Humans Are Rounding the Moon and Wishcraft Is Closing the Season

My friend!

Right now — as you read this — four humans are finishing up circling the Moon aboard a spacecraft named Artemis. They just broke the record for the farthest any human has ever traveled from Earth — 252,756 miles and counting. They’re out there, and we’re down here, and somehow the distance is making us feel closer to something. We’re all “Standing on the Edge of Forever”.

Puscifer quoted from this epic song

It’s not lost on me that this mission carries the name of the goddess of the Moon — Artemis, the archer. The one who draws back, takes aim, and doesn’t miss. She’s the archetype of spring itself: focused, innocent, wild, precise. We’re in the season of stepping out of the underworld, eyes locked on the mark, and letting the arrow fly.

That’s what this moment is. That’s what April is.

You’ve been feeling it — the stirring, the restlessness, the sense that something is wanting to come through — this is not your imagination. We’ve been in the underworld. All of us. The last six months (and a lot longer if you’re hip to the cycles within cycles) have been traveling Persephone’s Path; Samhain to Ostara, the descent, the composting, the deep and quiet work of the dark half of the year.

And now we’re rising.

There is so much happening in the world right now. Humans rounding the Moon. Nations at a crossroads between more destruction and the promise of peace. People everywhere organizing — not waiting for permission, just showing up for each other. The economy shaking, the paradigm of reality shifting, and still — people choosing to build instead of burn. Sprouts pushing through the soil.
Your own life asking you to aim.

This is the threshold. The moment between the dark and the light where you get to choose what you carry forward and what you offer back to Gaia.

Here in Asheville, I’m closing out a six-month season of Wishcraft — a live performance series that’s held space for this entire journey from October to now. April 19th is the finale, the community sendoff into summer. My powerful soul sister Jeffri Lynn Carrington is joining me on stage, and I can’t wait.

At this sacred moment of potential, our actions, thoughts, and intentions resound powerfully. I invite you — sit at your altar, stand in the sunshine, dance under the moonlight, or surrender in the bath — and drink in the video I created for our song “Prayer.”

May the montage of pictures give you a peek into the intimacy of my relationship with these precious beings and inspire you to remember yours. May the music bring you to a heightened state of emotional awareness, calling you back into yourself, aligned with your highest dedication. And be at choice.

All of this beautiful momentum, chaos and energy is reminding us that:

We have been through worse. Our ancestors lived through plagues that emptied entire cities. Wars that dragged on for decades. Famines that wiped regions off the map. And every single time, life continued. Not because a hero showed up. Because ordinary people did ordinary things with extraordinary stubbornness. They raised children in unstable times anyway. They showed up to their craft every morning even when the world outside was on fire. They fed their neighbors. They kept the bakery open, kept the school running, kept the clinic staffed. They held their communities together not with grand gestures but with repetition. With showing up. With refusing to let the thread snap.

We are doing the same thing. The only difference is the scale has changed. Our ancestors did it within walking distance. We are doing it across time zones, across languages, through screens, inside networks that would have been unimaginable even twenty years ago. The stubbornness is the same. The tools are wider. The community you are holding together might be scattered across four continents and you might never meet half of them in person, but the instinct is identical. Keep going. Protect what is around you. Build with what you have.

What comes next does not arrive as a gift. It arrives as a construction site. Loud, dusty, exhausting, full of people who disagree about the blueprint. But the foundation is being poured right now, by every single person who is choosing to see clearly instead of looking away, who is building something honest in their own corner, who is taking care of their people without waiting for permission from a system that forgot they existed.

That is the Age of Aquarius. Not a paradise. A construction site we all showed up to, some of us still figuring out which tool is ours.

Adopted from Far Stellar’s Substack, read the whole post here.

In service to your Magic, –Adey Bell