Waning Gibbous Moon
Still heavy from her fullness, she disappears into the well of night, only to appear to us briefly in the morning. Moon of releasing, each passing night she lets go of more of herself to the shadow, the autumn of her life as she shades ever closer to winter. Her death is visible on the horizon and the air has a comforting chill that turns you inwards. Ah, the autumn also brings fire and her waning power still exudes an influence over you, the fires burn to cleanse away what is needed before reaching the starkness of the dark.
She is a mother who, having birthed her purpose, slips away and diminishes, energy pouring away lovingly to her child. Full, Dark and New hold times of great potency, it’s true, but in this subtle transitioning, energy flows easily, an undercurrent to slip into and be carried onward, an edge of not one thing and yet not another. A process of becoming, always changing, yet to come around to the same point again.
Old Mother Moon, Waning Moon, the cyclicity of our being is guided by your gracious wisdom, if we can but look and see, in the depths of the night at your rise, or the bright morning at your set. The morning dims you, the molten light of the sun caressing your silver beauty and wrapping you in the cerulean sky. Your glow weakens, but with benevolence, the inevitability of circling towards the dark and blessed rest a relief.
But shine you still do, ruling the night when only creatures that understand your power stir. Guide us, waning mother, into softness and letting-go, each day releasing more of our fullness, until we find ourselves half gone, ready to be hollowed out.
