Tales of A Black Moon. Old Stories, and a New Day.

Edit: This post was written over a few days, during the Black Moon days, and is reflective of my feelings and thoughts on different days. So it’s a bit all over the place. Somewhat like me. I actually wrote a whole other post. But decided not to publish. And I’ve not been in the least inclined for a Bits and Bobs type of post.



Because I’m the font of trivia, it’s apparently been the wettest month in a hundred years. My word, yes. I thought it was unusually sodden for this time of the year. We’d actually taken to walking around Rapunzel’s saying, “it were always rainin’ in Denley Moor…”

But today…exhibit A (above)…sun shining, everything so bright and green and drunk with the sun. It’s all splendidly October-ish. At least for a few days, before we return to Winter.

And as the rain and gales have stopped (for a bit), I managed to escape this morning for a walk, because my limbs ached for a long wander.

There are lots of giant tree branches that have fallen as a result of the general storminess. But there are also mighty oaks, solid and calm amongst the debris, and only just unfurling their tender baby-fingered leaves. I love them so. My favourite tree, (if there is such a thing). There are also bluebells and wild freesias carpeting the ground beneath me as I walk. Spring has bounced into the world, despite the gloom.


Mama’s little anti-helper. The Velvetine Fiend, (yes, he’s enormous). He “helped” me this morning by digging up my freshly planted pumpkin seeds. I chased him around the house, swearing at him. But he actually enjoyed it – believing it to be a highly diverting game.

Did anyone else feel that Black Moon*?

I sure did. I’ve been by turns grumpy and out-of-sorts, then feverish and excitable. I thought I was coming down with something, and had an uncharacteristic bout of PMS, (which I believe may have been more spiritual than physical).

Then I was rendered simply flat, and dreadfully fatigued. The advent of daylighteffingsavings, hasn’t helped. If truth be told, (not a fan). But now…after some solid work hours, and then some vittles and tea with a dear friend, (which included some seriously focused op-shopping**), a good read of a stack of books, gardening, and a loooong soak in a bath…I’m suitably restored. By gum. S’all it takes, luvs.

Anyway…the Black Moon was in Libra, no less. I was actually born during this very darkest phase of the moon, with my moon in Libra. And then there’s my Libra stellium too, (October is my birthday month, for I am a Spring babe). So, like I mentioned. Personal.


Dark Moon, Dark Mother. She who absorbs, and holds, and hides our darkness; our shame, our secrets, our whispered desires. Secret-keeping alchemist. She takes what is broken, bleeding, and discarded, and She transforms them. She finds beauty in ugliness, and in the shadows. In Her, the seed grows softly in the dark, holding futures, and futures of memories.

The New Moon recasts the bones of strange, gaunt, and crooked creatures. All the dead dreams and stillborn hopes. The unwanted and abject. She holds what we refuse, and in Her, these things are embraced, and transformed.

The Dark Moon doesn’t expose anything tender to the Light. I see her as the protective, implacable Mother aspect. Opaque and shielding. Home. Deepest regeneration. She is the last breath of passing from the world, and the first breath as we’re born into it again.

It’s no secret that I relate to this aspect of the moon. And this Black Moon got very personal. It was filled with a power that verily knocked my suspenders off. However I rationalised my way out of believing that what was whizzing about in my personal atmosphere, was anything but ephemeral.

I should have realised in the couple of weeks leading up to the Black Moon, that my general wobbliness, (including a strange and uncharacteristic bout of PMS which was more spiritual than physical), combined with other events, was actually La Lune letting me know that something was up. What to look out for. Where to look, as well.

Namely, partnerships and relationships, (not only with others, but with myself). And especially: harmony, equality, and nourishment in relationships. Leaving behind habitual ways of doing things, just because I perceive them to be safe. Clearing out old gunk, and preparing for the new. A lot of this work I’d done, already, but some has still needed my attention.

This has felt like a true New Year for me, energetically speaking. In fact, it was one of those quite dramatic moments – you know – a good old epiphany. It felt as though I’d flipped upside-down and seen the world in an entirely new light.

And this morning I had at least three excellent ideas before breakfast! Too many to actually use all at once, but nonetheless. I was thinking I may pass a couple along, because they really, (possibly) should be used.


I’ve been dreaming up what makes me happy. Apart from a garden, of course…

Art, mystery, music, Romance, (not romance), connection, magic, ideas. A really good belly laugh. Unconventional souls, honesty, acceptance. Speaking my mind. Being unapologetically me.


