Cold Moon Magic

There are no runner-up callings.

We discover our great mission by digging down.

By scavenging in the marrow of our aching bones.

By gleaning the fields that were already harvested.

That's how it's done.

That's where the treasure finds us: in the fields, covered in mud, aching, alone, questioning.

That's the sacred way of wandering the wilderness.

It's not to merely tromp around depressed and dissatisfied.

It's the journey of movement toward our treasure.

Even when it feels like backwards movement or falling down failure.

Even then.

It's movement toward the ordained treasure of our life.

Remember that when the wild winter gale howls.

Light the candles,

bless your tools,

invoke Selene,

Mary,

Artemis,

and all the Moon goddesses who light our path.

Summon the stillness that December bestows.

Sink in, wrap up, fill, gather in, shine.

Hold so lightly the light.

Allow its ebb, with thankfulness for all it offered.

Let it slip through your fingers, and fade into the darkness as it must, to be reborn in you.

This is not a fearful place.

This is the womb of next.

In this holy dark, we are remade, renovated for what comes after, prepared.

The dark is always more than an ending.

It is always the Before The Beginning.