millions, and for all the money spent, in the end Massie’s replacement only won by ten points in a district that voted for Trump by 35 points in 2024. A 25-point swing in the safest possible MAGA district, against an opponent the administration had buried under more money than a Senate race normally costs, does not bode well for Republicans going into the midterms.
Trump has made a rod for his own back by turning Massie into an enemy, who still has seven months left in office before his term ends, a point he noted with some amount of glee in his concession speech. Massie doesn’t intend to back off in his efforts to hold Trump accountable, and now, thanks to Trump, he has nothing to lose. What Trump threw overboard may be exactly the thing that rises up as his reckoning.
Watching all this unfold across a single week felt like watching the same gesture, made over and over - different targets, different vocabularies, different paddings of legal language and patriotic costume, but underneath it all, the same hand reaching for the same paddle, bringing it down on whatever clung to the side of the boat asking to be carried. This is not a new gesture - it’s one of the oldest stories on earth. And there's an old Inuit myth that names it more clearly than any political analysis ever could.
If you’re feeling exhausted by the news or like nothing makes sense any more, or you’re worried for the future and want to know what comes next, then read on, dear friend. As always, the sky is showing us exactly where we are, where we are headed and what’s required of us next. Let’s look up and find the way through, together.
Thank you for being here, and for reading and sharing this writing - it's your presence that makes it possible. If you'd like to go deeper, there's a whole community waiting in the Inner Circle, and you're warmly welcome to join us.
The cosmic insights shared here are mapped to the real movements of the heavens during the past week. If you want to know more about planetary pattern recognition, read about it here
The Story of Sedna
Sometimes when the news refuses to make sense, we have to step outside the news to find the story underneath it. When the moment we're living in seems to have lost all meaning, we can reach for myth, and often what we find is that the myth was already reaching back - already trying to break the surface of the moment, waiting to be named.
This week, it was the old Inuit tale of Sedna that was speaking loudly under the news cycle, as well as in the sky above. Sedna’s is a harrowing tale of a beautiful young woman who lived at the edge of the ice with her father, where suitors would travel from across the water, all vying for her hand. Sedna turned them all away, until one day a hooded stranger arrived at the shore speaking softly of his home across the water where he had a warm tent, soft skins, and more meat than they could eat in a winter so she would never be hungry or cold. If she came with him, he said, she would always be loved, and those words convinced her to go with him.
They paddled for a long time, away from her father and the only land Sedna had ever known. The sky darkened, and the water grew cold, and eventually they reached his island, and as they stepped of his boat, he pulled back his hood and revealed that he was not a man at all, but a hideous creature with a beak and black eyes and feathers where his face should be. His warm tent was a nest of broken sticks on a barren cliff, and his soft skins were old fish-skins, stiff with cold. His meat was raw and rotting, and the wind on his island never stopped howling. Sedna had followed a trickster to her doom.
Imprisoned on the island, Sedna wept for a year, singing her grief out across the water, until finally one day, across the long distance of the sea, her father heard her mournful song and leapt into his kayak, paddling for many days to find her. When he reached the island, the creature was out hunting, so Sedna and her father escaped in his kayak together, making the long paddle home, but when the creature returned to find an empty nest, he saw the kayak on the horizon and called up the sea.
The sky turned black and the wind rose, and the waves around the kayak climbed higher than the boat. It pitched and spun and began to take on water, sinking under the weight of them both. Knowing that the kayak could only hold one of them in these conditions, the father looked at his daughter, and he looked at the sea, and - understanding that one of them was going to die - the man who had paddled all that way to save her chose this time to save himself. He grabbed his daughter by the shoulders and threw her over the side of the boat.
The ice cold water took Sedna’s breath, as she reached up and grabbed the edge of the kayak with both hands, begging her father to pull her back to safety. She, his daughter - the only child he had. She, the girl he taught to fish, the girl whose hair he braided, the girl whose first steps he watched on the ice. As she clung for dear life to the side of the kayak and begged her father not to let her drown, her father reached for his paddle and brought it down on her hands.
