The Nervous System of an Epoch After the Illusions Break at Zero Degrees The Saturn-Neptune Passage
Preface
This is not a prediction, a manifesto, or a call to action.
It is an account of what it feels like to live inside this moment with your senses intact.
Much of what circulates right now is either sensationalised or sanitised. Complexity is flattened. Language is used to soothe, provoke, or persuade rather than to orient. I am not interested in adding to that noise. This essay is an attempt to slow the field down long enough to make contact with what is actually happening, internally and collectively.
What follows is written from lived experience, not abstract theory. It does not offer reassurance or easy conclusions. It does not promise rescue or resolution. It is grounded in the understanding that clarity is not something we arrive at through speed, certainty, or consensus, but through sustained attention to the body, the psyche, and the pressures shaping both.
You will not find simple answers here. You may find recognition.
If at any point this reading feels activating, that matters. Pause. Breathe. Come back into your body. The intention is not to escalate fear or urgency, but to name the forces at play without bypassing their impact on the nervous system.
This piece is for those who are tired of being told how to think, what to believe, or who to follow. For those who sense that something fundamental is shifting, but feel no desire to dramatise or escape it, for those who understand that the work ahead is not about winning, but about staying coherent while the ground moves.
Read slowly. Take breaks. Let your body lead.
That is where this essay begins.
I want to speak from my own position here, because platitudes no longer cut it.
The last ten years have been brutal for me, personally, not in a dramatic or performative way, but in the slow, grinding way that alters you permanently. I have done the work. I have healed what could be healed. I wrote my book, Fatima’s Alchemy, published in August 2025, as an honest record of that odyssey. And yet nothing magically resolved itself. There was no arrival point. No redemption arc neatly tied off.
Instead, I find myself moving through a different kind of terrain. One shaped by collective sleepiness, denial, and a deep reluctance to look directly at what is happening. There is an awakening underway, yes, but it is uneven, moving through the body unevenly. Some feel it as agitation, others as numbness. Many try to bypass it, soften it, aestheticise it, or look away entirely. Walking this path has not felt heroic. It has felt heavy, slow, and isolating—the kind of loneliness that settles in the chest rather than the mind. Support has been sparse. Encouragement is rarer still. And yet I have stayed with it, staying upright inside myself, continuing to offer context, coherence, and orientation for those who are willing, whether they acknowledge it or not.
At this point, weariness feels inevitable. Holding yourself together is no longer a metaphor. It is a physical task. Jaw tight. Shoulders lifted. Breathe shallowly without intending it to be. We live inside a rhythm that outpaces the nervous system’s ability to digest experience. The news arrives faster than the body can process threat or relief. Even good news carries a charge, a faint tightening in the gut, a sense of waiting for the next blow. Genuine rest now often requires disengaging from outcomes altogether. Letting go of hope as an expectation, not as a value. Unless you are deeply trained in stillness, or have withdrawn almost entirely from material life, I suspect your body is bracing even in sleep. I know mine is. I am still negotiating what I can loosen my grip on, and what feels too bound up with loss to release without pain.
We are approaching something significant in the skies, and I feel it less as anticipation than as pressure. Saturn is moving toward Neptune at the Aries point. Uranus paused, coiled. Pluto is settling into a long descent through Aquarius. Eclipses stitching through as sutures pulled tight across a wound that is still raw. I understand the excitement this stirs. When outer planets align, people lean forward. The body wants relief. It wants a turning point. It wants to believe that something external will arrive and take the weight off our internal holding.
The rapture. The quickening. Ascension. These ideas land like prayers because they promise escape from strain.
But the body knows better.
Outer planets do not arrive gently. Their work is catabolic. They break down what has been holding, often before something new is ready to support the weight. This is not a conceptual shift. It is lived as destabilisation. As grief that arrives without language. As relationships suddenly feel foreign. Belief systems are collapsing faster than the nervous system can adapt. The world you imagine yourself stepping into rarely comes without shock. More often, it arrives through loss, rupture, and the dull ache of disillusionment that lingers long after the initial impact.
Yes, change is needed. Yes, the old structures were already failing. But transformation at this scale hurts in ways that are not poetic. Awakening often means realising that what you called safety was a form of holding your breath. That pride was built on stories you never examined. That comfort required looking away. And that everything you refused to feel was not gone, only stored, accumulating pressure in the background, shaping behaviour and systems from the shadows.
