“Snow moon” or “storm moon”, as it is known, seems a fitting name for February’s full moon. It ripened to fullness during the coldest February in 131 years, as recorded in Banff, near my Canmore, Alberta home.
As this cool companion waned, I found myself winter gardening. Not in the earth, but deep within my being.
My heart is both tender and teeming with potential for growth. But I hold back the planting of new ideas and somewhat impatiently abide the cycle of the moon, until it begin anew on March 6.
As the moon fades, now is the time to tend the soil; clear rocks and old roots of unspoken annoyances that impede growth in my primary relationship. It is time to complete projects left undone, tidy and organize home and business and call in support for opportunities that will roll in with the new moon.
It is hard work. And at times painful. It means letting go of old, trusted attachments, like throwing away pretty envelopes of seeds that have gone beyond their strength to germinate.
It means saying no. It means listening to my heart for an authentic “Yes” and opening to the vulnerability that comes with living my truth. It is not easy to put aside the excitement of new events at this time, and reather, step back to reflect and learn from the past.
Alongside all this, there is much joy. Somehow the tending is an acknowledgment of my heart’s deepest longings. It’s like saying to myself, “I really matter, I really do.”, all the while knowing it’s not the “I” in the sense that we normally think of ourselves.