The new moon is an empty womb. It’s an incubation, a warm space to grow. It’s ripe in its possibility. It’s the place for new beginnings, a space for planting seeds. And it’s safe, safer than anything, a reminder that darkness can be a comfort.
The new moon is a dit. A speck. An iota. Unassuming in its size but mighty in its possibility. Often underestimated. Always powerful. It’s the head of the match, ready to spark. It’s the nib of the pen, ready to write. It’s the tiny seed from which all things grow.
The new moon is the primordial waters, deep and damp. It’s the darkness from which all things spring. It’s the beginning of a creation myth. The earth without form, God moving across the face of the waters. The yawning gap of Ginnungagap. The oceanic abyss of the Nun.
The new moon is a cave, inviting us to hibernation. It’s a reminder that, although we run and run and run, we cannot run forever. And it brings us into the earth, into a place where we can stop and breathe and rest outside the cycles of time.
The new moon is a dark veil. It’s a time and a space for liminal ritual. It invites us to get lost in the dark. It invites us to disorientation. It invites us to lose ourselves in order to find something new. It invites us to step through the doorway, into darkness, and to feel courage in the face of that darkness.
The new moon is an open maw. It’s an abyss of hunger, ready to eat up the old to make room for the new. It creates, but it also devours. Because creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin. The death of one thing is the birth of another.
The new moon is the dark underground. It dims the light of the sky and invites us to look down instead of up. It takes us deep into the earth, to remember the physical nature of our bodies. We are animals, in essence, and we belong to the earth and are a part of the earth.
The new moon is a tomb. It invites us to contemplate our own mortality, from where we come and to where we will return. And it invites us to remember the dead, because life and death are so close, separated by the thinnest of lines.
So here’s to the new moon, the darkness of creation and destruction, the womb and the cave, the deep water and the deep dirt. May it always remind us to rest and remember.