The blow snapped one of her fingers, and it fell into the water, disappearing into the deep. Sedna screamed, clutching to the boat with what was left of her hands, but her father raised his paddle and struck her fingers again. As more bones fell into the deep dark water, still she clung on with the stumps of her hands, screaming for mercy with the last of her strength. Her father raised his paddle a final time, and the last of her fingers fell into the water, and with nothing left to hold on with, Sedna let go and sank beneath the waves.
She sank past the light and the cold, past the place where any living thing should be able to go, and she kept on sinking, down through the dark, down into the silence, down to the very bottom of the sea. But there, in the deep, she did not die.
Her hair grew long and tangled around her, as her broken hands became fins and her broken fingers became the seals and the whales and the dolphins and the creatures of the deep. Her body became the body of the ocean itself and every creature her father’s paddle made - every seal, every walrus, every whale - came to her, and recognised her, and called her mother.
Above the water, her father survived the storm, and paddled home, telling no one what he had done. He ate the seals his daughter’s fingers became, and the walruses that were her knuckles, and her last joints that became whales - the very thing he had cast away became the only thing keeping him alive. And though he lived a long life and died an old man, his name has long been forgotten, though his daughter’s has not. Because from that day forward, every hunter who wanted to feed his family had to call her name, and every shaman who wanted the seals to come back had to journey down through the dark water to find her, and comb the tangles out of her hair, and ask her - softly, with great respect - to release her children to the surface.
She who was discarded became the goddess of the deep waters - the mother of everything that swims, the one who decides whether the people eat or starve, whether the winter is survived or not survived, whether the surface world continues at all.
Her father thought he was saving himself by throwing his daughter overboard. He did not understand that he was making Sedna a god.
The Myth, and the Meaning
Like most myths, the tale of Sedna is both upsetting and uplifting - not unlike real life - and because it holds both equally, it speaks powerfully to the moment we are living through. Many of us would identify with Sedna, who put her faith in a man who promised her the world, only to discover that he wasn’t what he seemed. Many of us right now feel like Sedna clinging to the side of the boat, begging for rescue that is not coming, looking up at the structure meant to keep us safe as its paddle comes down on our fingers. And many of us have felt that sinking feeling - of plummeting to the depths of the darkness, away from the light and the hope, down into the vast unknown.
We have all been Sedna, clinging to the side of a boat that was supposed to carry us, with our fingers being broken by hands that were supposed to protect us. And we have all been her father - suppressing what’s inconvenient in order to survive, throwing overboard what is too heavy to carry, breaking the fingers of whatever clung to the side and slowed us down. Choosing ourselves, and calling it necessity.
This deeper layer of Sedna’s story speaks to our original design, and our wounding. The divine masculine and feminine within all of us - two halves of a single whole, container and contents, built to belong to each other, neither above or without the other - wounded long ago when the container forgot the contents and began to dominate what it was meant to hold, and the contents stopped trusting the container and began undermining what was meant to carry it. Each wound fed the other - the more the container dominated, the more the contents withdrew, and the more the contents withdrew, the more the container clenched its grip. This is the wound at the heart of our civilisation - not one half against the other, but both halves locked in a wounded dance neither knows how to leave, like Sedna and her father torn apart at sea.
This is not about gender. It’s not about literal men suppressing literal women - although there’s been plenty of that, and the surface symptoms of the wound have fallen heavily on actual women’s bodies for thousands of years. But the wound itself lives deeper than gender, in the archetypal energies inside each of us, regardless of who we are - in the part of us that has been taught to survive by discarding, by suppressing, by making the difficult thing go away rather than turning toward it.
The wounded masculine is what every one of us becomes when fear is bigger than love, and the boat feels like it cannot hold what is asking to be held. The wounded feminine is what every one of us becomes when trust has been broken so many times we can no longer let ourselves be carried.
And when the wounded masculine takes charge - within us, and around us - what gets thrown overboard is always the same. The voice silenced, the grief that wasn’t allowed to be grief, the rage that wasn’t allowed to be rage, the knowing that was called hysteria, the earth that was called inventory, the water that was called resource. Everything our civilisation has tried to keep underneath itself so the surface could stay tidy.
