Welcome one, welcome all to the full moon hangover. How did that do nothing / say nothing / keep to yourself thing work out for you? Yeah. Me too, darklings. It is insanely difficult to simply keep thy own counsel when there are other people still populating our home bases and work spaces, fairly peppered throughout our life and this world. People who dread people banging into people who need people under the shimmering moon.
Lady Luna is still in the virgin’s mansion, feeling voided herself, after her heady peak. Each month she rises all tides and as the sea of emotion subsides, well may we find ourselves face down and feeling brittle. If the Virgoan shadow is judgement and criticism, then the hangover is a stinking cocktail of shame muddled with guilt and more than a dash of remorse. I should have done better, we berate ourselves. You could have done better, our shaking finger accuses. Not one of these flagellating cocktails are worth choking on.
Whatever came up to be reckoned with during eclipsia – and we each bloody well know precisely of what I speak – had the full moon spotlight shone upon it. You can bet your left boob on that. Like a swinging interrogation light, casting scary shadows all over the place and demanding some answers.
It is not going to shift by itself.
That’s your job.
All the navel gazing shirt pulling hand on head circles do diddly squat. So riddle me this, darklings. Kindly and gently, sans poking.
~ Precisely what changes need to be made?
~ What concrete real world baby action steps can you take each and every single day to make them?
~ Where can you get help if you need it?
~ Who or what may hold keys to locks in you that you cannot find?
You know more now and you know better. So you can do more now and be better. This is the peculiar magic of eclipsia as she rattles our cages and dings our bells. The tipping point beckons again – as if you haven’t fallen over it enough already.
Submit. Surrender. Be moved. Evolve.
Do it in your own sweet time but make the commitment to get it done. For reals. For ever ever. Empty promises hold no water and dehydration will kill you dead or turn you to stone.
Words © Kerrie Basha, 2018