
Mercury turns. The air shifts. Thoughts tangle in strange loops. Words vanish before they land. We second-guess every instinct. This retrograde fog blurs intention. Concentration flickers like a weak flame. Plans falter, devices glitch, clarity fades. Mental patterns spiral without warning. The body absorbs the confusion. Shoulders tighten. Sleep turns restless. Breath grows shallow. We try to focus, fail, try again. Journaling offers brief relief. Thoughts spill without structure. Still, something shifts in the writing. Confusion finds a shape. Grounding becomes essential. Cold water on skin helps. The scent of earth steadies us. We touch what’s real, what’s now. Astrology reminds us it will pass. This fog has a cycle. Retrograde always ends. But until then, we wait, observe, breathe. We move slowly, speak carefully, listen fully. Mercury’s backward dance teaches humility. Missteps become mirrors. Delays become teachers. Misunderstandings urge better listening. Even in the haze, wisdom hides. We begin to trust not clarity, but presence.
Leave a comment