Here we are in the middle of eclipse season, with the Full Moon Eclipse happening on August 27–28.
And I don’t know about you, but lately I have felt a bit as though I am free-falling.
I’ve been going through a great change in my life. A career change, a life change, some health changes, an identity change—and a deepening.
Like most change, it is hard to say exactly when it began.
Was it eight years ago when I moved to the Island, guided by a Solstice wish?
Was it six years ago, when I accompanied my sister through the end of her life?
Was it two years ago, when two close friends and my mother passed?
I don’t exactly know when the change began, but I do know that I am somewhere in the middle of the leap now.
Because this is what the leap looks like.
The word leap sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Weightless, buoyant and graceful in flight.
Yet that is not usually how a leap feels.
When I’m in the midst of one, some days I wake up and legitimately do not know what I’m doing. Sometimes that feels humorous, sometimes it feels liberating—and sometimes it is frigging terrifying.
On the excruciating days, the ones clearly designed to grind me into some kind of imago goo, I wake up and think:
I actually do not know who I am.
And that feels like both an ending and an invitation to live differently.
The ground beneath my feet is nowhere near as solid as it used to be. Income is shifting. Visions are slipping. Relationships are swaying and solidifying into something entirely new.
I can’t see the future like I used to.
Or perhaps I can—but only a step or two ahead, like walking a deliciously winding trail where I cannot see what is waiting around the next bend.
Some days I am filled with so much hope and joy that I can feel possibility fizzing beneath all the chaos.
Other days, I am inexplicably crushed by the uncertainty of it all.
I don’t know what comes next. Not truly. I see glimpses and catch whispers, but the whole picture remains just out of sight.
Yet I know that this feeling of weightless free-fall—no tether and no familiar ground—is somehow the sign I have been waiting for. Perhaps it is even the moment I have been praying for.
Because this is what the leap looks like.
The leap looks like being ungrounded for a moment. It looks like not knowing where your feet are.
It looks like glimpsing the whole wide world before you for one glorious second—before having to focus, somewhat blindly, on the unrecognizable blur of something new rushing towards you.
It looks like having no idea how you will reach the other side, while knowing you cannot get there if you keep even one foot pinned to the ground where you are.
So you leap. (Probably whilst cursing!)
This is the energy of the Fool in tarot, standing at the edge of the cliff and about to begin an entirely new journey.
The Fool has no map tucked into that tiny bundle.
There is no carefully constructed five-year plan, no list of guarantees and no certificate proving they are qualified for whatever comes next.
The Fool stands at the edge with an open heart, a wee dog at their heels and their face lifted towards the sun.
The dog may be offering a warning—or it may be the Fool’s instinct, joy and wildness saying, Oi, let’s go!
The Fool is numbered zero: the place before the beginning.
Zero is empty and yet contains everything. It is the pause before the first note, the blank page before the first word and the moment when every possibility still exists.
The Fool can appear naïve, but their energy is not about being careless or refusing to see what is in front of them. It is about refusing to let fear make every decision.
It is curiosity over certainty.
Trust over control.
Possibility over predictability.
The Fool reminds us that we are allowed to begin before we feel completely ready.
We are allowed to be new at something. We are allowed to change direction, travel lightly and leave behind the identities and expectations that have become too heavy to carry.
There is a glorious freedom in Fool energy. It does not ask, What will everyone think? It asks, What is calling me? What makes me feel alive? What might become possible if I take the next step?
And no, the Fool does not know exactly where the path will lead.
That is the whole frigging point.
The Fool’s journey does not begin with certainty. It begins with willingness—with the courage to step away from the familiar and meet life as it unfolds.
This is what the leap looks like.
You must be willing to enter that sacred mid-air. To have no familiar anchor for a moment. To allow both feet to leave the old ground—because there is no other way to arrive somewhere new.
But sometimes we are walking towards that cliff for years.
Sometimes we forget that there is anywhere else for us to be except on the edge—the edge of our limits, the edge of our familiar world, the edge of despair.
Sometimes there is so much weight we must put down before we can leap that the shedding feels as though it has become our whole life.
The world asks us to release layer after layer after layer.
The good girl. The people pleaser. The rescuer. The person we thought we had to be. The relationships we have outgrown. The dreams that no longer fit.
The versions of ourselves that once protected us but have now become too small to live inside.
And then, eventually, one day, we leap.
We always leap—even when we begin to believe it is impossible—because the leap is inevitable.
It is how the soul moves.
At our essence, we cannot help but continue to change, deepen, remember and evolve. And so we leap.
As our feet leave the ground, we have to remind ourselves:
Do not be afraid. This is what the leap looks like.
That is the energy of the Fool.
And it is the energy of this eclipse.
Eclipses uncover things. They illuminate what we have tucked away, ignored or convinced ourselves we can continue carrying.
They bring endings and beginnings together until it can be difficult to tell which is which.
Perhaps that is why they can feel so ungrounding. Something has ended, but the new thing has not yet fully arrived.
We are neither here nor there. We are mid-air.
Lately, I look around at my family, my community and this aching world and think:
Wow. What a leap we are taking.
What a time to be here on this planet, living inside this great mid-jump uncertainty.
It is an honour, really.
And it is an honour to keep walking towards that edge ourselves.
Because our individual leaps—our willingness to release, change, speak, choose and begin again—help create the collective energy the world needs to make its own leap towards healing.
So, if you too are feeling the endless expanse of mid-air during this eclipse season…
If you read this and recognize yourself in the simple, uncomfortable sensation of not knowing…
If you sense a new era coming but cannot yet see what it will look like for you…
Take a breath. You do not need to know exactly where you are going.
You do not need to make the leap look graceful.
You do not need to have a tidy plan, the perfect answer or a frigging clue what happens next.
You simply need to remember:
You are not falling, Gorgeous Soul.
You are leaping.
And this is exactly how we reach the other side.
