For a brief time throughout the Fall, I can see the moon through my bedroom window. Her celestial body aligns with mine, and if I lay flat on my bed, I have a clear view. It’s easy to see why our ancestors turned towards the moon. She was their beacon, calendar, and trusted guide. As I consider this ancient practice, I remember myself.
Last week, for the Pisces Full Moon, my Mediumship Membership had its first guest speaker. Gwen Yi, @theasianastrologer, led us through a beautiful meditation and full moon circle. I listened to Gwen’s soothing voice: “Now, imagine yourself in a meadow. Take in the beauty, and notice everything you see.”
I closed my eyes and was transported immediately. I was sitting on wet grass. As the sun rose, beams of light broke through the trees, casting shadows. A mist rolled off the meadow like a blanket being pulled back. In front of me, I saw two deep brown eyes meeting mine. A fawn wobbled toward me, new on its legs. I held my hand out, but it was just beyond my reach. The fawn became steadier, and the mist continued to clear. We were alone in a sunny meadow, just me and my young friend. “Where is your mother?” I ask.
Then I hear, “Take another deep breath, slowly opening your eyes.” I was brought back and instantly forgot my vision, like a dream, until Gwen asked us to journal about what was occurring in our lives six months ago compared to now.
February 2023. I had to open up my calendar, and when I did, I felt a familiar sense of dread. My son was preparing to transition out of high school and into a gap year. I felt my jaw clench as I remembered all the school meetings, transition planning, and job training.
My son is on the autism spectrum. Our society, schools, in particular, were designed to accommodate neurotypical people. There was a five-year period when we were at war with his school district. I mean attorneys, hospitals, crying in the meeting, fist-pounding on the desk, all-consuming war. By the end, I began to think of our attorney as a superhero, and the administrators we were battling barely seemed human.
Being a mother is a complete loss of control. Everything precious to you, your dreams, hopes, and wishes, all take shape and grow into a person that walks freely throughout the world. Every mundane moment of wishing time would go by faster turned around on you.
You can’t do anything to ensure safety, joy, well-being, or even life. Having had close calls with the latter, I have accepted this loss of control. I’ve mourned my ability to guarantee my children's safety and released it to the spirit world. There is a sublime freedom in reaching near the bottom and understanding that you can’t fix things. It’s not your job to fix things. You are there, you are available, you are loving, but you will never fix things.
The second round of journaling began, and we fast forward six months. I reflected on how my son now has graduated. He has two jobs in his area of interest (computers and technology). He seems happy in a way that soothes my soul as a mother. Not the extreme happiness you fear will change with the wind, a steady flow of okay-ness, health, and well-being.
Gwen asked us to choose a word for the last six months. I closed my eyes, and in the darkness, I saw the word: RELEASE.
At first, it didn't make sense to me. My brain tried to catch up with my intuitive awareness. Then, slowly, everything clicked into place. The fog clears, and I’m in the sunny meadow.
I think I have come to terms with surrender. I intellectually know I cannot control everything, but it is an ongoing process. I am still releasing. My body is relaxing as my son takes his first wobbly steps into the “real world.” I see the fawn and remember my instinct to protect it as I whispered, “Where is your mother?”
When I lay in bed that night gazing at the moon, I saw a familiar face looking back at me. I began to make a mental list of everything I had released in the last six months. I can list half a dozen things.
Alcohol, it has been six months, almost to the day since I’ve given it up. Coffee, almost four months. Our dog Bella has passed to spirit. It was a long process of letting her go. The rest comes down to control. Control over my business, control over my creative process, control over how my son would make his way—release, release, release.
I realize everything I loosened my grip on is thriving.
I speak directly to the moon, asking her to watch over everything I can not. I hear nothing back and have to laugh at myself because isn’t that the point?
With Love,
Sheryl
P.S. After writing this, Rachel and I saw our dear in the cemetery, and she showed us her two fawns. The mother stands just off to the right, watching us and wagging her tail.
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How did I just see this!! What a powerful realization, Sheryl, and such a beautiful story. Release. Release. Release. I feel so touched that our time together was able to yield such potent fruit. So much love to you forever and always 🥹💋☁️💗