
Mercury moves fast—too fast sometimes. When it nears the Sun, it dims. Thoughts lose their shape and speed. The mind struggles to stay focused. Sharpness turns soft, edges blur quickly.
This is combustion. A temporary blindness. Mercury, our logic and speech, burns. Words stumble, memory flickers, ideas vanish. We question ourselves at every turn. Second-guessing becomes the new habit. Confidence dissolves into a sea of hesitation. Simple tasks feel strangely complex.
Communication frays at the edges. Conversations miss their mark completely. We speak, but are not heard. Or we stay silent, unsure of tone. Emails go unsent. Calls are avoided. There’s fear in being misunderstood again.
The body joins this chaos. Tension climbs the spine, won’t release. Sleep offers little relief or clarity. Eyes strain, brows furrow, breath shortens. The nervous system hums uncomfortably—overstimulated, always alert. Thoughts circle like crows, never landing.
In this fog, time feels strange. Minutes stretch, days blend, nothing anchors. Mercury’s clarity is lost in glare. The intellect, once steady, starts to sway. Even intuition feels drowned by noise.
To cope, we must slow down. Write things out, not just think them. Say things twice—once to feel, once to confirm. Structure becomes salvation. Routines offer steadiness. Meditation brings space to sort.
Chanting helps Mercury heal. Rhythm restores thought to motion. Mantra stills the tremble in words. The inner voice, once shaky, strengthens. Not loud—but clear.
This is not a breakdown. It’s a rebalancing. A chance to listen deeper. To speak more honestly. To rest the mind and refine it. Mercury returns with time and space. Not as it was, but wiser.
Doubt stays, but no longer rules. Clarity becomes a quiet companion. In the aftermath, we find ourselves. Humbled, yes—but more whole.
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