What sort of a ‘farmer’ have I been? Did I grow enough for a long winter? Which dreams died this year? What was born? What nutrients, provided by mistakes, failures, and mis-steps will help grow new seeds?
We lie under in a night sky, tiny and supercilious until exposed to Luna’s enormous Light. Her quivering, round, emotional body questions our smallness, begging a larger life of more connection and meaning. The fall’s Harvest Moon provokes ancestor bones to move beyond the flat, daily drone to ask, “What do those of us, who no longer work the land, actually harvest?” What do I cultivate when I do not turn over soil, dig under stalk and chaff? Am I producing anything of substance, or sustenance?
Our ancestors howled when standing under a Full Moon, allowing her magic to prepare them for cycles of death and re-birth. When our bodies are infused with that ancient tribal awareness, the light of Luna’a wisdom promotes timeless, archaic, immutable, archetypal memory that requires no word of praise, only inquiry, questing, and howling.
Any harvest is an end, and a beginning, provoking cyclical questions from this life, as well as other times and places:
Do I honor the courage and steadfastness that brought this crop to harvest?
Did I refuse my own gifts along the way?
Will I allow this year’s mistakes, and failures, despondency, and carelessness to become the mulch and manure for next year’s seed?
What failed to harvest? Why?
Do my fears interfere with talents to produce? How?
What showered me with abundance?
In what new, more powerful ways will I husband spring seed?
Am I willing to share the abundance? What does that look like?
With whom do I share? Who is my tribe?
How have I transformed from this harvest?
How, and when do I begin to cultivate the next cycle?