Moon Magic
Happy full moon in cancer! The first full moon of the year…
When I was 9 I bought a tiny purple book of “Moon Magic” that contained a myriad of folklore, spells and rituals that referred to the moon. I would carry bowls of water through the house asking if anyone had seen the moon, then sit diligently in whichever window, capturing the moonlight in the water. I stored my ‘moon water’ in various dubious bottles that more often than not ended up gathering dust under my bed. I already loved minerals and crystals, having built a curated collection and memorised their geological and spiritual properties (it was called ‘Iona’s Box of Rocks and Minerals’ and I was/am very proud of it), so they joined in the fun too. I would charge the quartz and amethyst and place them under my pillow, making wishes and imagining their lunar power saturating my dreams.
Although I no longer make potions with moon water, the moon continues to be an important figure for me. Yesterday I was taking a walk in the Saughton Rose Garden. If you haven’t been, which I imagine most reading this haven’t (even if you’re an Edinburgh local) the gardens are a hidden gem in the city. Located at the unlikely confluence of two main roads and a maze of pedestrian crossings, the garden is a peaceful sanctuary home to otters, an old glass house, kingfishers, old yew trees, a physik garden and intricately planted rose gardens. The rose garden is separated from the roads by the Water of Leith, a river that flows through the city and is home to the aforementioned otters.
The iron gates to the garden open onto a bridge that functions like the entrance to a castle with a moat. My tradition is to spend time looking over the edge of the bridge, feeling the solid stone against my body and noticing the water, any creatures or plants and how it has changed since my last visit. I find that doing this grounds me, slows me down. The walk from my flat to the garden isn’t long, but it does take me along some busy roads that activate my ‘no-nonsense city walking’ mode. Pausing in the middle of the bridge, feeling the stone, listening to the water and breathing for a minute allows me to let go of some of that energy and be open to what the garden might have to say. My own tiny ritual.
So I am on my walk, about 15:30 so the sun is just about hanging on over the horizon. After engaging in my river ritual and enter the garden proper, my feet chose to a different route than my usual stroll down the main avenue. Instead, I took a path to the left that is flanked by huge evergreen hedges. I walked past the statue of the monk who plays for peace, past the last remnants of greenery that look like they took a bit of a battering, and tried to breathe properly through my nose and with my diaphragm. I’ve had the Christmas lurgy (read: virus) and this is the first time I have left the house since new years. I am slow, mind, body and soul wanting to be like the bulbs of the alliums I walk past, safe in their blankety beds of soil.
January for many people can be a tender time of year. Christmas and other winter festivals held in December can be joyful celebrations that show the light triumphing over dark, bringing families together often with gifts and good food. But this time of year can also highlight the gap between what we want and need from our families and circumstance and the reality that often falls short. New year’s resolutions can feel like millstones made of our insecurities. Going back to work can feel overwhelming. For all that, I like January. I like that in January you can settle in to it being just plain winter, no festivals or events or parties. You can look winter and it’s bleakness in the eye and know it for what it is. The death before the rebirth.
As I walk I reach the top of the garden and past edge of the giant hedge that has been my companion. Suddenly, the grounds open up and I can see beyond the dark border of the garden to a perfectly framed view of the full moon glowing large in the pale blue sky. I stand totally still, staring.
I have been divinely guided is my first thought. I have been divinely guided by the universe to see this perfect, beautiful view because it wanted to show me how beautiful the world is. Thank-you, I whisper. The moon is still magic, still there when I need a reminder that nothing is still, nothing is stuck. There are no roses in the rose garden, everything is cut back. But the structure is there, the spaces held for future growth. I hope that if January is tender for you, you get the rest you need. And, if there is any moon magic on offer, that some of it makes it’s way to you.