Saturn meeting Neptune scrambles meaning at a gut level. It becomes hard to tell what is true and what is being sold. Uranus pushes change faster than the body can consent to it. Pluto demands surrender without asking if you are ready to grieve. Even the so-called supportive aspects can create a sense of inevitability that bypasses choice. Something may be repaired. Something else may be locked into place and called progress. Both can feel similar at first. Time is the only thing that reveals the difference.
Right now, I find myself questioning the cost, not philosophically, but physically and feeling the strain in my system—the accumulated fatigue. The quiet ache of watching others suffer. Of witnessing cruelty emerge from places that publicly claimed compassion and consciousness. That has been one of the hardest parts. Seeing harm enacted behind masks of virtue. Feeling that betrayal lands in the body first as shock, then grief, then a heaviness that does not lift easily.
This has impacted me directly and indirectly, including through people I trusted, people I believed to be sincere, and people I shared contracts and commitments with. To be blunt, discovering I was bait rather than colleague or ally left a mark that words barely touch. The grief has been palpable. Not abstract. Not symbolic. It has been seen in faces, heard in voices, felt in nervous systems pushed beyond their capacity. I never imagined I would be forced to witness this level of cruelty up close, especially from those who wore the opposite mask.
And still, here I am. Trying to keep my footing while the path rearranges itself beneath me. Not certain if it has been worth the effort. Only certain that my body knows the truth of what it has lived through.
If you are reading this and feel it in your own chest, your own breath, your own fatigue, you are not imagining it. You have been carrying something real, too.
The coming weeks will push many people to an edge they do not anticipate. I say this not to build fear, but to prepare you. The work will be stabilisation, not success or conquest. The sky has turned serious in a way that no bypassing, pop culture astrology will ever convey. Escapism will not prepare you. In fact, it will leave you more vulnerable to disorientation before it offers any relief.
We are approaching a turning of the epoch. I say this carefully and deliberately.
On 14 February 2026, Saturn and Neptune conjoin at 0 degrees Aries.
This conjunction has not occurred at this point for thousands of years. That alone matters.
This is not a repeat cycle resurfacing. It is a genuine reset point—a transition into unfamiliar territory rather than a revision of what already exists.
Saturn reenters Aries and does not retreat. Neptune is already there. Together, they meet at the absolute beginning of the zodiac, inside an eclipse window, at a time when the field is already unstable and highly charged.
This does not arrive in a settled world. It lands in an environment under strain, saturation, and acceleration. Eclipse windows amplify everything they touch. Meaning is assigned before context has time to form. Events move faster than comprehension.
Aries is not a spark. It is fire.
Ruled by Mars, Aries initiates through force rather than contemplation. At zero degrees, that fire is unmediated. There is no precedent, no inherited structure, no tested pathway. Saturn does not offer security here. It demands responsibility without certainty. Neptune strips away the illusion that intention alone is sufficient.
This is fire asserting itself in unstable air.
Jupiter remains retrograde in Cancer throughout this period, containing expansion rather than releasing it. Growth is internalised. Pressure builds inward before it moves outward. This is not a moment of visible resolution. It is a moment of internal ignition.
Awareness is the difference between combustion and self-destruction.
The risk is not passivity. It is a premature action without terrain awareness. The environment is saturated with information, emotion, and stimulus. Like a tornado pulling debris into its spin, everything in the air becomes fuel. Without restraint, the fire consumes indiscriminately.
This conjunction does not remove chaos. It requires action, but not reckless action.
What is being initiated is not clarity, but responsibility for the force you carry. The task is not to extinguish the fire or unleash it blindly, but to preserve awareness long enough to understand where it can move without burning everything down.
This is not the end of an era announced cleanly. It is the beginning of one that demands self-mastery before external authority can stabilise.
The danger is self-combustion.
What survives this passage will be what learns how to hold fire without destroying itself.
What we are witnessing globally is not confusion by accident. It is confusion under pressure.
The world is overloaded with information, emotion, and competing demands. Systems are strained. Attention is fragmented. Reactivity is high. When stimulation exceeds containment, individuals and organisations mistake activation for readiness. Decisions are made to discharge pressure rather than because the terrain is understood.
