The World is Changing—And So Are We

Stepping Into the Future: Pluto, Mars, and the Momentum of Now

Stepping Forward, Ready or Not

Mars retrograde in Cancer has felt less like a pause and more like an unraveling—a slow-motion dissolution of the structures we thought were stable, the identities we assumed were fixed. It was not the bold, forward-charging Mars we are accustomed to but one that pulled us backward, into memory, into lineage, into the emotional undercurrents we often avoid. This was a confrontation with the past, not as nostalgia but as excavation. What had we buried? What were we still holding onto that had long outlived its purpose?

For me, this was not theoretical. Mars moved retrograde through my eighth house—the terrain of symbolic death and transformation. And with it, something fundamental in my life came undone. Not suddenly, not dramatically, but in the slow, quiet way that erosion works. I had spent thirty years building a career, shaping an identity, creating something that felt permanent. Until it wasn’t. Until I could no longer deny that what once felt like solid ground had become something I was gripping onto out of habit, not truth.

There are losses we brace for and those we don’t see coming until they are already in motion. I resisted, at first. That’s what Mars does—it fights. But retrograde Mars doesn’t fight outward battles; it turns the struggle inward. It forces us to sit in the discomfort, to watch as old versions of ourselves slip away, and to question whether we were ever meant to hold onto them in the first place.

But as the loss settled, something else became clear: the empty space was not a void, but an opening. And within it, something stirred—something I had not expected but had long known. A book I had once conceived, during another era of uncertainty, another crisis, when Pluto first entered Capricorn. It had lived in notebooks, in fleeting thoughts, in the "someday" corners of my mind. But now, in the wake of surrender, it returned with new urgency. It had not been lost, only waiting for the right time.

That’s what Mars retrograde does. It strips away, it reconfigures, it clears. But it does not immediately replace what was lost. Instead, it leaves space—an unfamiliar, raw openness that is both unsettling and fertile. This is where I found myself, standing in the remnants of what had been, staring into the unknown of what could be.

It had been waiting, patient and unresolved, a whisper in the background of my life that had never quite faded—a calling that first emerged years ago, when Pluto entered Capricorn, only to be set aside until now. But back then, I wasn’t ready. Life carried me in another direction, and the idea drifted into the margins of my awareness.

Until now.

In the stillness Mars retrograde had forced upon me, I saw it clearly again. The space left behind was not just empty; it was waiting—waiting for something already known, something I had once grasped and then let slip away. The past wasn’t just dissolving; it was returning in a different form. And as I stood at this threshold, I realized: some things don’t vanish. They wait for the right time to be claimed again.

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Kairos Calls: The Right Idea, the Right Time

The book wasn’t just an idea—it was an inevitability. I can see that now, but back in 2008, it was something far more nebulous, a flicker of recognition rather than a fully formed vision. I had spent the previous decade immersed in two profound intellectual frameworks—one from a book I had read years earlier, and one from a discipline I had spent years studying.

The book was The Fourth Turning, and its generational theory had planted a seed in my mind long before I understood how deeply it would take root. The other was astrology, which by 2008 had become not just an interest but a way of seeing. When the financial collapse hit, I didn’t just see an economic crisis—I saw a generational inflection point. I saw an entire cycle turning, a historical moment that would leave different generations with vastly different burdens, shaping their worldviews, their struggles, their destinies.

At the time, I didn’t yet have the language to articulate the full synthesis of these ideas. I knew the connection was there—I could feel it—but I hadn’t yet lived through enough of Pluto in Capricorn to witness how the dismantling of institutions, the shifts in power, and the deep restructuring of society would unfold. I needed time to experience it, to watch how the weight of history and the tides of astrology moved together. This was a revelation that required patience; it needed the slow churning of Pluto in Capricorn, the way time itself would sculpt understanding out of experience.

Now, with Pluto leaving Capricorn and stepping into Aquarius, the landscape has changed. The structures that were beginning to crack in 2008 have either fully collapsed or been reshaped into something new. The long-held institutions and generational contracts that once felt unshakable have been tested and, in many cases, found wanting. What I could only glimpse in 2008, I can now see in its entirety.

This is the essence of astrology—not just as a system of prediction, but as a framework for understanding the quality of time itself.

“Whatever is born or done in this moment of time has the qualities of this moment of time.”
—Carl Jung

The moment of conception is not the same as the moment of birth. In 2008, this book was an embryo, forming but not yet ready to enter the world. Now, in 2025, its time has come. But readiness is never just about knowledge—it is about time itself. The moment something is truly ripe for emergence, it moves from waiting to inevitability.

There is a difference between Kronos and Kairos—between time that marches forward in a measured sequence, and time that ripens into the opportune moment. This book has existed in Kronos for years, waiting, gestating, its framework slowly assembling itself in the background of my life. But now it has moved into Kairos, the moment where everything aligns, where it is no longer just an idea but an imperative.

