Black Moon (Part Two): New Moon Ritual
Jun. 14th, 2010 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
windinthemaplesFor the new moon ritual marking the start of my month of Black, I had put together a very simple altar. I wanted to use items I had already instead of visiting the storage facility or, worse, buying things specifically to meet the need. So I had a black pillar candle and three black stones from my crystal collection ready for the occasion. I also had my jet ring to charge. I decided last minute to pick up my simple altar items, commandeer a small side table for the bathroom, and transport them all up to the tub for a solitary ritual soak. :)
I filled the tub with almost unbearably hot water, adding nine drops of Misery/Love's Ye Olde Potions perfume oil. Lighting the candle, turning off the lights, shutting myself into the blazing heat of the tub and the flickering darkness of the bathroom, I asked to see some part of what I needed to know about Black, how it as a Color served me and vice-versa. The heat of the water forced me to retreat and so, quite naturally, the ritual had three segments of dreaming sight interspersed with bouts of coming up for air, so to speak, cooling down and thanking the world for cold marble floors to lay upon.
~*~
My brother and I spent many summer road trips as teenagers seeking out any and every roadside cavern that could be toured. Some small family-run glorified root cellars and some magnificent, sobering cathedrals of crystal and stone. In almost all of them, there was a moment when the electric lights were switched off, plunging all the tourists into the sudden and absolute black of the underground world. It is a darkness incomparable to any other. In my first vision, I went back to those days, to all of those days at once, and those seconds of chill darkness and held breath. What in the light felt like a companionable group strolling through an interesting underground palace becomes the most forbidding place in the world, cast off and adrift from all familiar landmarks and the presence of others. All that is changing is light, the ability to see ahead, and yet it immobilized me completely. There was one tour, though, where no electric lights had ever been installed and the cavern floors were rough and treacherous. Every five or so participants was given an old-fashioned punched tin lantern and we all shamelessly clung to these lightbearers and the feeble amber light of their lanterns. Complete strangers became instant friends as we clung to each others' belt loops and sleeves, clumping together in the tiny circles of light as we searched for safe passage through the maze of tunnels.
Life (and Death) have those black-out moments. Suddenly, the known of the day ahead is replaced by absolute darkness in every direction. Someone falls ill unexpectedly, there's a car accident, a lost job, a hurtful betrayal. So many ways for the taken-for-granted to be replaced by complete blackened mystery. How vital are the lightbearers? Those who come down into the darkness, no matter how small the light is that they hold? How necessary is it to remember that the lights will come back on, that what cannot be seen ahead may just as well be a glory of crystal and water-carved wonder than the bottomless pit you fear? The dark is just a moment, a paralyzing moment of indecision and change, yes, but just a moment before sight will be restored. Those people who took the same tour at the same time are still there, just feet away, even though in the dark you can't see them or feel their presence the same way. Nothing changes in that cave when the lights are shut off except the ability to see the way ahead. The setting hasn't changed, the companions haven't changed, just the easy ability to know which way to go has been rattled, disturbed.
My one little candle flame was more than enough light to see by. I couldn't help but realize that even a very little help, a little light, a little reassuring guidance when compared to absolute darkness is invaluable, divine-sent.
~*~
The wick lengthened as my ritual progressed and the flame danced higher, casting a bold shadow of my head and shoulders onto the white tile of the wall beside me. I lifted a hand from the water, fingers splayed, and watched the giant black shadow of my hand follow suit. My shadow was easily three times larger than myself and made quite a striking image. The impact was bigger than my actual self, my physical body, and it felt reassuring and spurring at the same time.
I danced, arms undulating, fingers opening and closing like blooms, and knew that power of action. The impact of my actions is both bigger and more beautiful than I give myself credit for. My presence between the dark and the light matters.
When I went to blow out the black pillar candle for my final soak, I noticed that it was a cheap design, a paper-thin dipping of black wax over a pure white pillar. To me, it seemed obviously a sign that the things I might ascribe to Black are, at heart, rooted in the pure divine presence of White. Nothing to fear there. Or, perhaps, it only takes a very little light to turn the blackest black into the purest light--my magickal little silver lining candle. :)
~*~
I blew out the candle and was plunged into darkness--or at least as much darkness as my closed off bathroom can provide. Still, the first thing I noticed when I closed my eyes and sank back into the steaming hot water for the last time was that my mind remembered light. My eyes seemed to, too, sparking gold and red-hot with flashes of phantom illumination.
If light is hope and love and guidance in dark times, then there was some confirmation that it doesn't take much to endure. Sometimes, even holding the memory of that safe self-awareness is enough. And for the lightbearers of the world, it means to me that our light shines even after it is gone from the physical world. Light endures while darkness is just a thin veneer on a great white pillar candle of existence.
