Liminal New Moon 🌑
in which I let our lunar friend accompany me in the in-betweenness of life
I snuck back outside Tuesday night while my husband put our eldest to bed. This happens from time to time: to clean up yard toys from the day or to catch a glimpse of celestial bodies or sometimes to just take deep breaths of fresh air. Tuesday was a touch different though: I was heading out to plant.
Earlier that day my children and I had worked on planting new perennials in some of our garden beds. Our hope is to have a colorful, pollinator friendly array of native blooms throughout the year. It surprised me that the best time to plant perennials in the Mid-Atlantic, where we live, is October and November. I trust the experts at our local plant nursery so I rallied my kiddos to help me dig holes. We finished one garden bed, but barely started on the other before interest and energy waned. I knew I’d be back out in our soil on my own some other time this week. I surprised myself when I began to dig again by porch light a few hours later.
Tuesday was the evening of a New Moon, the start of an additional (13th) moon cycle that only occurs every few years. The Wild Academy refers to it as the Liminal Moon, a time to sink into the in-betweenness of October. Reflecting more deeply on the liminality of this season, this evening of a new moon, it now makes so much sense to me why we plant perennials in the fall. Yes, I understand the dynamics of wanting the plants to be established before settling into their winter rest; to have roots integrated into the local network before the frost. But for us humans, it is an act of trust in what is to come. We bury these root balls after the blooms have fallen off, when we can no longer see the fruits of the plants, wishing them well on their inward cycle.
And at night, under the Liminal New Moon, I began to feel the full weight of that act. By glow of porch light, I acknowledged the energy and intention of this moon cycle. I stood on the threshold of winter, unearthing humus that is not yet frozen or cold, investing in the unveiling of the flowers to come.
As I dug a new home for an aster bush, my mind wandered past worry about what my neighbors would think, and into other places of liminality in my life.
Our littlest is dropping his nap; another tangible sign of growing up, one that provides delight in watching him experience a full afternoon and dread in guiding him through experiencing a full afternoon. This is a major transition for all of us and I am trying to hold all of our feelings and needs for connection with tenderness.
The homeschool pod we have co-created is still in its infancy, yet we are already looking towards the future. How will the vibe change when siblings are introduced next year? Which families will still have the capacity to participate? What about other families that want to join? We are constantly learning about each child’s learning style and how each family likes to engage with experiences. It is such a gift to live life alongside friends for myself and friends for our eldest. This first year, with just four kindergartners feels fleeting and tender. We are all so new at it and yet we all know this is absolutely the right choice for this school year.
My therapist encouraged me this summer to hold space for the grief that chronic illness brings into my life. My vibrancy has dulled, my bandwidth decreased, and my boundaries have become stricter. All just to try to make it through a week in one piece. There are friendships that are adapting well and others that are not. My heart breaks telling my kids that I cannot play a certain way, knowing that if I did engage in the way I wanted to, I wouldn’t have the energy to make their lunches. I have diagnoses for components of my experiences, but not all. I stand in the threshold of so many “goodbyes” and so much unknown about the future. Some days the weight of my fatigue is the only thing heavier than the weight of these griefs.
As I patted the dirt around the aster plant, welcoming it to our yard, I thanked Sister Moon. For being a model and a metaphor for so many things. But especially this month, for helping to hold all of the in-betweenness of life, welcoming liminality with the example of steady evolution. 🌑 🌒