And that is the lesson of Pluto in Capricorn—it was never just about watching the world change, but about living through the transformation itself. Through each unraveling, I wasn’t just an observer—I was recalibrating, shedding my own assumptions, learning to trust that what was collapsing was never meant to hold. I could not have written this book any sooner, because I needed to become the person who could write it. The world had to shift, and so did I. The weight of time, the unfolding of history, the patience required to witness the arc of a full Pluto transit—this is what has brought me to this moment.

The book is no longer something I plan to write. It is something I am writing, because its time is now.

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The Daimōn’s Call: When the Time to Act Arrives

The whisper of self-doubt has been with me as long as I can remember. It is not the loud, paralyzing kind but the slow, meticulous voice that always asks: Is this good enough? Have I refined it to its essence? Have I mastered the form before I attempt the expression? This is the imprint of Pluto in Virgo in my chart—an evolutionary demand for precision, for patience, for a kind of deep refinement that does not rush. And so, it is no accident that the long unfolding of this book idea paralleled Pluto’s slow passage through Capricorn, another earth sign. This generational Pluto earth trine was not just a transit—it was a process of deep soul calibration. This book could not be written before I had lived enough to embody its truth.

But at some point, patience turns into hesitation. The daimōn does not wait forever. There came a moment when the call was no longer subtle—it was a force pressing forward, insisting that the time was now. And the paradox of surrender is that it is not passive; it is an active relinquishing of control, a deliberate agreement to trust the process, to trust that the timing was right, and to trust that the work itself would guide me forward. To stop holding the idea at arm’s length, endlessly refining it in theory, and instead, step fully into its creation.

And just as I reached the point of surrender, the cosmos echoed the shift back to me. And that is when Mars shifted.

For months, Mars had been retrograde, demanding retreat, revisitation, a careful retracing of past steps. Now, as it stations direct, there is no more circling back—only forward movement. This is not the same terrain I left months ago; it is familiar but altered. The hesitation that once felt like a necessary check has lifted, replaced by something lighter, clearer. Where there was once resistance, there is now momentum, a current carrying me forward with a force that feels both natural and inevitable.

There is a difference between forcing something into being and allowing it to unfold. This is the lesson I am learning now. The work is no longer a thing to do but a thing to be in—a rhythm, a current, a deep creative movement that carries itself forward. I wake each day, and the words are waiting. Not in the way they once did, burdened with expectation, but freely, as if the idea has finally recognized that it is time to be born.

This is the shift. Not just in the sky but in me. Mars moves forward, and so do I.

And so do you. This is your moment too, your opening, your invitation. What is rising in you now that is ready to be born?

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Stepping Forward, Ready or Not

Pluto has crossed the threshold into Aquarius, and the air itself hums with change. We feel it in our bones, in the electric tension of a world in flux. It is not yet fully formed, not yet clear what shape the future will take, but something is cracking open. The old world is loosening its grip, and the new world is stirring beneath the surface. We are standing in the threshold of an era that has only just begun. The air is thick with the sensation of a world in transition. This is the beginning of something vast, something we cannot yet name.

For the past fifteen years, Pluto in Capricorn pulled apart the very structures that held society together. Governments, financial systems, institutions, hierarchies—all were tested, many failed us. We lived through the disillusionment, watching as once-unshakable foundations cracked beneath the weight of their own decay. We have witnessed the dismantling. Now we are standing in the in-between, inside the question of what comes next. Pluto in Aquarius will bring radical reinvention, collective realignment and new forms of power—but first, we must step into the unknown.

This collective shift mirrors the personal one. Just as Pluto has changed signs, Mars has now stationed direct. After months of circling through the emotional terrain of Cancer, after a period of retreat and recalibration, Mars gathers momentum, shaking off the weight of its long retreat. And with it, something within us stirs, uncoiling, ready to move.

Mars retrograde in Cancer was not just a pause—it was a confrontation with the past. It was a journey through remembrance, ancestral imprints, and the tides of feeling that run beneath the surface of our lives. It asked us to sit with what shaped us, to sift through what is still ours to carry and what must be left behind. And now, as Mars turns direct, we are given momentum, the push to step forward with clarity, purpose, and emotional truth. We are not returning to where we were. We are returning to the same landscape with new eyes.

This is the invitation: to step into our own rebirth, to embrace the momentum of this moment. To trust that even if the future is not yet fully formed, it is unfolding exactly as it must. The shift is already underway. Resistance is futile, hesitation a luxury. The only question left is—will we step into it willingly?

What is opening inside you now? What is calling you forward? Let’s move through this, together.

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What has this retrograde unearthed in you? What have you released, and what has come to take its place? As Mars moves forward again, what are you finally ready to claim?