This is the last new moon message of the twelve I committed to a year ago. The journey has opened many insights about ways to engage and collaborate with the larger story around us, and about the nature of its unfolding. Thank you for sharing it with me.

I am shown a barrier in the sky delineating a border of some kind. On the other side, stars are pressed up against it. This barrier is keeping an open space inside. It’s open but empty, as in repressed, oppressive, under a thick, heavy blanket. Its function is to do with denying, smothering, negating. My guides start to roll it up like a giant carpet. Instantly that open space is filled with alert, inventive stars. They flood in to populate the field with their active intelligence.

Why had they been kept out? What do they represent?

A network. A chain of events. A lineage moving forward from its source. They had been prevented by the carpet occupying that space, and now the movement can start again. Brother and sister and cousin stars, as it were, with a sense of kinship from the same family as the human consciousness, though the people have until now believed differently.

The stars are at home in this field. They belong there. The night sky around them is animate, too—no longer a dead kind of empty, as the carpet had been a dead safe zone, a form of denial from the human lineage.

The stars in this field express something from the other end of that spectrum of lineage—reaching from the source of the past, while the human consciousness looks back towards it. Both ends of the spectrum now have the chance to meet in the human. There’s a celebratory reunion going on, a joyful rediscovery of parts that had been separated finding each other familiar again, the one rejuvenating and refreshing the other.

What the human consciousness finds here is sensitivity, aliveness, and the distance of space in other dimensions. The stars and all they bring are now in the human field of consciousness, which they are expanding with connections to their networks – innumerable possibilities of portals accessing all regions of time and space. This network of networks is the new structure replacing the flat smothering fabric of the carpet. There’s the space to explore between points of light, and the points of light connect through dimensions to other points of light.

Human consciousness now possesses that capacity, but it feels tight and a little fearful, like it is not confident it can stretch that far, or doesn’t now how to grasp all that potential and make meaning of it.

Such a new experience! Of empty mind containing all this! Being the mind that is the context for all, as well as the mind trying to make sense of all—and that is the challenge of perspective here. The dynamic action of this is expressed in the metaphor of the reaching across the animate sky between two stars.

Each new moon I ask my guides for a story to reflect the energy of the month ahead:

In a bare patch of soil, there’s the first glimpse of a green stem with its white bud. A few people are gathered round on the stark hilltop to watch it unfurl. They are in awe of its ability to navigate the process, trusting that it will be strong enough to push up from the earth, to withstand the wind, that it will be spared from unsuspecting feet or nibbling rodents.

The beautiful white flower they had imagined, but even before it has fully revealed itself the pure beauty of it deeply moves the witnesses. Is the beauty itself part of the promise of the flower? Who or what planted the bulb they don’t know, but there were signs and they had hopes and now at the tail end of winter they have put those hopes on its emergence: Life in the ground still. Nourishment yielding a bloom still. The ability of a flower to flower still.

When it has fully opened its whiteness, that will be another moment of reckoning. What will be their response and responsibility then for what comes next? But for now it has given them something in the bleak landscape to gather round. (Do they remember what to do? How to greet a flower?) For now they share hope and relief that their trust has been answered. Will it be enough for them to live off? One single white flower.

Each new moon I ask my guides for a story to help me navigate the month ahead. Often it’s an attitude that’s called for, a positioning of awareness within the larger context, as is the case with this one:

Small sailboats are out in the bay on a bright summer’s day. The breeze takes them skimming about, criss-crossing each other’s wakes.

Then the wind drops and completely disappears.

One skipper is fuming with frustration. He had wanted so much to sail. This isn’t sailing! He’s not going anywhere. He keeps glancing up at the canvas, the sky, resenting what he considers to be a wasted afternoon.

Another skipper is privately glad the sails have gone slack. It’s more relaxing this way. He leans back, tips his cap brim over his face, and closes his eyes. This is why he bought the boat—to be out on the water. Here he is! Away from it all! Noone to bother him here, and nothing to do. Heaven!

The sailors in a third boat are leaning over the side. Their curiosity has been taken by what’s in the water around them. They point at glimpses of fish, a drifting jellyfish, a clump of seaweed. The swell has movement and shows the currents passing underneath. And the crew looks back at the mainland—not far, but unreachable without wind—and has time to take in the contours from this perspective, to see it all in a fresh light. It’s fascinating!

The one in charge of the fourth boat is busy planning out what he will do if the breeze does not pick up before dark. His brow is furrowed as he runs through the possibilities, wondering who would be the best person to call for assistance should he need a rescue. In the meantime he will work hard trying to maneuver into even the merest sigh of air brushing the water.

All around is the glorious summer light, the white hulls gleaming against the heavenly blue of a storybook sea. It should be perfect, but they’ve been dropped, cut out of engaging in the way the sailors had planned, the way their vessels were designed to do—a sailboat is built to catch wind, if there is wind; meanwhile, it floats while it’s waiting to fly.

So, when it’s not smooth sailing, what options are available?

While no one can summon the breeze, each is responsible for their level of skill, their willingness to participate in the environment, their trust. In alert attentiveness there’s freedom and fun.