It is Ostera, the spring equinox, and a full moon. Everything is at its most balanced point, such as the length of night and day.
I’m not really that into astrology, but I read online somewhere that right now there are three different planets in our solar system positioned at some 0°, indicating a sort of perfect balance? If that means anything, it does make sense to me that it would be a good time to reset. To start over, and begin again with a new score card. Everything back to zero. Spring equinox is the true new year anyway, and has been for longer than any Gregorian calendar. How fortunate that this exact moment this year we are endowed all night with the very closest, fullest, most ocean-moving moon activity. Our bodies are mostly made if water, so the moon must inform us somehow, right? Every day the sea ebbs and flows great distances, sloshing in and out of bays, estuaries, and inlets. All because of our moon!
If you’re a tiny bit superstitious like me, perhaps you’d like to place a glass bowl of clean water in the moonlight and make a wish for the water to take on whatever affect. It can be drunk, poured in a bath, or dabbed on your body as a ritual connection to the sentiment of this reset time.
Tonight I packed some pillows and blankets, along with some ceremonial items and took myself and baby June Moon to the shore of the Salish Sea. It was an unforgettable time. Her and I warm, snuggled so comfortably under the shining orb.
After she fell asleep at my breast, I poured tea, and did a tarot card reading on myself. Thankfully I was met with concepts in line with my understanding of how things are right now and how they ought to be. No mystery because tonight there is full illumination. The cards immediately give me a focus of meditation. To force my reflection upon that which has not yet been reflected on, applied in a specific context. Herein lies the merit of this ancient practice.
So there we are in the bright blue moonlight surrounded by sound on all sides. From everywhere, the sound of the shore sucking salty water down through its earthly maw. There is a chorus of frogs beyond the arbutus trees, who somehow crescendo and cease on cue. How do they know when to fall silent? Abrupt quiet somehow interrupts my train of thought. These frogs must know something I don’t.
Smoke wafts from the long candle flames, and steam rolls from my teacup, at home among a rising mist.
I could sleep on this beach.
