I’ve been a new moon of late — present, rejuvenating, and yet devoid of light. It’s as if the universe had lined up the stars in just a way to pull the plug, and the best I could do was to watch my imagination, inspiration, and focus swirl away down the drain.
If you watch astrology the way I do, then you know that there are all kinds of interesting things happening in the sky right now. Crosses, squares, interesting alignments. I know just enough to know that the heavens reflect the happenings on this planet with amazing accuracy. We are indeed part of a web, or perhaps many webs, both macro and micro. When a string gets tugged by Saturn, we feel the pull. When lines get crossed, we knot up. When a meteor shower skips over the grid, we can hear the music of the celestial harp. Of course, you have to listen very carefully.
I am intrigued by it all, but it is the moon that most often captures my imagination. I ebb and flow in huge shifts of light and darkness just like our constantly hovering lunar mother. And, of late, I’ve been a little too waning crescent for comfort.
Last night I stood out under my favorite moon, the waxing gibbous. I know that might seem a little strange. Isn’t everyone’s favorite the full moon? A full and glorious, round and pregnant moon is the muse of poets. It is the altar of nature worshippers. It is the author of crazy nights for emergency room physicians. Although this opportunity is rare in an urban world, try to find a dark wood on a full moon night and you will be truly amazed at how brilliantly lit the nocturnal world can be. But the yang to the yin of a full moon is that there is nowhere to go from here except backwards. The shadow will slowly creep back in until the moon mother sleeps again in her renewing.
Ah, but a waxing gibbous is full of promise. It seems to say, “Here I come. I’m bringing back the light.” I want to do things under a waxing gibbous. I want to write and sing and dance and create. I want to paint pictures, which is truly strange because I really, really can’t do that at all. Under the waxing gibbous I feel potential swell up within me. I love the promise moon. It brings me back.
One thought on “The Promise Moon”
La Luna, La Luna…no matter the phase that resonates within, she speaks to us in ways that escape the written word.