As the Harvest Supermoon shines brightly over the meadow where I live—casting long shadows across the forest floor—I stand in awe, as usual. Shadows cast by sunlight may catch the eye of a child or a kitten, often going unnoticed by grown humans. But moonshadows have always delighted me. I dance in them. I take pictures of them. I tell someone about them.
Cat Stevens’ Moonshadow plays on repeat in my head, as he reflects on all the things he wouldn’t have to do if he lost what once felt vital. There’s something poignant about it—this stripping down to essence.
September’s Corn Moon and October’s Harvest Supermoon have brought abundance into my life, beloveds—not only in material form, but in the riches of archetypal memory, in the becoming of who I am. As I reflect on the roles I’ve inhabited over the years, I realize that my story, as I grind gently to a halt at “The Mother,” is all I truly possess. The memories. The experiences I’ve been blessed with. The lessons I’ve gleaned.
And as I revisit them—turning them over like river stones, letting them spill onto the page—I realize I’m mining each one for the precious minerals hidden inside… even in the painful parts. Especially in the painful parts.
Writing “The Lover” was especially difficult. I kept her in shadow for so long. Tears flowed as I reached for her. And if I’m honest, the work is not yet done. But life is a journey. And if you are here with me, beloved, I will share everything I have.
As the cosmos spins above us—flinging meteors, throwing comets—I hope you’ll take a moment to reflect on all you’ve seen in this wild, beautiful life. Just as the moon reflects, with startling clarity, the light of our star… may she reflect something within you.
This harvest season brought me Carnelian, Citrine, and red Jasper stones, woven lovingly into a copper basket with copper wire . Tell me, beloved... what did it bring you?
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