Sacred Sassy Heroine: Open Letter to Madre Moon

Sacred Sassy Heroine: This is the everyday goddess within each woman. It is she who harnesses the unfeigned feminine energy that makes you divine. She embraces all-she-is and struts it like she means it. Saturday is the full moon. This cosmic event serves as a reminder to crack out of your proper exoskeleton and reconnect with the howling sister within. She is sacred. She is sassy. She is YOU. And she is a Heroine.

Dearly Beloved Full and Feisty Moon,

I’m not entirely sure what the heck I’m about to say. This could be a long ranty bitch out letter, a red-hot love letter, a fists pounding the earth begging for forgiveness letter, or something else all together. Here goes.

I forget a lot of the time that we are connected, you and I. I like to think of myself as a general smarty-pants, the boss of my own universe, autonomous in every way. We both know that’s a load of bull, nonetheless it has been my customary modus operandi.

It’s easy to neglect science, biorhythms, and the not-so-subtle things like menstruation, hello!

In the wake of yesterday’s torrent of tears and humble humanness, I awoke puffy eyed, but shiny and renewed by the memory and truth of our connection. No matter how hard I push the pedal to the metal and try to dodge the force of nature that you are, you always find me.

What ever happened to those languid nights under the stars, just you, myself, and the entire nocturnal cacophony? I try to squeeze those memories out of my mind because I miss them so badly it hurts. The tears sting my eyes and threaten to fall at inopportune times and places. What have I traded them in for?

Those were slower times, lavish with ritual, and spaciousness, unburdened by cell phones and fan pages.

Full moon bathing, songs, drums, mason jars filled with water set in the center of my garden altar to gather whatever you were offering and drink it up. We were really something, you and I. The way you made my skin shine like silver as I danced for you.

I feel like the prodigal daughter tired of running, but not sure how to come back home to you. As if you’ve been keeping a tally, running rackets on all the ways I’ve ignored you.

When the effort is blistering and the rewards deficient I suddenly regain consciousness. Gasping for breath, jerked awake from the insistent slumber, like the dream where I’m tripping over the parking curb, only to fall upright in my bed.

There you are silent and streaming through my window, softly witnessing.

He and I were stars upon your stage, fucking wildly to your standing ovations.

There are voices chiding that memory with perjured lectures saying that was my silly youth. But I’m not convinced. The feral fire still simmers inside us at every age. I’ve seen those old dames with that wicked twinkle in their eye that tell of untamed horses galloping harder and faster than the so called domestication of maturity.

You pull the tides of every ocean and call forth my inner lunatic. I have not forgotten how you orchestrate the seasons inside of me each month. I feel the amorous pulse of spring, the lush summer bloom of ovulation, the tender yawning of my autumn, and finally the exhale and inward cocooning of my moon time.

I’m writing to ground my re-awakening. Because too often its ephemeral nature wins and I sink back into habit and trance. My intention is to weave you back into my consciousness in a way that renders tender, spacious, creative results.

I say we start seeing more of each other. We can take it slow or we could rush right in like skin-starved lovers. But right now I feel a bit shy. What do you say, maybe a glass of wine tonight, just you, me, and the entire nocturnal cacophony?

We’d love to hear from YOU…

Have you noticed a connection to the moon in your life? What steps can you take today to ground yourself? Leave your answer in the comments below!