I’ve been neglecting this blog as I’ve worked on other writing projects but I don’t want to abandon it altogether, so I’m going to start sharing some of the writing I do to prepare for my monthly New/Dark Moon Circle. I know how much I appreciate both the preparation and the holding of the circle, to be able to reorient myself. Maybe there are others out there who could benefit from this who either cannot attend the circle or who prefer to engage with their spirituality on their own. I’ll share our theme and then some thoughts that resonate with some aspect of the theme. The themes are designed like verbal mood boards to invite a wide range of ways to engage—the themes are planned long in advance and I wait till the month of the circle to see where my inspiration with the theme is resonating.
The themes are seasonal to my area and experience of the world, and they seek to tap into the “dark moon” cycle of the month – meaning the softer side, less about striving and manifesting, more about rejuvenation, germination, gestation, rest, and reflection. Even if you don’t engage with this content on the dark moon, I hope it finds you when you need it, in the cycle of your own life.
July 5th is the New Moon, in Pacific Daylight Time
As the moon steps away to be on her own, and before she turns her shining face back to watch over us for the rest of the month, let us be like her and make this our time to rejuvenate, reflect, and rest.
On the dark/new moon, the moon is aligned with the sun and together they are pulling the highest and lowest tides of the month not only out at the shore but within every watery cell of life.
All water begins in the ocean. I imagine the water of the ocean–like Ariel the mermaid wishing to walk on land–the droplets of water gathering at the surface waiting to transform into vapor, to gather in clouds that blow over the land and fall as rain, the water meandering down the mountains, gathering into rivers, creeks, streams—some of it taking detours into the bodies of plants and animals—before finally returning back to the ocean. I think about the ocean seeking to explore as much as she wishes to gather and coalesce.
In this way, water is always returning to the ocean. She’s always heading home. We are on average about 55-60% water—water that traveled to us from the ocean. It’s no surprise then, when visiting the ocean, we are drawn to her, and we feel something we can’t articulate, all that water in our cells, so close and yet still not quite home, that combination of calm and longing mingling in our bodies.
In the deep caverns of the ocean, where fissures in the earth’s core release heat and magma, scientists believe that churning pressure of heat, minerals and near-freezing water, created the first organic life—these dark places were the original wombs of the planet. In honoring this birthplace of life, to which we are inescapably connected, may we also see the way we too are like miniature oceans, holding not only an embodied, real piece of the ocean within us, but also holding a vastness of experience and aliveness. We’re full of thoughts, feelings and memories. We’re each an ocean unto ourselves, full of mysteries, surprises, shipwrecks, and buried treasure—some depths needing to be plumbed, some sunken ships plundered, and other mysteries better left to grow barnacles and shelter the more vulnerable fish we harbor.
May we take this time to remember the ways in which we are as deep as the ocean, and the ways in which the ocean, in its vastness and depth, creates and sustains all the life on this planet. May we feel that gratitude and connection.
Reflection prompt: Which of your caverns need some exploration? What treasures await you? Which remains of failed voyages deserve recognition for the new wildlife growing on their hulls?