When the moon wanes, the magic of my 30th year unfurls, unearthing lessons underneath the soles of my feet and ushering in a new path before me.
When the moon wanes, I prepare for a ritualized ending that energizes like a replenished beginning.
When the moon wanes, I toast to my my spirit-word of “magic” with ginger kombucha and ready myself to receive the enriching remedies this grounding, galvanizing, generous spirit-word has returned to me.
Magic returns me to embodiment, emotional freedom, and energetically clear boundaries. Her teachings, like all my spirit-words enthusiastically selected on my birthday eves, surprise me.
My year of magic makes me more human (because I thought I might transform into a hummingbird).
I enter into an ancient sisterhood, a mystical sacred space that celebrates the moon. I follow a curiosity and immerse myself in studying and honoring my cyclic nature, my infradrian rhythm, and start to live in accordance with my hormonal seasons through foods, movement, and care. There’s a reverence infused into a day-to-day changing routine that reprioritizes the inherent, wired wisdom of my all-knowing and sensation-speaking body. I flow with my inner moon tides and reawaken to living and shining in this feminine magnificence.
I practice and perfect a finding spell, too. Whenever I feel lost, I locate my feet. I sink into the support of a wildly loving earth. I place a hand to my heart and the other to my belly to soothe and strengthen in my own embodied sovereignty. I feel sensations send signals of guidance. I let my gut give the answer, and the answer provides the fullest inhalation and complete exhalation.
My year of magic introduces me to the skilled emotional work of alchemy.
Through honeyed-embracing of all emotions there’s an instant creation of spaciousness that gregariously allows the anger, the irritation, the excitement, the grief to be as they need to be. The resistance to how I am feeling dissolves when I acknowledge and graciously include the emergence of emotions, and this knits me closer into a befriended wholeness that connects me with all of humanity.
My year of magic breaks spells.
I stop looking for external validation. I relinquish the reaching. I surrender the seeking. I sense, see, smash the illusions from the outer matrix absorbed and internalized. I do the work of returning to my humanity, my embodiment, my clear river of energy. I cleanse my auric field with an image of fire that fortifies and purifies. Salt water splashes at my feet and roses bloom from the flames. This is my daily spiritual hygiene that helps me be in the world, love this world and propel the consciousness forward.
My year of magic holds a chapter that details an internal winter that lasted into the watercolor arrival of a Kentucky spring, and the purposeful soulful incubation instructed the life-brimming wisdom of rest. I’ve sipped the elixir of pine and sun up on a mountain outside of Santa Fe where I simply stood still in a cluster of alpines at dusk and let the glowing serenity of that moment recalibrate the years of Texas adventuring into renewed present-being. I answered the quiet call to go home without knowing the why, and now, six months later, understand this too came from a call to return.
Magic assisted in the return. All the processes that lead me back to reclaiming my wholeness glisten and glow in breath-expansive magic.
The magic is in listening, in acting on the whispers, the inclinations, the turns down the backroads. There’s magic in staying open, constantly curious, and in creating a trusting friendship with yourself, your body, your own knowing.
There’s magic in the monthly sway of the moon, in emptying to return back to the void of sky and stars, abundant with promise and potential.
When the moon wanes, I find my feet and retrace the steps from my 30th spin around the sun. This is a spell murmured backward to help me move forward in believing the continual magic that is our evolving, our becoming.