;)
But yes, seriously, it is.
Blessed, Blessed Be, fellow lightbearers. May the darkness reveal your talents and give you moments of peace, rest, and needed reflection.
I filled the tub with almost unbearably hot water, adding nine drops of Misery/Love's Ye Olde Potions perfume oil. Lighting the candle, turning off the lights, shutting myself into the blazing heat of the tub and the flickering darkness of the bathroom, I asked to see some part of what I needed to know about Black, how it as a Color served me and vice-versa. The heat of the water forced me to retreat and so, quite naturally, the ritual had three segments of dreaming sight interspersed with bouts of coming up for air, so to speak, cooling down and thanking the world for cold marble floors to lay upon.
~*~
My brother and I spent many summer road trips as teenagers seeking out any and every roadside cavern that could be toured. Some small family-run glorified root cellars and some magnificent, sobering cathedrals of crystal and stone. In almost all of them, there was a moment when the electric lights were switched off, plunging all the tourists into the sudden and absolute black of the underground world. It is a darkness incomparable to any other. In my first vision, I went back to those days, to all of those days at once, and those seconds of chill darkness and held breath. What in the light felt like a companionable group strolling through an interesting underground palace becomes the most forbidding place in the world, cast off and adrift from all familiar landmarks and the presence of others. All that is changing is light, the ability to see ahead, and yet it immobilized me completely. There was one tour, though, where no electric lights had ever been installed and the cavern floors were rough and treacherous. Every five or so participants was given an old-fashioned punched tin lantern and we all shamelessly clung to these lightbearers and the feeble amber light of their lanterns. Complete strangers became instant friends as we clung to each others' belt loops and sleeves, clumping together in the tiny circles of light as we searched for safe passage through the maze of tunnels.
Life (and Death) have those black-out moments. Suddenly, the known of the day ahead is replaced by absolute darkness in every direction. Someone falls ill unexpectedly, there's a car accident, a lost job, a hurtful betrayal. So many ways for the taken-for-granted to be replaced by complete blackened mystery. How vital are the lightbearers? Those who come down into the darkness, no matter how small the light is that they hold? How necessary is it to remember that the lights will come back on, that what cannot be seen ahead may just as well be a glory of crystal and water-carved wonder than the bottomless pit you fear? The dark is just a moment, a paralyzing moment of indecision and change, yes, but just a moment before sight will be restored. Those people who took the same tour at the same time are still there, just feet away, even though in the dark you can't see them or feel their presence the same way. Nothing changes in that cave when the lights are shut off except the ability to see the way ahead. The setting hasn't changed, the companions haven't changed, just the easy ability to know which way to go has been rattled, disturbed.
My one little candle flame was more than enough light to see by. I couldn't help but realize that even a very little help, a little light, a little reassuring guidance when compared to absolute darkness is invaluable, divine-sent.
~*~
The wick lengthened as my ritual progressed and the flame danced higher, casting a bold shadow of my head and shoulders onto the white tile of the wall beside me. I lifted a hand from the water, fingers splayed, and watched the giant black shadow of my hand follow suit. My shadow was easily three times larger than myself and made quite a striking image. The impact was bigger than my actual self, my physical body, and it felt reassuring and spurring at the same time.
I danced, arms undulating, fingers opening and closing like blooms, and knew that power of action. The impact of my actions is both bigger and more beautiful than I give myself credit for. My presence between the dark and the light matters.
When I went to blow out the black pillar candle for my final soak, I noticed that it was a cheap design, a paper-thin dipping of black wax over a pure white pillar. To me, it seemed obviously a sign that the things I might ascribe to Black are, at heart, rooted in the pure divine presence of White. Nothing to fear there. Or, perhaps, it only takes a very little light to turn the blackest black into the purest light--my magickal little silver lining candle. :)
~*~
I blew out the candle and was plunged into darkness--or at least as much darkness as my closed off bathroom can provide. Still, the first thing I noticed when I closed my eyes and sank back into the steaming hot water for the last time was that my mind remembered light. My eyes seemed to, too, sparking gold and red-hot with flashes of phantom illumination.
If light is hope and love and guidance in dark times, then there was some confirmation that it doesn't take much to endure. Sometimes, even holding the memory of that safe self-awareness is enough. And for the lightbearers of the world, it means to me that our light shines even after it is gone from the physical world. Light endures while darkness is just a thin veneer on a great white pillar candle of existence.
;)
But yes, seriously, it is.
Blessed, Blessed Be, fellow lightbearers. May the darkness reveal your talents and give you moments of peace, rest, and needed reflection.
