The Eclipse Corridor
February 6–17

Snake ends. Horse arrives. The air is thick with endings.

Not a countdown.
Not a ritual.
A corridor.

Something happens in these days before the Solar Eclipse.
Before the New Moon.
Before the Fire Horse rides in and everything cracks open.

This isn’t light-touch energy.
This is break-it energy. Burn-it-down energy.
If it doesn’t belong, it won’t survive this threshold.

The last time the Fire Horse showed up was 1966.
Systems didn’t just tremble — they split.
This year has that same frequency. But it’s personal now.

We’re closing the Year of the Snake.
The year of shedding what no longer fits — even if we tried to hold on.

The Snake never rushes.
It waits for the new skin to grow underneath.
If you feel tired right now, foggy, off-track — that’s part of it.
The final skin is still loosening.

No, you’re not lazy.
No, you’re not missing the moment.
You’re right on time.

This eclipse lands on the same day the Horse year begins.
That’s not symbolic.
That’s a rupture. A clean break in the timeline.

You may feel it already:
– old strategies that just stopped working
– relationships that feel too heavy to carry forward
– dreams that used to light you up, now dim
– decisions that don’t land, no matter how hard you try

It’s not confusion.
It’s transition.

You’re in between the part of you that protected everything —
and the part of you that doesn’t need to anymore.

The Snake taught stillness.
The Horse doesn’t ask. It moves.

But not yet.
Not this week.

This corridor isn’t for the sprint.
It’s for the unclenching.
The dissolving.
The quiet letting go of what can’t come with you.

If you feel numb or neutral — that’s still movement.
If you feel raw — you’re not broken. You’re still in the molting.

Let things go quiet.
Let yourself not know.

What comes with you after this is what was always meant to stay.

🔥 Not the thing you kept chasing
🐍 Not the story you’ve outlived
🐎 But the part of you that’s ready to move without needing permission

Stay close to your body this week.
Drink water.
Get low to the ground.
Touch what’s real.
Write the thing down and burn it.
Let it end without naming it heroic.

This is not a performance.
This is a passage.

And if you’re reading this and already feel the shift, you’re in it.

Let it unfold.

—
If you want to move through the corridor with real support, clarity, and momentum that doesn’t cost your nervous system — Coming Home To Yourself was made for this.