The Persistence of the Moon

The Persistence of the Moon May 3, 2021

I’ve had to teach myself how to look at the moon. 

How to see the moon.

How to know the moon.

I finally figured out that when the moon is in a ‘c’ shape, that means it’s moving to new where I’m currently living.

‘C’ how new I am.

It’s a little trick of knowing. A little recognition of movement. A small way to feel connected and to be able to check out the sky and know expansion and introspection.

To remember.

And to recognize it for myself.

(Without looking at my calendar. Though I still do.)

New Moon at Sunset

Nevertheless the New Moon Persisted

When I remember that I am always moving toward something new. How each breath is an act of persisting. I recognize myself. I know myself.

I can begin to see myself held in a crescent glow.

Held.

Even for just a moment.

Even for just a notion or a prayer or a possibility.

Even as I’m heading into shadow. Even as I’m heading into being unseen and hidden.

Even then.

Into the dark moon. Into the newness. The unbecoming and becoming.

The rotation. The position.

The alignment of time and space.

I persist.

You persist.

No matter what. No matter how much it hurts or calms.

No matter how the sky shows the way.

Or doesn’t.

No matter how much or how little you trust.

Persist.

Because that’s what the sky knows. What the stars believe. What the moon does. What the sun remembers.

The movement toward and away.

Again and again.

Held by your heart.

Held by your ancestors, beloved dead, the teachings of teachers. The advice of friends. All of your loves. Every single one of the gone-too-soons.

A Spell and Sacred Prayer

I invite you to find ground.

Floor. Grass. Sand. Stone. Wood.

Deep into and onto, find your body a place to rest. A place to be. A place to move without moving. A place to still without stopping.

(The Earth continues to spin, anyway.)

Close your eyes or soften your gaze or wrap yourself in a fuzzy blanket, a silk sheet, a cotton robe.

Rest yourself in the crescent above. The chalice. The place where you might sip of integration. Where you might promise a pause. Where you may just linger.

Feel the movement you can feel. The ways your body is always stirring. The way your heart beats. Your lungs shift. Your muscles need a new position after a time.

Follow the feelings to the places of persistence. Even as you settle into and deepen into your body, travel the way of resistance and surrender. Travel to the awareness of ‘how long has it been’ and ‘do I ever want to get up.’

Let the chalice hold all of it. Sink into it like a bath, like a secret spring. Maybe let it drop over your chest, your arms, your head, your feet.

Drip, drop, sink, float.

Time between time.

And bless your body. How it has persisted. How it has arrived. However it has arrived.

A vessel for all of it.

What is the sacred prayer of your body?

What is the offering you make now?

What is the promise you can make now?

Invite this into your bones. Your blood. Your muscles.

Tell the moon the spell of your heart.

Return when you are ready. Even if you’re not sure.

Especially when you’re not sure.

 

 

About Irisanya Moon
I’m a Witch. I’m a writer. I’m a priestess, teacher, drummer, feminist, and initiate in the Reclaiming tradition. I serve the godds, my community, and the Earth. I’ve called myself a Witch for nearly 20 years, and my life has been infused with magick. I am interested in shifting stories – the ones we tell ourselves and the ones that are told about us. I’m continuously inspired to engage as the storyteller and the story, the words and the spaces between. I am a devotee of Aphrodite, Hecate, the Norns, and Iris. I seek to find love and to inspire love by reminding us we are not alone, while also meeting myself at the crossroads, holding the threads of life, and bringing down messages from the godds. (I've also published some books. You can get them at my website.) You can read more about the author here.

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