For thousands of years, the surface world has been built on this wound. The boat has stayed afloat by throwing the daughter overboard, over and over again, in a thousand different forms. Empires were built on discard. Industries were built on extraction. Religions were built on the suppression of the body and the elevation of the mind. Whole peoples were thrown into the sea so the people in the boat could keep paddling. We are all descendants of the man in the kayak, and we have all been Sedna at some point too.
But Sedna’s myth is timely now not just as a marker of where we are but as a reminder of what happens beyond the wound. Sedna didn’t drown - she became the ocean, and her broken fingers became the very creatures the man in the boat would have to eat to survive. Her name became the one called for generations, while his name was forgotten. The wounded masculine always thinks he is saving himself when he throws her overboard, but he doesn’t understand that he’s making her a god - that every act of discard is an act of consecration, and that the deep remembers everything the surface tries to forget. That the only thing keeping him alive, from the moment he reaches the shore, is that which he believed he had ultimately destroyed.
This week, the man in the boat was everywhere. And so, quietly, was she.
The Boat in the Storm
This week’s taxpayer-funded evangelical worship event on the National Mall to "rededicate" America to Christianity was the boat in the storm, choosing itself. The civic religion that has held the United States together for two and a half centuries - that the government must remain separate from religion so that conscience itself can stay free - was thrown overboard, on the steps of the temple of that very religion, the Founders celebrated even as their words were dropped into the sea.
The DOJ’s announcement of Trump’s $1.776 billion slush fund was the paddle rising and falling. The 14th Amendment to the Constitution designed to prevent the federal government from compensating insurrectionists was thrown overboard so that the men who attacked the Capitol on January 6 could be paid back from the public purse, while the very number on the fund - 1776 - was the year of the founding being thrown into the sea so it could be re-founded in the king’s image.
Blanche’s addendum the following day, forever barring the United States from pursuing any IRS claim against Donald Trump, was the wounded masculine using the architecture of law itself to throw the entire concept of accountability overboard. The rule of law was the daughter clinging to the side of the boat upon which the paddle came down.
Trump’s press conference about his ballroom - with its drone-proofing and missile-proofing - was the boat being armoured. The demand that a female parliamentarian be replaced, that the filibuster be killed, that voting be restricted under the SAVE Act, was every architecture of restraint that the Founders built being marked for the sea.
And the Israeli navy's interception of the Global Sumud Flotilla was the wounded masculine made literal - civilians on boats in international waters, hands in the air, soldiers boarding and smashing the cameras as they came. The Geneva Conventions and the basic protection of unarmed humanitarian workers were thrown overboard so that Ben-Gvir could pose for a photo-op above kneeling, hand-tied activists with the Israeli flag clutched in his fist, while over 400 detained were taken to Israeli prisons where, according to the testimony now emerging, the paddle came down in beatings, torture, strip-searches and groping, and at least fifteen reports of sexual assault and rape. The bodies carrying food to a starving people were thrown overboard so the boat could keep paddling.
All of this was the boat in the storm - the wounded masculine in full, fortified, terrified display. This was every act of discard that the architecture of the surface world has been making for centuries, compressed into a single week. This week, we watched the paddle rise and fall, the fingers break, and the discarded contents sinking to the bottom of the sea, Trump’s paddle coming down on Thomas Massie with the heaviest blow he’s ever swung at a member of his own party. But as Massie fell he did not drown; he has seven months left in office, nothing to lose, and the Epstein files still in his hands.
In a week of paddle-strikes, Massie was the first sign that the deep is already throwing things back, and the second came halfway around the world, as Ben-Gvir's naked cruelty proved so politically toxic that even Netanyahu was forced to publicly distance himself, while leaders across Europe lined up to condemn Israel’s treatment of their nationals. And the third came when Thames Valley Police announced they had expanded their criminal investigation of the former Prince Andrew to include sex crimes, working directly from the Epstein files still sitting in Thomas Massie's hands.
