A different face on the moon as she rose this chilly, rosy eve. Electrified by Uranus, supercharged by Uncle Pluto and his well delivered chaos, we wander through misty moonlight at this time of year. Winter creeping on gnarled feet and the bright lady brandishing a sting in her tail, demanding nothing less than ruthless regeneration.
One holy mother of moons, the scorpion’s garb invites us to dance with our denizens in the pale moonlight. If you have never bravely stepped toward your own shadow, preferring instead to select a saccharine excuse or a smokescreen, pointing the finger all too quickly at everyone else’s dark side, this take no prisoners lunation will make short work of your unholy two step.
Our much maligned shadow is at its core the very source of our personal power, often comprising the many headed parts of us that have been shamed or shaken, pointed or prodded, deemed somehow unacceptable or unpalatable. And so we learn all too quickly to play nice, to stuff our darknesses into pockets and corners, to try and pretend that they are not a part of us at all, not really. But oh how they are, shouting louder and louder until we acknowledge their greatness, their wonder, their why.
With typical intensity, the searing gaze of la bella luna demands your peering. Into dark corners with patient, curious eyes in order to track and trace your skeletons, the ghosts you’ve never quite confronted, the simmering leftovers of lesser days. It is here we have tucked away our greatest fears and deepest oldest scars, dangerous territory in which to wander. Let searing moonlight guide you through your magnificent wilderness, as the skeleton woman comes calling to assist your reclamation.
How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole.
~ Carl Jung
© Kerrie Basha, 2017
Image via ZenBunni Chocolate