Now this one did rather surprise me. “Empowerment” was always such an uncomfortable word for me. It’s always sounded brazen (but also boring) to my ears. Even at its most benign, “empowerment” seemed a side-show word. A charlatan’s promise…

For a long while I’d tried to make myself small and unobtrusive. Hiding myself away to attract less attention. Survival fears. I dimmed my light so that it would not be attractive to Dementors. I tried to be invisible.

But I got it all wrong, (“well…yes”, you might say. Because, obviously).

Dimming one’s light is exactly what attracts the light-eaters. When you’re clear and strong and completely in your own sense of self, they can’t touch you.

Patronus, anyone?

And during the Black Moon, I had the opportunity to remember that Dementors fear the light. It’s the light that exposes truths. And there is no greater fear than exposure of truths for those that hide behind masks and lies.

I get the value of empowerment more now. The showing up as authentically as you can, and with vulnerability. Not playing it safe and small, all the time. Being true and honest, speaking up and out, and not caring what anyone else thinks.

A good friend said some kind and wise words to me the other day: “your feelings matter too”, she said.

And I had forgotten, for a bit, that this was the case. And I wore her words like a piece of red wool tied around my finger; or a clootie on a fairythorn tree. A much-needed reminder, (or blessing-spell?), of what might be referred to as “the bleeding obvious”.

The good thing is, I don’t ache for the approval of anyone these days, which is a big part of the work, hey? Or perhaps it’s just reaching the age that I am, and feeling that I’m approaching the Badass Years. The years when a woman knows who she is, what she will and won’t put up with, and is simply not someone with which to be messed. Amen to that!


During this Black Moon, I do feel as though I discovered a secret door in a wall, covered in flowers and vines. And parting those vines, I stepped across a threshold into a wild and beautiful, (and ever-so-slightly thorny) place. And I wonder why I haven’t seen that door before. Sitting in that familiar old wall that I’d built.

Or perhaps I had noticed the door before, but I assumed that it was locked, and that I had to find a special key that could only be found in an obscure place, after an absurdly perilous quest, far away in some remote land. And in that land there was a whole new and confusing language which I had to learn before I could read the map that led me to the key. And it was only after I had completed the quest and obtained the key, that could I open the door. Because then I would be properly ready!

And it did take me years to be ready, and so much work. But then I find that the door was open to me all along – after all this time. And I need only have pushed it open, gently, with my tender curiosity. And allow that curiosity be stronger than my fear.




And on the other side of the Black Moon I’ve caught up with myself, and realised all I’ve outgrown. What doesn’t fit. Who I know myself to be, and…who I’m not.

Whilst nothing is ever complete and perfect, and “done”,(there’s always some blasted thing to work on!) life is, for the most part, peaceful. It’s certainly filled with love and beauty. It’s absolutely been worth the hard slog to get to this point.

In the past couple of days, I’ve also found myself (rather grudgingly at first) accepting a position of power, which I had previously turned down, (twice before, in fact). But rather than resist being in such a position, or avoiding leadership roles, (from which I’ve historically recoiled – fled from in fact), I see that I may actually be able to be of greater service this way, at this stage of my life. That I can give more of myself in the ways that matter, and that might even be helpful. In some small way. Because, in the scheme of it all, it really is only quite small. All of it.

Although, I do have a vague anxiety that it will take me away from where I want to focus, I still want to be of service. I want to create things of value to others. However I’m called to do this, then so be it. Surrender. Allow. Open.

The crucial nub of this is that I’m not making myself small, (in this instance). I’m not fiddling with the dimmer switch in order to hide from the light-eaters. And that feels…good. Not unsafe, as it once did.

And the Dark Moon brought this little darkness out, and exposed it to the light of day.

So remember, sweet dears, your patroni of effing awesomeness.

Love, light, and barnacles, me hearties.*** xxx



*A Black Moon is basically the second occurrence of a New Moon in a single calendar month.

**pretty silk fripperies! Happiness!

***Barnacles? I have no idea why. Just thought they might be pleasant things, after all.

8 thoughts on “Tales of A Black Moon. Old Stories, and a New Day.

  1. Beautiful lady,

    Such moonish wisdom. Thank you.

    Going through my own cyclical PMS right now and thinking of how I read that it is a spiritual event. Thousands of years of abuse and subjugation has left a remnant of pain in each woman, and this pain is stirred up before the blood flow, which parallels energetic/emotional flow. I’ve been using this time and space as an acceptance and honoring of this construction and in that often-difficult practice, am finding the pain dissolving and compassion for that light-stealing-Bluebeardian-patriarch-ego in its place.