Where Massie was the deep rising through politics and Ben-Gvir was the deep rising through diplomacy, Andrew is the deep rising through the original wound itself - the bodies of trafficked young women, the most literal enactment of what Sedna's father threw overboard, the very wound the surface world has been built on suppressing. The surface world has finally come, on its knees, to the women it spent decades pretending it could not see, asking them to come forward. The monarchy is already throwing Andrew overboard to keep its own boat afloat, but the boat has never been what saves anyone. He is going where the women he is alleged to have harmed already went, but the deep will not receive him the way it received them. The discarded daughters became Sedna. The man in the boat became the one whose name is forgotten.
The wounded masculine over-reached so badly this week that his own boat refused to keep carrying him, and Sedna’s story reminds us that this corruption, this self-dealing, these acts of lawlessness are not the end of the story.
What is cast into the deep does not go there to die.
What falls becomes the goddess that rises as reckoning.
What Rises from the Deep
The story of Sedna reminds us that every act of discard and every finger broken becomes a creature with its own life, and we must endure the descent to the depths before we can rise. Sedna right now is reminding us - both in myth and in the sky - that the fall is not the end. In many ways, it’s just the beginning.
Sedna isn’t just a goddess from an old myth - she’s also a dwarf planet in the heavens named after the goddess of the sea, that right now is lighting up the sky in an effort to guide our way. In astrology as in myth, Sedna represents what gets thrown overboard so the surface world can keep paddling - the bodies, the voices, the knowings, the truths that civilisation believes it cannot afford to carry. She’s what the wound becomes when it is fully descended into rather than escaped. She’s the long underwater work between the act of discard and the return. She’s the eventual transformation of the cast-off into the very source of life the surface world has to come to, on its knees, to be fed.
Sedna in the sky was only discovered in 2003, which in astrological terms is yesterday. Her arrival into our awareness corresponds almost exactly with the moment our civilisation began collectively reckoning with what it had thrown overboard to stay afloat - indigenous knowing, the suppressed feminine, the body, the earth, the grief our institutions said we could not afford to feel. She didn’t arrive by accident - she arrived right on cue - and because she moves slowly, her orbit taking more than 11,000 years to circle the zodiac, she barely ticks across the sky in a human lifetime, which means when she meets a faster planet, it matters precisely because she so rarely meets anything at all. The fast planet brings her to the surface - she does not come up on her own.
This coming week, for the first time in many lifetimes, Sedna will meet Uranus in Gemini - the planet of revolution and awakening meeting the goddess of the deep waters on the first leg of his seven-year journey through the sign of the mind. Uranus in Gemini is the transit of our times - it’s the movement in the heavens that will define the next few years more than any other, as it’s here to rewire the way we receive reality.
For centuries, we have perceived reality’s signal through the mind alone, and built our world on logic and reason at the expense of feeling and deep knowing. The heart was what we threw overboard in order to thrive in the Age of the Mind - our connection to the deepest part of ourselves was what we suppressed in favour of the mind. Since Saturn and Neptune met in Aries in February for the unprecedented Genesis Reset, reality is no longer sending a signal to the mind - it’s now broadcasting on an entirely new frequency, one that the mind has no way to absorb. It’s why so many of us increasingly feel like we’re going out of our mind, because the mind can’t make sense of the new signal.
Uranus in Gemini is literally rewiring our circuitry, helping us adjust to the change in signal. Reality’s new frequency is deep and resonant, and only the deepest part of ourselves will know how to interpret it, so as Uranus begins its rewiring, the very first transmission through the new circuit will come next week from Sedna herself, like a message from the deep.
This is the mother of the ocean - the goddess made of everything that was thrown overboard - touching the wire of our species. Every voice that was pushed underwater to keep the surface tidy, every body that was discarded, every knowing that was called hysteria, every grief that was not allowed to be grief - all of it is now rising into the nervous system of the species through the new circuitry being laid down by Uranus in Gemini - not as memory, but as a live current. This is the heart rising at last, no longer suppressed, but resplendent, taking its rightful place as the mechanism through which we perceive reality, advising the mind, but no longer dominated by it.
This is why the news has felt impossible to metabolise this week, and why so many of us are exhausted in a way no amount of sleep can fix. This is why the inside of our own heads has begun to feel like a room we no longer quite recognise. The signal is changing and the deep is rising - in the body politic, in the architecture of our institutions, and in our own bodies - and we are the wire it’s rising through.