Power is asserting control, not through clarity or vision, but through force. Narratives are driven by urgency, threat, and dominance rather than discernment. This creates a war of wills, not a war of solutions.
At the same time, people are pushing for freedom. Not abstract freedom, but relief from constraint, coercion, and constant psychological pressure. These impulses are colliding without mediation.
The result is volatility.
When force meets resistance without truth in the middle, the field destabilises—information fragments. Messaging becomes ambiguous. Disclosure feels partial or strategically obscured. This prevents the nervous system from regulating at scale.
People are not failing to regulate because they are weak. They are failing because coherence is missing.
Clarity is the primary regulator. When it is absent, the system defaults to fear, reactivity, and polarisation.
We are in a war of wills.
Not everyone is lying, but very few are speaking plainly. Language is used to manage perception rather than convey reality. This leaves people unable to orient themselves. Confusion breeds anxiety. Anxiety drives impulsive alignment or withdrawal.
The core lesson of this period is uncompromising.
Certainty cannot be outsourced.
No authority, institution, or leader can provide the internal clarity required to navigate this environment. Waiting for leadership to stabilise the field is no longer viable.
This is now an individual journey of discernment.
Psychological and social survival depend on the capacity to think independently, regulate internally, and act without borrowed certainty. Those who cannot develop this will be pulled into collective panic, ideological extremes, or exhaustion.
Leadership failure is not only about incompetence. It is about capture.
Many leaders are trapped in a hunger for control that overrides foresight. There is a prevailing drive to win at any cost, even if the cost is social cohesion, trust, or long-term well-being.
When leadership operates from dominance rather than responsibility, it loses its protective function.
Which leaves a necessary question.
When agendas are driven by force, speed, and ambiguous disclosure, how safe can leadership truly be for those it claims to represent?
This is not a call for rebellion or disengagement. It is a call for internal authority.
The work now is not to pick sides more loudly. It is to stabilise internally, sharpen discernment, and refuse to surrender thinking in exchange for psychological comfort.
This period will not reward certainty.
It will reward clarity under pressure.
Action is required. But action without self-awareness is destructive.
What is being tested is not courage, but containment.
Those who can hold activation without discharging it prematurely will emerge with clarity and authority when the environment stabilises. Those who burn too fast will exhaust themselves or destabilise what they are trying to lead.
Returning to the Body
If you have read this far and feel charged, tight, or unsettled, pause here. That response makes sense. Nothing in this moment is asking you to stay alert forever. The work is not constant vigilance. It is knowing when to return to yourself.
Before interpretation, before action, before opinion, the body comes first.
Notice where you are holding. The jaw. The belly. The chest. The hands. Let the breath drop lower than it has been all day. Not to fix anything, but to signal safety to a system that has been carrying too much for too long. You do not need to resolve the future to regulate the present.
Stability now is built through simple, repeatable acts. Eating real food. Sleep when you can—moving the body enough to discharge excess activation and reducing exposure to narratives that inflame without informing. These are not small things. They are the difference between clarity and collapse.
You are not required to have an opinion on everything. You are not required to respond at the speed of the feed. Slowness is not avoidance. It is discernment. Silence is not disengagement. It is containment.
Let what is unclear remain unclear for now. Certainty gained too quickly often comes at the expense of truth. The nervous system needs time to integrate before the mind can see clearly.
If something feels urgent, wait. If something feels righteous, question it. If something pulls you out of your body, step back. Orientation returns when sensation returns. The body is the only place where reality can be tested without distortion.
This period is not asking you to be fearless. It is asking you to be present. Fire does not need to be fought or fed. It needs to be held with awareness.
Come back to what is within reach. Your breath. Your weight. Your contact with the ground. From there, choice becomes possible again.
That is where coherence begins.
Delahrose Roobie Myer
Confidante • Catalyst • Clarifier
Depth • Design • Direction
Author, Fatima’s Alchemy: A Treasure to Behold
Hardcover available via major booksellers
FIABCI World Prix d’Excellence Silver Medallist, Sustainable Design
Founder, Awaken Designs
“Sunrise at 1770,” Queensland, Australia
