After all that nice explanation about the Sabbat and the Esbat, I wish I had a beautiful story of Magic and wonderment to relate. But I don’t, unfortunately. Maybe my son was extra sensitive to this moon, but we had a hellish weekend, full of screaming, throwing punches and general unhappiness. I was so wiped out that all I could do on Saturday night is go out in my tipi and stare at the moon. I had had such hopes for this moon. I was going to come out in all my power and connect to the powers that be and everything was going to be all right. Writing this post is an act of humility and I hope a lesson: sometimes things don’t turn out the way you expect. But you can still get a divine lesson from it.

I set out to do the ritual I described previously: to write my requests on a piece of paper and plant it in the ground. Turns out the pen I brought out did not work (maybe due to the cold). So I turned the pen around and wrote my request straight into the snow. I let it rise up on the wind, trusting that God would listen.

Sunday was worse than everything and I had a complete meltdown. I couldn’t take the general unhappiness of the troops, the continuous crying and screaming and the continuous questioning as to what I should be doing. I walked out and shoveled snow like a mad person. This was supposed to be a sacred weekend and it was turning into a nightmare. I looked up at the sky and asked God ‘Why aren’t you fixing this? What is it that I need to do to get your attention?’

This morning it was already better. As I was mundanely preparing breakfast, a thought casually crossed my mind: You have to die to be re-born. If you don’t experience death, you don’t know the value of life, you don’t know its substance and power. It occurred to me that Jesus had asked the same question I had: Lord, why hast thou forsaken me? If my Lord had asked that very question, how could we escape doing the same from time to time. Death and re-birth, dark moon and full moon. Being human and being divine. Let things die so that you could live.

I don’t know what this means concretely for me and my family. But it feels good to feel power in darkness and to not be afraid of that dark place. It’s part of who we are and if we can reclaim that space, then we are never really alone. There is such strength in darkness and rage. We are bound to go there so why not acknowledge it.

For even in my darkest time on Sunday when I told God that I was too exhausted to reach out to Him, I felt a pair of angels reach out to me and whisper: ‘Don’t worry. We’ll carry you up.’