The wounded masculine institutions and structures and figures who have dominated our world for so long can feel the ground moving beneath their feet. They sense what we’re all sensing - that the frequency has shifted, and things aren’t working the way they used to. As that which has long been suppressed begins to rise - as our species is rewired - their ability to dominate is under threat, and so, like Sedna’s father, they’re throwing everything overboard and wielding their paddles in a frantic effort to keep their boat afloat.
But the acts of discard we watched compressed into these last few days will not see them make it back to shore. The winds have changed, and the response from the deep has only just begun. This week was not the end of anything, but the beginning of a seven-year reckoning being overseen by Uranus in Gemini, and being blessed by Sedna herself.
What’s being thrown overboard is not going there to die. It’s gone there to become a godess that rises as a reckoning.
The Nation and the Man in the Boat
As American news holds the world in thrall right now - as we watch Trump toss the law, and the Constitution, and morality into the sea - the sky shines a light on the United States, as the Sedna-Uranus conjunction lands squarely on its chart.
These two heavenly bodies make angles with the nation’s MC and the IC - the public face and the founding roots, the image the nation shows the world and the soil it was made from. The MC is what America projects, the IC is what America’s built on, and next week, when the awakener meets the goddess of the deep, the conjunction lights up both ends of that axis almost exactly. The very week the man in the boat is throwing the founding overboard is the very week the sky is wiring Sedna into the architecture of America itself.
Sedna and Uranus lighting up these parts of America’s chart is the opening note of a sequence leading us straight to the 4th of July, which this year is no regular anniversary. It’s the United States’ 250th birthday - the semi-quincentennial, the closing of the founding’s first half-millennium - and on that day, the transiting Sun returns to the exact degree it occupied on July 4, 1776. The 250th Solar Return of America carries Mars and Uranus sitting on the very angular wire Sedna is lighting up next week - the whisper from the deep becomes a strike on Independence Day, and the strike lands on the nation’s own birthday cake.
Mars on this wire is ignition. Uranus is awakening. Together on the founding’s 250th, on the nation’s projected face, what was wired into the architecture in May becomes live current in July. The revolutionary spirit of the United States - which has not been truly awake since 1776 - lights up again on its own birthday, on the same day Sedna is being introduced to the circuit. The founding is being called to remember itself.
And the same transit that lights up the nation lights up the man who has been trying to refound it. On the 4th of July, Mars and Uranus sit inside Donald Trump’s tenth house - his public face, his career, his image - on the founding’s own anniversary, his presidency suddenly illuminated by the very lightning the founding is calling down on itself. At the same time, transiting Saturn sits in tight opposition to his natal Chiron - the law standing directly opposite his deepest wound.
But the deeper signature is older than any single transit. Sedna on Donald Trump’s natal chart sits in Aries, in the house of law, belief, justice, and the higher mind - which tells us that the very thing he was built to throw overboard is the architecture of law itself. He’s not gone rogue this week - he’s gone natal. He’s following his chart to a tee. The pattern we have watched compressed into these last days is hard-wired into the chart of the man enacting it. And with Saturn - the planet of consequence - currently walking toward his natal Sedna, the man in the boat is not just paddling against the deep, but paddling toward his own rising reckoning, with the lord of consequence at his back.
On Our Way to the Deep
It’s easy right now to feel like everything we love is being thrown into the sea, because every day the news tells us that it is. And the news is correct - that’s exactly what’s happening, but it’s not because anything has gone wrong. According to the sky, everything is going to plan.
We are walking the corridor between worlds right now, with one foot still in the old dying world and another trying to find its footing in a world that’s barely formed yet. We are still living in the dying days of the Age of the Mind, still governed by its institutions and existing within its structures, but we’re watching them all hollow out, as their substance is callously thrown into the sea. This is heartbreaking to endure - to see a world we love being dismantled and discarded in this way, but the sky is reminding us that nothing that goes into the deep stays there. Not the law. Not the Constitution. Not the truth. Not the discarded voices, not the silenced grief, not the founding itself. The deep is not where things go to die. The deep is where things go to become god.
