You Are Already the Light

I stood beneath her glow this weekend - the soft, steady shimmer of the Pink Moon - barefoot on the earth, exhaling all the effort I didn’t realize I was still carrying. There was nothing to ask for. Just a quiet agreement between us: I remember who I am.

This full moon didn’t demand anything of me. She simply opened her arms.

And in that embrace, I found what I didn’t know I was missing.

This week has been full in the way life is when you’re walking between worlds. I’ve been weaving between client care, content creation, and stepping back into the rhythm of clinical work. Responding where I’m needed, creating when the moment opens. Listening more than speaking.

And still - there were spaces I protected. Time I made sacred.

Yesterday, David and I spent the day moving slowly through the garden and garage, watering the soil, tending the ordinary. While clearing a patch of wild grass near the front door, I found a cardinal’s nest tucked into the brush of a trellis of jasmine. The father bird flew off suddenly when I ventured too close. He was watchful, calling out to the mother or maybe warning me not to get too close. I kept my distance but stood still long enough to feel the sacred in it and capture a photo of the beauty of the creation.

A nest. A heartbeat. Life becoming.

Right outside our front door!

It stayed with me.

Much like last week, when our daughter was in town and we spent the week together and one evening painting pottery - David by our side, all of us caught in the quiet joy of creating something with our hands and each other. It was so simple. But the kind of simple our world is starving for. We promised to make space for this connection, again and again. It felt like remembering something ancient and sacred.

There is so much I carry for others.

So much I hold that is never spoken out loud.

But this moon reminded me - there is nothing to prove. No identity to chase. No version of myself I must earn.

I am not becoming.

I am.

I walk with the torch of Hecate, because the fire in her hand lives now in mine, I know this role intimately.

The light in the dark.

The guide between worlds.

The one who sees what others fear to feel - and stays.

I don’t rescue.

I reveal.

To illuminate the path back to your own knowing.

And I walk beside you while you remember who you are.

This moon asked me to live more gently, but not smaller.

To slow down, but not disappear.

To let my softness be honored.

To let my joy be sacred.

To let my presence be enough.

So, this week, I rest not out of exhaustion, but reverence.

I choose connection over control.

Wonder over worry.

And the blessed, imperfect mess of living with my whole heart.

If you're in a season of unraveling, or shifting, or quietly rebuilding....

Let the moon remind you:

You are not behind.

You are not lost.

You are not too late.

You are a flame in the dark.

You are a nest near the door.

You are creation in motion.

May this week bring you small joys, signs from nature, and moments of sacred creation with those you love.

The moon may be fading, but her message remains:

You are already the light.

With moon-kissed love,

Shannon