New Moon in Cancer – July 20, 2020
10:33 am Pacific / 1:33 pm Eastern
In the 28th degree of Love
Most have forgotten that Mother Moon herself is the Scar Queen…
…In looking at the Moon through the lens of a telescope close up,
we see Mother Moon’s many long scars, the gouges and the slashes and the lacerations and the pits.
A true story of her life.
Those scars on her beautiful, luminous body have been left from withstanding the impacts of huge rubble, rock and ice bodies hurling through space
—meteoroids, asteroids, comets hitting her full on,
setting her aside,
and yet Mother Moon was not and is not arrested in the least.
She is not made less in the least.
She’s not made smaller in the least by this constant bombardment.
Some of her scars are 1,500 miles across, belly and face, back and chest
And after these collisions, these impact basins flooded with lava—it’s the dark lava
that flows a fire into the scars
that created what we on Planet Earth call the seas,
… an ocean of scars.
Observe thyself in the moonlight, woman.
Even thy red and silvery scars match those of Mother Moon.
-Clarissa Pinkola Estes
The Moon and Cancer both represent our deep need to care for, nourish and love this beautiful human temple we’ve been gifted. We love others well when our bodies are well loved; we nourish others best when we are deeply fed too.
We can tend to the scars of our global family with great love and strength when we have acknowledged and loved our own scars first.
The road for you, dear friend, has likely not been easy. And one by one this Cancer season, the messages are being delivered through our body, our faithful companion that does not lie.
And we can trust our loyal Ally, our body, who’s been with us since our Spirit slipped into this Skin.
You’ve taken many hits this lifetime and your body has scars you see. Can you touch them all and love yourself just the same?
I saw one of mine exposed under the light of the Moon and the love of the Goddess not so long ago. And if you’re ready, I invite you to place your hand on your heart and allow the light and the love to shine on yours too.
Because these scars are beautiful. Just like you.
I’m ten years old, running through the playground being chased by a boy who I’m told has a crush on me, which makes me excited, because I have a crush on him.
I’m new to the school, so we haven’t spoken much in the classroom. But outside of the school’s walls on the concrete playground, no rules for engagement exist, so we do what ten-year-olds who like each other do—we play tag.
After about five minutes of chasing each other back and forth, weaving in and out of the slides and the swings, I let him pin me against the wall. I’m excited because we’re actually touching each other, the only direct contact we’ve experienced to date.
Even though he’s smaller than me, he’s strong enough to pin me. I halfheartedly struggle to break free, but then his hands reach for the hem of my dress, lifting it up to my hips. The angel-faced boy with the liquid dark eyes looks down at me and shouts, “Your legs are fat.”
I look down at my stomach because I’m sure he’s just punched me, his words hit so hard. I smack his hands away from my body, feeling a fire red heat snake up my lower back all the way to the top of my head. I don’t say anything—not one word. The buzzer rings. Recess is over.
I carried the weight of his words most of my life. Since I was ten, rarely a day went by that I hadn’t scanned my body with a critical eye, searching for the imperfections. Each morning for as long as I could remember, upon awaking, I participated in a cruel ritual in which I took the flat of my hand to see how much my stomach had risen or fallen overnight.
But when I look at pictures of myself as a teenaged girl, wearing the mid-thigh skirt, the two-piece swimsuit and the volleyball shorts, my legs seem perfect to me—strong and lean and solidly feminine. Up until I’m 25 years old, in fact, no extra fat can be seen on my body which ranges from thin to underweight. The archetypal program of the Anorexic had run strong in me from the age of 12–bulimia, starvation, strict caloric intake. I had no idea how to nourish myself.
After I turned 25, my weight fluctuated and no matter what the number was on the scale or on a pair of jeans, the Judge was always present and the Eye ever watchful.