Everything the man in the boat tossed overboard this week is on its way back - not as it was, but as something the surface world will one day have to come to, on its knees, to be fed. The 14th Amendment is not gone. The rule of law is not gone. The republic is not gone. They are simply in the long underwater work, becoming the thing he will one day have to call by name.
This is what the transition from the Age of the Mind to the Age of the Heart was always destined to look like, and we’re right in the middle of the most disconcerting part of it where we’re clinging to the side of the boat of the old world by our severed fingers, afraid to hold on and afraid to let go, afraid of the storm and of the deep below.
But we don’t have to sit in our exhaustion convinced we’re going to hell in a hand-basket. We’re going to the deep, and the deep is rising on schedule. The reckoning is on its way, with the lord of consequence at its back, and we just have to keep our eyes on the horizon and let the sky do what the sky does.
Letting Go of the Boat
As we sit with all this and wonder what on earth we’re meant to do with it - how to be a person inside a week like this one, how to keep going when the news is doing what the news is doing - may we remember there’s only one thing the sky is asking of us right now.
It’s asking us to let go of the side of the boat.
Not the world. Not the people we love. Not the work that matters, or the values we hold, or the future we’re still trying to build. Just the boat - the old structure, the old way of carrying things, the old belief that survival depends on clinging to a form that is already breaking apart in our hands. The boat was never the thing keeping us alive - the water was, and we just forgot.
To let go of the boat is to stop trying to save what is already being made into something else. It’s to stop bracing against the descent, and stop trying to hold the surface together with our broken fingers. It’s to feel the cold water close over our heads and trust - because the myth tells us so, and the sky tells us so, and the deep part of ourselves has always known - that what waits for us at the bottom is not death, but becoming.
This week, the practice is small and simple. Once the news has told us what we need to know, put it down. Go outside and touch the earth - literally, with our hands, with our bare feet on the ground - because the earth is Sedna’s older sister and she remembers everything. Drink water slowly and let it remind us what our bodies are mostly made of. Cry when the crying comes, and let the grief move all the way through, because the grief is not a malfunction, it’s the deep rising through the new wiring. Rage when the rage comes, and let it be holy, because the rage is the same current. Rest when the rest comes, because the nervous system is being rewired and rewiring is exhausting work, and there is no version of this where pushing through serves the becoming.
And when fear comes - and it will, because fear is what the old world feeds on, and the old world is desperate right now - return to the simplest possible truth. The sky is doing what the sky does. The deep is rising on schedule. Sedna is being remembered, and we are the wire she is rising through, which means we are not separate from the reckoning - we ARE the reckoning, in the small everyday gestures of refusing to throw what’s heavy overboard. In refusing to discard our grief, our knowing, our love, and the parts of ourselves and each other the old world told us we couldn’t afford to carry.
The man in the boat thinks he’s the one with the paddle, but he doesn’t know that the water is the goddess. He doesn’t know that every stroke is a prayer to her, or that we are the children of the deep ready to rise with our hands full of fish, and we are the ones the surface will soon call by name.
So let go of the boat, dear friend. Let what is falling fall, and let what is rising rise. Let your fingers be broken if they have to be broken, because Sedna’s fingers became the seals and the whales and the dolphins, and yours will become whatever the world most needs you to be next.
The deep is destined to rise, and thought it feels it, we are not falling - we are being received.
If you need a place to land after reading this, or if you want some support as we step boldly toward a new world, come join me in the Daily Lighthouse. I’ll be there, each day with you, or if you prefer it in an audio listening format, head over to the Resonance Room.
See you next Sunday, friends.
Onwards!
The connection to the planetary rhythms and history, to what we are living through, is both enlightening and comforting. Without reading or watching news, I seem to gather everything I might need to know with your weekly wrap up. Current events wrapped in astrological history and patterns has become a raft in the storm for me. The past year, reading your charting and interpretations, intertwined with myths, has been the ocean of possibilities and potential for me. Thanks Wiz. You help Sundays be a reboot for thriving instead of drowning.
I’m here every Sunday. These posts honestly feel like my church. Thank you for helping keep us sane in these crazy times we’re living through. Your writing has such a calming effect and really helps stop me from spiralling. Stay blessed, my friend.