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.’

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In my soul, the night still belongs to the Goddess. As a Christian, I keep Jesus always close in my rituals and in my philosophy. But the moon still belongs to the Goddess, in whatever form she may take. It could be Mary the Mother or Mary the Virgin, weaving the Temple veil. It could be Mary Magdalene, the mystic and my Priestess or any of the other manifestations of the sacred feminine:  Sofia, essence of wisdom, St-Brigid, the Druidess, the Great Mother of ancient times, the matriarchs of the Bible, my old crone gypsy woman, Raven… So many faces to manifest what we are.

I’ve been awfully busy lately, busy with just stuff. You know all the stuff that gets in the way of what matters. I got into it so deep that I forgot which phase of the moon we are in. That has not happened in years. I was wondering why everything I tried to do was unraveling before me. Then I stopped, took a deep breath, centered and grounded. Then I heard a woman’s voice in my head: “You always turn to me for everything. Why have you not done so this time?”

So, I sat last night, called the archangels to guard my quarters and I cast a circle with the essence of each element. I lit my candles and I simply said:

“I turn to you.”

There was nothing else to say.

May the Goddess reveal her beauty to all of you! Blessed be!

Walking back from a friend’s house on Saturday, we marveled at the beauty of the sky. My three-year old boy pointed at the sky and said ‘Look, maman, la lune’ The moon. It was ten o’clock. Living in a native community north of the 52nd parallel, the sun had just set. The horizon was still a light shade of blue and up above, was a thin arc of gold. Just a sliver of a moon.

 We are facing the winds of change as a family. We have a number of projects set out in front of us, all new and exciting and full of the usual uncertainties. This new moon growing in the sky urged me to acknowledge the new road ahead.

The next day, my husband set up our tipi and lit a fire. My son was busy feeding the fire with every twig he could find and my daughter was blowing at it to keep it from getting too hot. I took out my magical herbs from my cupboard and brought them to the fire side. I took a handful of birch and threw it in the fire. My son chose a handful of chamomile and threw it in. My daughter put her fingers in the pouch of chamomile flowers and put them straight in her mouth, of course. My husband threw in a handful of tulips. And we kept going with all the herbs that inspired us.

Birch for protection

Chamomile for tranquility

Oak for strength

Sage to dispel negativity

Lavender for peace

And a number of flowers: tulips, hyacinth, irises for joy, love and happiness

I surrounded the fire with white stones my son had picked up earlier and I placed the dandelion my daughter had given me on one of the stones, a kind of makeshift altar.

I whispered my prayer.

“Blessed are thou, Mother of the Universe for giving us the bounty of the earth,

And blessed are thou Father who guards us under your heavens.”

 

Two columns of smoke rose up from the fire.

“My Lord and my Lady, Jesus and Mary Magdalene

May the way we live our lives be pleasant in your eyes.

These are our wishes for peace, joy, protection, strength and happiness.

An’ it harm none, so mote it be.”

 

I watched the smoke rise up and out of the tipi and knew my wishes were being carried high up where prayers are heard. Right to the ears of the Most High. And all around me.