“and I said to my body, softly, ‘I want to be your friend.’
it took a long breath and replied,
‘I have been waiting
my whole life for this’”
I look at my partner, Chris, whose thick, muscular thighs are celebrated because in our culture his masculine body is deemed powerful. When I summed up the courage to share this particular childhood story, a fearful part of me wondered by telling him that my Achilles’ heel was in actual fact my thighs, would I be any less attractive to him?
Over the years, I’ve learned to trust our love, however, so the fear evaporated in the intimate space we’d created to discuss the tough stuff, allowing us to share with each other in ways both of us have not known before. I knew it was time to quiet the Inner Voice and shut the Critical Eye on the shape and size of my body.
So I shared, feeling the energy shift inside of me. And as serendipity would have it, twenty-four hours later I was sitting on the floor of a meditation room, in which a small group of us were being led through an exercise to rewrite old stories that no longer served around our bodies. Having engaged in the practice of self-reflection and intention setting at the New Moon for years, I was grateful for a familiar practice.
I closed my eyes and instinctively drew my hands over my heart. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. The question gently came: What do I long for in this relationship with my body?
I dropped in quickly and my mind took me to the playground where I’m ten years old and the boy who everyone says likes me has me pinned against the wall. “Your legs are fat,” he blurts out.
But this time, I don’t freeze. I have something to say. I can see my ten-year-old self standing partly in the shadows of the building and partly in the light of the sun, but it is the hurt-child-adult part of me who steps forward and uses my voice to protect this precious little girl. Angry words blast out of my mouth while my hands are all up in his face. He cringes as if my hands hold magic and I have cursed him.
Who the fuck do you think you are? I mount another attack—this time it’s personal, criticizing his legs that are pencil thin and his height that rounds off at my shoulders. I feel the rising power of justified rage until it peaks and then I rest.
It is at this point in my meditation, a bright light explodes behind us and above us. Kuan Yin, the beautiful Goddess of Compassion, Healer of the Deepest Scars, appears on the playground and lightly touches both of our heads. Instantly, the movie reel of my mind shows life is tough at this boy’s home.
His mom and his aunties tell this beautiful boy in one breath what a heartbreaker he will be, but on their collective exhale, they break his heart by telling him he’s too small and too skinny, so he will need to man up one day. His embarrassment at their teasing sears a false belief in his subconscious that he’s not good enough just the way he is.
I see and feel how the boy’s own hurt seeded a pain inside my body-garden that grew out of control for years. It was within this moment of grace, however, the story fell away and I felt empathy for him and for me, as at one time, according to our birthright, we’d both expected to be loved and adored for who we inherently are–a Divine Child of the Universe.
I’d given so much power to four small words that had turned into a lifelong story.
Thankfully, I’d arrived at a place in my life where the desire to be kind in my thoughts and in my words outweighed any intent to tell the old tales that no longer served.
A place in time I could forgive this boy and myself for holding onto the story for so long.
What scars do you see on your body? The scars on your heart? The ones that have rocked you and knocked you? The meteroids? The asteroids? The comets? What scars can you love and forgive and love some more?
These marks, these craters, these trenches of ours hold stories of great pain, yes–but even greater than that, they tell fiery tales of our resilience and of our strength.
When we surrender our healing to the Love of the Great Mother within and without in all her Lunar, Goddess, Priestess, Wise Woman forms, we can soothe ourselves and grow strong from the the scars both seen and unseen.
YOUR NEW MOON CEREMONY
Find a quiet space, light a candle and call Her in.
Are you ready to tell the story of one of your beautiful scars–the one others see, maybe the one they don’t?
Can you find the healing while you share this story and see the gift in the scar?
Are you ready this New Moon to write word after word, page by page, intentions and stories that reveal how you, dear Queen, made love matter more than you ever did your pain?
Because if you are,
…walk as Mother Moon does then,
head, back and chest ever filled with light.
knowing scar tissue is stronger than skin.
And despite injuries,
the massive reflection and huge glow we carry
continues through us made by
A force greater,
One that is ever lit, ever as are thee.
-Clarissa Pinkola Estes