As we begin our descent into the deepest of the dark moons, the universal imperative to slow and still is at odds with a world that demands our constant engagement. The balsamic phase is quiet time for a very good reason. It is only once we are out of the fray that we can make sense of it. It is when the white noise dims in the distance that we can tune in to the greatest sensory guidemap there is, all contained within. We can rest and recalibrate before we too must rise again.
A dark moon done well hinges on your ability to turn off the giving tap. You cannot refill while it remains gushing. Instead adjust your programming to receive: nourishment, blessed rest, nurturing, loving. Let someone else hold the space, the reins, the universe together.
And before you cry howling into the abyss and hear only your own voice returned, ask yourself how good you are at receiving. Do you feel anything offered by anyone at any level must be returned in kind, or threefold, or with your first born? Can you just say thank you without a trade off or a correction? Is there always an ulterior motive or have you let everyday kindness become obscured in your own mind? Can you ask for help before the stench of burnout reaches some other nostrils?
So many of us crave a comfort and support that we have no idea how to accept. We let our bitterness or cynicism – the unholy hangover of lesser days – pollute our progress and claim our prize. We proclaim our busyness like a badge of honour as we bury our unworthiness and our bleeding hearts beneath it.
There is no one undeserving of kindness and care. It dissolves the artificial barriers we create to its expression as we tangle ourselves in ideas of right and wrongdoing. Tosh.
There is nothing in nature that does not rest, that does not factor in its winter, that ignores its yawning or longing. You are part of the whole. You too need to craft uncommon sense from your life in the sun, quietly in the dark as even the moon hides her face.
As above, so below.
Glorious ceiling and wall art for The Meursalut Restaurant in London by Noumeda Carbone | Words © Kerrie Basha, 2017