Recently the visions of the moon as the bones of our ancient ancestor planet ripped asunder from us have really taken dominance in my hedge crossing trances. Now I know this isn't just something conjured up by my witch crazy head - there is a scientific theory based on geological evidence found from both Gaea's and Luna's surface that this was once part of our objective reality. (click here to read more.) During the Solstice rites I performed in my home a few days ago, I made offerings to the Sun, the Moon, and the Earth, tying them together in a sacred triangle of divine form on the tentative metaphorical and energetic strings that binds them: the sun as the breath, the earth as the blood and dermis, and the moon as the skeleton of our small segment of the cosmos.
This formation of the three celestial bodies has superseded lately in my magical workings the more common thread I have held onto for years concerning the moon and the sun as spheres of occult influence which views the sun as the gateway for physical manifestation and the moon as the mirror through which we may pass in spirit and come out the other side in the world of the Fae/planes/astral/what-ya-call it. I'm not picky when it comes to semantics. Yes, Yes, words have meaning, they definitely need to refer to specific things, but when it comes to subjects concerning the "beyond," I mean, how definitive and certain can one ever truly be? If my work with the fae and the celestial has taught me anything, it's that as soon as you think you have an understanding or a mechanic of their world pin down, it shifts into something else, like some occult version of the Heisenberg principle.
But when this new paradigm of our the three heavenly bodies which conduct our immediate physical reality came to me, it's like segment of the cosmic wall paper has been ripped down and I've found a message hidden from the previous owners scrawled on the dry wall. Now just like with any graffiti, that message could either be profound or about as deep as a twelve grader's scrawl on a bathroom stall reading as deez nuts. I mean, with the spirits and the gods, their language may be all around us, but they are not in any way obligated to infuse reality with some great religious revelation on our behalf. I've walked in on a local land spirit standing in front of a fallen horse. I remember thinking "what does this mean? Is this a symbol or incarnation of my own shadows?" when all he said as he turned to me was "lets put her down." A faery really just wanted some help putting down his fallen steed, not some grandiose demonstration of spiritual prowess. Once I met a little girl fae who seemed to be joy incarnate, but when her bubble burst (literally) what she wanted was for someone to summon her sister Crow. I mean, to be honest, probably most of the situations I've encountered in faery/astral/what have you had very little to do with "spiritual enlightenment" and more to do with the actual everyday happenings of the world within our world. And just like sometimes you want a grape soda, it's not surprising that Bubble Girl wants rosemary tonic.
Sometimes during the energetic swinging of moon, sun, and earth it's absolutely without a doubt a sign of the opening and closing paths of the inter-dimensional and some times it's just Luna sneaking up on us to play a magical game of titty twister. So during this new moon I' like to take the time to remember that what's out there doesn't need to offer some big sense of enlightenment to validate it's own existence. The sooner you accept your magical path is hardly just the result of your own effort and will the sooner you realize the fun that being had by fae and spirit alike at your own expense. I mean, it's probably not at all untrue that they love stringing us along when we think we are on some houttie toittie mystical adventure. Doesn't have to be one way. But here's the kicker - you gotta learn to let go.
It's funny - so much of our ceremonial traditions in western witchcraft seem so concerned with every last detail as though a certain brandishing of silver inlaid swords is what makes the mistress of the ways open her skirts for us. Honey, our ancestors did that to her kin the fae on mother Ireland and I promise you that is not why the portals to the other world open for you during a ritual. They don't see this expensive reach of steel. All they see his your viscous yet piercing darkness, the immortal soul in you which reaches and sings eternally just to be let in for the shortest of seconds. And like the graffiti on the bathroom stall, sometimes what sees you in the dark wants to weave a wonder around you , and sometimes it merely wants to play. Crossing the hedge teaches you to make no promises about accomplishments. If you seek to ride the trance, it will usually just throw you off entirely, like a bear who some one attempts to tame past cub years.
And if this dark moon speaks of anything it's of the emptiness it inhabits. It speaks on the destiny of bones buried beneath the soil of Nyx. It's an emptiness which at times haunt me, echoing the most nihilistic styles of my depression fueled scripts, but now with my surrender to meaning's bed in nothingness' house, I see more. Luna in shadow burying her dead so the the crops of stars might grow. Luna turning away so she might makeout with her bff the night. Or Luna hooded and remote, casting bones in to the dark, waiting for us to move out of her light so that she might read what they prophesy. Perhaps Luna's bones are fragments of us and so we scuttle during this time of the month hoping to fall into the shapes of our better selves.
New moon precedes new skin for old bones.
