When I woke up this morning, there was a message from one of my new coven-mates wishing me a happy full moon. As my brain slowly came to consciousness, I marveled that a month has gone by already. It was just a little over a month ago that I was initiated into the tradition, and a lunar month since I had an experience that upended me on multiple levels.
How can it feel like that was eons again, and at the same time last week? The answer is that this is a common “side effect” of working with the liminal, especially for an extended period. The other reason is that I encountered something that can only be described as a path-shift. Going through this door, I was open-minded and relatively unfocused (on purpose) about what could happen, but I simultaneously had a fairly good grasp of where I was and perceived where I was going in general. I came out the other side with a different vision that I’m still absorbing and contemplating.
Last night, as I sat in my studio and tried to focus on painting, I found myself out of sorts. I’ve created a lot of art this year – especially for some big projects – yet I have been feeling dissatisfied with my work. There was a strong feeling of it not being where it was “supposed to be” even though I had no clear idea what that meant. So not helpful, but this feeling is a typical experience for most artists. The uneasiness tends to be the precursor to an evolution of sorts. It’s like realizing you’re in an egg and you have to break the shell, but you’re not sure how to crack it. There is a big project on the horizon that I have been excited for, but it’s really big and that’s increasing the thickness of the shell it seems.
Now, I do tend to feel restless around the full moon, but usually I’m able to channel that energy into work. This time however, I got discouraged and went to bed without having made much progress. Not a good full moon experience.
My thoughts have been going back to that message and the slow conscious realization that I missed the esbat gathering. Of course with good reason as I live 3018 miles away from where the ritual was taking place. Normally I wouldn’t think that missing such a thing would strum a metaphysical (dis)chord in me, but it’s been so long since I worked with a group regularly, especially at this level. On principle, it’s really not so much about “celebrating” the full moon as it is about being a distant thread. I don’t believe one should have an obligation to do a thing just because it’s in a book or an “ought to do.” But I think coordinating a satellite esbat when the rest of the group is meeting might have to be a thing.
I have longed viewed Witches as weavers, that we simultaneously are the threads of life while also working them. We’re never quite working alone, but when you choose to become part of a collective, our web becomes stronger and even more interwoven. And I’m not only talking about spiritual practices and group magick. The pattern of our lives can appear to shift, as it’s brought into focus. What are our goals? What really is our personal vision for ourselves? What is it that we need to move forward?
And of course the full moon brings us the most dramatic tides. The high tide reaches its peak, often flooding the shores – while at the same time, the low tide exposes everything the ocean hides during the rest of the cycle. The true is same for ourselves – beings of mostly water. We are flooded and exposed, but never truly alone.
As I reflect on this truth and think back to my frustrations with my art, I feel the shell is close to breaking. I am reminded of the connections I have been weaving, and that I should use those to strengthen my hands and focus. That I need to be active and conscious in making changes within my own world.
The next full moon happens on my birthday, while I’m on tour in Billings, Montana. It will be interesting to track this development and possible correlations. In the meantime, I’ll use the light of the moon to illuminate the path before me as it shifts and shimmers, seeing what the tides bring.
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