Today is the full Wolf Moon. The moon is furthest from the earth at this moment, roughly 254,000 miles. A micro-moon. I find myself more interested in how near the moon is to the earth and less infatuated with the lunar light cycle. Not that I believe one is more meaningful than the other, but I am cultivating awareness of how my body feels when the moon is near and how my body feels when the moon is far.
I wonder if there was a time when the human beings on this planet could sense the proximity of the moon; if, even despite visibility, there was an understood sense of lunar attachment. Right now, I am entering the final week of my own cycle which makes me feel withdrawn, contemplative and highly sensitive. Also, we are in the short days of winter which is a time that I draw inward. I hold those dearest to me close, tend fires, cook. I stay indoors. My garden sleeps — once brilliant and busy with transformation, now muted and quiet. I witness the plants who confidently choose to pull back their energy. And the moon…although I cherish the full moon for the community connection it brings — this one feels more removed. More estranged. More reticent.
A challenge for me is always that when life gets quiet doubt gets loud. With the moon at it’s furthest distance from me, I am apt to spiral downward, uninvited to rise by Lunar gravity. I must be more gentle with myself during these withdrawn times in nature, when the plants sleep and moon is a stranger. I understand, after much inner work, that my prayer must become one of love — Love for all the dark parts of my mind and heart. The loud critical voice receives my love. I let myself surrender to it all. And in the surrender I find a way to love it all.
This is the message of winter, I think. Not to rest, repair, and await Spring — but to allow for the great opening within the death and decay of winter. An opening comprised of everything we’ve ignored through the business of beauty and growth of prior seasons. And within that opening, as the tones grow dull, they offer us an opportunity to meet our darkness and transform it with love. The cellular memories we carry with regard to Winter’s scarcity are profound. Will we be able to nourish ourselves? Our children? Will we survive? These are the anxieties Winter brings. That fear may be coded into our DNA, but coded right along with the frightened past is our inter-relational birthright of creativity.
When we are stripped of the Plenty, the “Doings” of spring, summer and fall, we meet our memories of fear with the fortitude of Creation. Our Creation. Winter’s opportunity is to create with our shadows, not despite them. And in doing so, re imagine them — as Love. I offer the darker parts of my consciousness love in the stillness of Winter. In The Lack of visible life, I heal. Is this not the message of All Nature when the cold dark season arrives?
Let go. Let go, it whispers as it slips into sleep — into dreaming. Dream yourself anew. Find the nightmares and make love to them. It will be hard. You will have to let go of everything. But the darkness will cradle you. You are safe. You are loved. Create a new world, child.
Create a new world.