Each new moon, I ask my guides for a story to describe the collective energy for the coming month, and certain tasks to help align with it. This is similar perhaps to an astrological forecast, except from a different perspective.
This is the third month of trying this—sharing the message and inviting you to join me on a journey. It’s an adventure into the unknown for me, too, since the story is metaphorical. It’s asking us to take a different point of view—just as turning the focus on a kaleidoscope re-constellates the entire scene, a re-positioning in the relational field affects the way we relate to the rest of the world. If you’d like to share your interpretation and experience as the month unfolds, I’d love to hear from you.
Story for the New Moon, June 22, 2020
Stumbling through a dense summer forest, you can’t tell where the spider webs hang until it’s too late—strands stretched across your face. You swat them off!
There’s something ahead—only the partial outline visible. Deer eyes staring back. Not until it breaks do you catch a glimpse of the entire animal and then it’s gone. Where? Already it is camouflaged again. The mats of low branches are like blinkers on your vision—if you look down to place your feet, you can’t see ahead. There isn’t a path. You’ve lost the way and don’t really know where you are going, just swiping and blundering through the trunks and leaves.
How did the deer move so easily? It took three bounds. It uses it eyes and its ears.
Now you’ve stopped, it occurs to you that, since there’s no undergrowth, lower down, near the ground, there is more space. If you crouch, you can easily pass between the trunks. You also have a view further ahead and all around. From hands and knees you can actually see the lay of the land, rising slightly. Under your fingers, the leaf litter is soft. When you stop a moment to rest, birds perch close on low branches to watch, trying to figure you out.
Here’s a wide trunk—an old tree. This looks like a safe haven, perfect to lean against a while. It has escaped logging, survived storms and drought.
You are exhausted—not just physically but emotionally drained. Drift off to sleep.
Wake up, and, with your wits about you now, you think to check out the other side of the tree. How funny that you didn’t notice before: a path! Old, wide, gracious trees line an earthen trail that carries the tracks of animals as well as humans. It’s such a relief to stand upright again, and have the space to freely move.
Where does this new path go? Now you’re curious to discover.