Tomorrow the New Moon in Sagittarius falls precisely at the Galactic Center. The place where all laws cease to apply. Truths bend like spoons in The Matrix, and the black hole swallows everything without mercy. It might even burp at the Moon’s unfulfilled dreams and feel a little queasy from that Sagittarian naïveté that “everything will be fine in the end.” From the black hole’s perspective, it’s practically a crime to be so uninformed—to sleep through the void, or stuff it full at any cost, gorging on cakes, stealing kids’ gummy bears, drowning in alcohol, convincing yourself you’re not alone just to lift your head off the pillow around noon. We fill 5TB external drives with photos and videos, and it’s never enough—there’s always more space to cram, because we need it to never be enough: not love, not life, not experiences, not sleep, not desires… It can be better, there can be more, there’s room, give give give…

Ask me how I know.
My Venus—ruler of my Ascendant—sits natally right there, to the minute, at 26°50′ Sagittarius.
That’s not a placement—it’s a curse and a blessing at once.

Gravitational collapse pulls everything in, carries it away; everything vanishes forever. As if it never happened, as if nothing and never. In my life, it’s the mouth of a container into which I toss everything I love. Memories I cherish, that awaken tenderness, love, warmth in my soul—nothing compares to the ecstasy when the vacuum irreversibly sucks them in. My favorite button isn’t “Delete” but “Delete Forever.” Because only then does transformation begin, and new birth. The eternal process: from nothing comes everything, and everything returns to nothing…

My transformations arrive unannounced, without self-work, just like waking up in some parallel universe from Interstellar. I might look around for Nolan to check if I’ve ended up in his film, because nothing here feels truly real.
For me, the real is the inexplicable, while this “real” here is over before it even begins. My entire life.

But wait—no! I’m not exaggerating! Though that’s something I repeat most often precisely because of this Venus placement—and despite hiding how much I’m capable of, downplaying how much of me there is, never telling everything, because people would think it impossible. This time I’m really not exaggerating, because listen: the light reaching us from those points in the sky we call stars isn’t the star, nor light. The star died long ago. It’s just the echo of a supernova that exploded perhaps while dinosaurs still roamed the Earth! That’s what planets at the Galactic Center see and know. Everything has already ended, and we’re not here as incarnation but as echo. We are echoes… We think we’re alive, but we’re not. Yet we haven’t died in the way we fear either. It’s a different kind of dying. Commercial. Like everything here, after all.

And it’s handy to ignore the void we’re made of and float in. That’s why we have to lie. To ourselves, to others.
We lie to exist—that’s the whole point.
That’s why we need each other: to sustain the illusion that we exist.
Saturn and Neptune are now stripping away that illusion, masks are tearing, shadows breaking through, true faces emerging—but only so we can forge new ones. In Aries—of titanium, just in case. Who dares live without a mask? Or a role?
Whoever seeks life without illusion hasn’t understood life. Yet in Aries we’ll believe even that is possible! To be ordinary, neither great nor special—just sufficient, an ordinary human. Maybe that too is the world’s new mask? Like the fool or the joker. No one takes him seriously; the fool doesn’t end on the guillotine because an ordinary man spoke the truth.

And we who breathe at the Galactic Center, in the vacuum of the black hole—it’s the same force that gifted us (now comes the blessing part) to download texts like this one directly from there, as I’ve done with every one before. That charisma the black hole uses to draw everything to itself—so wherever I am, there you are too. And again, exaggerating! Nonsense!

So, my dear nonexistent echo-glimmers, tomorrow’s New Moon at the Galactic Center is your wake-up call.
Not to stop lying. But to stop believing the lies that keep you “alive.”

They’ve worn out. New “truths” are needed. Because the black hole doesn’t swallow to destroy. It swallows to birth the new.
Tomorrow you can become a new star if you stop fearing the void and start loving it.
To create from the void, live in it, love in it.
That’s the only way I know how.

BECAUSE THE VOID IS NOT THE END.
THE VOID IS NOT “NOTHING.”
THE VOID IS—S P A C E
FOR EVERYTHING YET TO BE BORN.

Or you can remain an echo and miss another supernova.

That’s why both the New Moon and the squares piling up with Saturn/Neptune at the end of Pisces are saying everything has faded, and repeating it only washes out the colors; we’re tired of lying anymore, tired of pretending this is “life,” tired of fooling ourselves. So the weeks ahead until early January are like an enchanted labyrinth with no exit—except to accept that the labyrinth doesn’t exist. That we invented it ourselves.

Your Venus at the GC in Sagittarius loved you, and what you’re reading now is just an echo from three million years ago… and it tells you:
DON’T LOOK FOR THE EXIT. WE’RE ALREADY FREE.