Filling the Well at the Full Moon

The luminous Full Moon woke me last night.  She was sailing into the west when she spilled her light through the round window above our bed.  Oh so lovely, to lie there listening to my man's heartbeat, both of us bathed in moonlight. A moment of grace. 

The Moon Mother is dressed in her Libra gown. It's woven from balanced, harmonious shades of green and yellow, interwoven with black and white threads. She's the first Full Moon past Spring Equinox, which carries its own message of balance, yin & yang, half and half.  I found myself meditating on the border between the two over the last few days. 

I felt as if I were walking a tightrope over a chasm, with dark on one side of the line and light on the other.  Almost like a harlequin's face.  There is so much wonderful stuff in my life, so very much to be grateful for.  I am charged and excited about the changes I'm making in my personal life — my commitment to healthy eating and daily exercise, cleaning up my personal finances a la Suze Orman, meditating with the Holosync CDs, making solid progress on the Gaian Tarot and envisioning it in the hands of the perfect publisher.  I'm grateful for my home, my partner, my circles of friends and sisters, this magical island where I live.  I'm grateful for my health and my body which is so beautifully and gracefully aging.  I'm grateful for juicy books to read and music that makes me dance or weep. I'm grateful for the swans I saw flying north yesterday and the hummers hovering around the red-flowering currant.  Oh yes, my gratitude list could go on and on and on.   

And on the other side of the tightrope?  Grief, sorrow, depression, illness, inertia, fear, despair.  All those things that threaten to overwhelm me from time to time.  When I'm caught in one of those cycles, I try to remember my strategies for getting out of them — getting outside, going for a walk, listening to uplifting music, smiling, asking for a hug, talking to a friend, journaling . . .  none of those ever sound good when I'm stuck in a negative rut. But once I do one or more of them, everything changes.  Fake it 'til ya make it, baby.   

I find myself wondering at times what the difference is between denial and refusing to give attention or energy to the "bad" things that happen.  It seems to me that's another fine line to walk.  Sometimes grief or despair indicates a core truth that we need to face and acknowledge, before we can begin to strategize solutions. On the other hand, I've spent a lifetime leaping to the worst-case scenario of any given situation (oh that shadow side of Capricorn).  That needs to change.

This weekend I was caught up in a tide of emotions, washed over by memories of my father, my mother, my son Jake . . . all of whom have gone into the Great Mystery before me.  I cried.  I cried because I missed them, I cried for misunderstandings never resolved, for words not spoken, for words that were spoken.  I cried for the loss of a teenager's young life, and for the beauty of an aged life so well-lived.  I listened to Lucy Kaplansky's moving songs about her own father's death and cried and cried some more.

I sat in my overstuffed drawing chair in my studio, pencils and sharpener at hand, jar of water nearby, and the omnipresent, oh-so-necessary iPod.  I was working on the Four of Water, which shows a young woman gazing into the waters of Chalice Well. Is she sad and grieving?  Is she at peace?  Is she scrying the patterns on the surface of the water?  Is she contemplating the mysteries of the Red Spring? Is the Lady of the Well whispering in her ear?  Is her own personal well empty and in need of replenishment?  Or is she full and flowing from a hidden underground stream, not unlike the Well itself?

Full and empty, half and half, both at the same time.  Full moon in the darkness.  Waxing, waning, full, empty, filling, spilling. Ever-changing, never-changing . . . ever faithfully the same.

Comments

[Laura]

Oh, gorgeous. I can't wait to see the finished card!

[Robin]

This card is so beautiful Joanna. And so are your words.

[filhote de lua]

Your words are so perfect today... it's the first time I come hear, and now I will back ever... and the image are so great, the image touched deeply in myself...

sorry my bad english...I read well, but write badly...

[Paula]

I love the new art work. It rememinded me of a site.

http://japanvisitor.blogspot.com/2005/11/manhole-covers-in-japan.html

In Japan they decorate their manhole covers. I thought maybe you might like to take a look.

There is so much beauty around and we miss it. I was so sad this morning. I listen to NPR's BBC news. Global warning. It is so dire and all the American government can do is doubt that it even exists.

Your art and words really spoke to me.

I went outside to fill the bird baths. I enjoy seeing them come for their morning dip or a sip of fresh water.

I wish I could fill my spiritual cup. Right now I am adrift. No achoring faith to hold me.

Searching,
Paula

[Sharon]

How beautiful, Joanna.
Your work and your writing take my breath away.
I wanted to thank you for the book The 7 Whispers. What a perfect little book of wisdom.
Your own wisdom is raw & beautiful, sister.
Thanks.... Sharon

[joanna]

Laura, Robin, Paula, Sharon, Filhote de Lua . . . thank you all, I'm so glad you like this card. I think it's a really special one. Yes, the Seven Whispers is one of the wisest books I've read. I think it's time to read it again. Blessings to all.