    Also, have you read The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myth and Secrets by Barbara G Walker? My thesis advisor is having me read it and it’s AHHMAZING.

    Sending love


    1. Hello lovely Raquel : )
      I’d love to sit and have a cuppa with you and chat about all you say…because yes. There’s a whole, huge history and experience in feminine cycles, and the Bluebeardian constructs and overlays. And so good to get one’s beak and talons into! Thankyou do much for the book rec (always appreciated!). I’ve heard of Barbara Walker, but I haven’t read that title. Sounds really juicy!
      Much love to you, dear woman. xxx


  2. delightful post! (i have my moon in libra too.) this black moon was a humdinger for me as well. some similar material…let’s just say a familiar ugly reared its head, and an apology was demanded by me. which never happens, because i’m always focused on moving forward—away from the ugly—and not on justice. but there was also a rather striking moment of epiphany—not a happy one, but still, a clarity; i’m not certain how to proceed with it, but there it is. the whole past week or so has felt like a lengthy scab-pulling session. disgusting metaphor, but apropos.

    i like the idea of the dark moon as dark mother. the transformer. we all have things that need to be put into the dark and transformed, don’t we? and we all need a safe dark place to rest and recover from what life throws at us, all those slings and arrows…i was traveling during this dark moon, which was frustrating, because all i wanted to do was to curl up in her and process some Big Things.

    i’ve been getting lots of images of roses lately in random moments, in meditation, in images that cross my path, in odd words. roses have been significant to me all my life…but i had the idea the other day that i needed to claim my thorns. that phrase popped into my head recently…i am also entering the “bad-ass woman” years. and the “strength” card in tarot has been calling me…time to put on my lion-tamer hat?

    barnacles, eh? i used to collect them at the beach as a girl…”the main sense of barnacles is touch. adults have a single eye which is probably capable only of sensing the difference between light and dark.” they are armored things…a soft creature inside a robust protective shell. so perhaps the message here is that whilst we cling fast to the place or people we have chosen for our dwelling, we must grow a protective shell of our own, using our ancient, primitive senses to tell how things feel and whether they are light or dark, in order to navigate our lives?

    or maybe a barnacle is just a barnacle… 🙂


    1. Ah! Fellow Libra Moon Person! You’re intimately acquainted then with all the black moon-ness.

      Wasn’t it something else? And yes, clarity. Definitely. Also, I found boundary stuff emerged, for me. All the outer work with setting boundaries caught up with the inner shifts. I just find that I’m no longer attracting those who try to manipulate or fail to recognise my personal boundaries. The realisation of that felt immensely good, (it must be working!). And also making peace with the fact that there are those from whom I will never receive an apology, because they’re actually cognitively incapable of that. And even though they continue to malign, I just don’t care any more, because they have to live with being them. And so I can spare them some compassion, after all, (from a very happy distance!).
      I do hope the scab-pulling is not too painful. Sometimes required, though hey?

      I do so love what you say about roses, and claiming one’s thorns. What a brilliant image and idea! What’s a rose without her thorns? She’d be a too-tamed, hybrid shadow of herself. I think there are many of us roses who need to reclaim our thorns : )

      And barnacles. Retaining our softness and vulnerability, whilst not being snacks for the predatory. Navigating the dark and the light. I very much like this too. Much love. xxx


  3. wonderful post, full of womanly magic and wonderment. I always find myself wordless after reading here, but filled up with imagery and richness that finds its way into words later, through the day, in conversations and poems. this is your gift, this wild giving.


    1. Sarah, thankyou for your gorgeous words. That’s one of the loveliest things I could hear from anyone. But more especially from someone whose writing I find sublime and magical. xxx


  4. all of the deliciously thinky-things here. so very delicious.

    it was a doozy, i must agree. lots of intensity….some rather profound healing and shedding of a boatload of no-longer-valid stories. it was cathartic to the extreme. i emerged, blinking, into the light…still reeling a bit, but happy to sit in the aftermath for a spell.

    oh, magical you…..*happy sigh*…..i don’t believe you could ever dim that shine. xoxoxox


    1. Mel, I’m happy to hear that it was a healing-shedding kind of moon for you. Cathartic is exhausting, but good, hey? It’s a relief to be on the other side of that maelstrom. I hope you get to rest a bit, and enjoy that place. Love and hugs to you dearest. xxx


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