This moon — the Full Harvest Blood Lunar Eclipse Super Moon — came in three parts.
Not Maiden, Mother, Crone. Not Waxing, Full, and Waning.
But Community, Communion, and Grace.
It started at sunset when Craig and I went down to the ferry dock on the east side of the island to watch the moonrise and eclipse. As we arrived, we laughed to see dozens of people there before us, some with camp chairs and some with telescopes, all set up between the cars parked at the dock. It seemed like half the island was there — almost like an unspoken invitation had been sent out — Party at the ferry dock! We had a great chat with an islander we hadn’t seen since we moved back, and shared memories of my dad. He used to walk through her woods every morning. We caught up with old friends (“How’s life?” “Twenty-two weeks ’til retirement! Then I’ll be a full-time island hermit!”) and chatted with new ones (“Thanks for the kombucha. I’ll bring the bottles back soon!”).
Komo Kulshan glowed in all her splendor in the east, the Three Sisters just to her right. We were all guessing where exactly the moon would rise, when suddenly someone saw Her. “There! Just above the Three Sisters, on the right!” I could barely make Her out, but there She was, faint and pale orange. As the sky darkened, it was easier to see Her, but I have to admit I kind of missed the full white shining orb we usually see at moonrise.
Meanwhile, neighbors chatted and tried to get a rummage-sale telescope to work. We watched a small tugboat maneuver a barge with a crane on it into place at the dock. Hooray! They’re getting ready to bring back our car ferry — we’re on our third week of drydock with a passenger-only ferry, and we’re ready to have the Whatcom Chief return.
Craig and I headed home after night fell and the brilliant orange moon rose higher in the sky. We took a walk down our road in complete darkness (no streetlights here), with only the blood moon and brilliant stars to guide our way. Here too, we ran into neighbors out for a glimpse of the moon, shining just above the treeline. The best view was from the end of our driveway.
I gave silent thanks for living in a place where so many people want to share the awe of watching a Harvest Moon / Lunar Eclipse.
If the first part of this Moon was all about community, the second part was about solitude and communion. La Luna Bella — transformed now from blood orange to pure white — woke me around 2AM, Her light streaming in through the round moon window above our bed. I came awake to a sense of well-being, of deep contentment, of peace, with all my senses tingling. I made my way downstairs in the dark, pulled on a jacket, and opened the front door. Oh my heart! There She was, sailing high above the tall cedars to the south of us. I found a spot right in the middle of my herb garden where I danced with my moon shadow. Then I raised my arms to draw Her down into my heart, into my body, shimmering now with white fire. “Call the circle,” I murmured to Her. “Gather the women! Guide me on my path around the next bend. Lead me into the next phase of service. I am your daughter. You are my heart.”
This second part of the Moon, then, was all about communion — just Her and me, the stars, the cedars, the sea.
And finally the sacred third, in the morning. I woke at daybreak, pulled on my jeans, made a cup of coffee and stumbled down the road to the beach. There She was, big and round and glowing white through the morning mist, getting ready for Her rest after keeping watch over us all night long. I leaned back against a driftwood log and watched the water change color as the sky did, pink to salmon to blue to white. I watched the moonlight shimmer on the waves. I listened to gulls cry and crows squawk, then glanced up to see six geese heading northwest, then circling round to head east, then south.
Good morning Moon, I murmured. I rise as you set. Thank you for your night’s journey over the arc of the sky, thank you for inhabiting my dreams and waking me up for a dance and a chat, thank you for your never-changing, ever-changing dance of waxing and waning and renewal. Thank you for this morning of beauty and grace.
Sleep well, my Beloved One.