angstoic.com Astrologer, Ang Stoic
So the eclipses have come and gone, and many of us are feeling like flotsam, flung out from a storm, washed up on some jagged shore—beaten, bruised, yet somehow not surprised. We knew the storm was coming, just like we knew the little lies and illusions we played along with would one day blow up in our faces. Secrets, or the things we won’t tell, aren’t nothing; they’re toxic and heavy, like leaden weights, dragging you down with every step. Every second of every day, you brace yourself for the inevitable moment when truth finally breaks through, leaving you to pick up the humiliating pieces. The weight of the big reveal of these eclipses can be quite crushing.
And here, even after everything’s torn apart, after the truth lays bare, I see most people still don’t want their lives fixed. They cling hard to their messes, defend their dramas tooth and nail, resume to glut over their distractions. Because the real trauma isn’t the storm—it’s the emptiness that comes after. The clean slate is scarier than the chaos. Tomorrow’s unknown is more frightening than any of the dank shit we’ve been through.
And now, as we stand in the wreckage, one thing becomes blatantly clear: that none of this was random. What we called chaos was just a pattern we refused to see. What felt like madness was just history repeating, over and over. The mess, the storm, the fallout—it’s all part of the same cycle, the same damning pattern that we refuse to see.
Freedom to choose might be just an illusion. Control over anything is a sad joke. We’re just living out the next chapter of a cosmic story written long before we got here, and we seem hopeless to change the script, even if our lives depended on it.
