Mons Lunae
The moon and the matriarchy - healing the womban in me
At first it wasn't intentional. I didn't really connect the dots.
But reflecting on this spiral path of life, and being in a clearer headspace for sharing again, I’d like to honour my mamma’s garden as a pivotal place of release at the start of my big transformation.
Alongside the opportunity to embark upon a deeper internal and elemental connection as a healing womban, it was also where I started to cultivate a relationship with the moon.
For me, I realised after much pain and insight, that working in the city was one of the factors that had contributed to the imbalances in my personal energy. I had allowed it, unknowingly, to take me out of my divine feminine energy, zapping out the connection between me, my womb, my cycle, my femininity, my softness and play.
In its place, a hardened masculine energy rose up, and distorted the womban inside of me, as a way to survive in a competitive, money-driven, hierarchical environment, where my true value was never fully recognised. Mostly because I wasn’t aware of it myself, at the time, but also because some people have always underestimated me, and misunderstood my truth, because of their personal hardships.
We all have our own difficulties, yet, we are still all a mirror for each other. Every single one of us. I know this now, as an embodied womban, first, and a shamanic healer, second.
Back in mamma’s garden, I would look out over the horizon, watching the seven swaying trees in the distance - six tall and proud, and a rather dwarfy one at the end - as they morphed with the passing seasons, and I’d ponder all the choices I’d made that had led up to that point.
My wise, old friends, protecting me from the North, gave me a sense of vastness and expansion whenever I felt trapped, or unable to innerstand what was going on in the depths of my being. They always reminded the wanderer in me to not give up, but instead to sit and observe from afar (for a change), until I was ripe to move on.
At night, I listened intently, and it often seemed like I was sharing space and time with powerful, unseen energies that would invite me to stay outside, alone, until way after sunset. And so, for the first moment in a very long while, perhaps in my whole life, I lovingly greeted surrender and welcomed reconnection.
To my body.
To my cycle.
To my soul.
To my intuition.
To nature.
To the elements.
To the garden space.
To presence.
To my family - past and present.
While I sat in the South on those ever-changing evenings, graced by the elegance of the shifting winds, the crackle of a flickering fire, or the smell of freshly cut grass, the once dimming embers deep down within me began to reignite.
From once a week, it became twice a week, sometimes fueled by the desire for a spliff, or by luteal cravings. And then, whenever the elements knew to call me, I was teased barefoot or snuggy-socked onto the grass as dusk fell, wearing my headphones like a crown late until the moonlight glistened.
As the lunar cycles shifted, the darkness would embrace my small frame and I’d dance on every piece of that land, consciously delving deeper into my wild shadows, gradually feeling whole once more.
It was the initial stages of an incredible undoing and unlearning.
I let everything out. My limbs flowing and flailing freely, without judgement.
Every single distasteful, sweet, heavy, gruesome, gruelling, ugly, violent, painful, beautiful, tender, raw emotion spilled itself from my vessel into the air, like a volcanic eruption steaming and spewing hot magma onto the moist lawn.
Cooling and deflating with each breath, and with conscious acknowledgement, these unruly feelings of mine (caged for years, twenty thousand leagues under the sea, it seemed) were accepted into the nightscape, witnessed by shimmering slugs, solo snails, chirping birds, and even a bolshy bat or two. It was like they were present to honour, unbeknownst to me back then, this deep shamanic soul retrieval - a process of collecting all the fractured pieces of my soul, flung here and there, from past pain, betrayal, self-doubt, hurt and the trauma of human life, and past life karma too.
Under shining golden moonbeams, the lonesome, longing sounds of my soul pushed themselves out through my mouth, fingers, and toes, and over the days and weeks, this unravelling had brought me back to the most potent magic of my existence.
The moon, well, she became my best friend, supporting me in ways I’d not remembered since being a little girl, frolicking in nature. Yet, slowly but surely, she helped me become my own best friend again.
I’m happy in the dark of a garden. In silence, or with my beats on.
Maybe it was the Brownie (girl guide) in me, peering up at the stars and learning how to sleep in a tent in the garden as a child. But whatever it was, I remembered that nature is my first home.
I believe it is our first home.
I occasionally led ceremonies, circles and soundbaths here, but for the most part, this space and experience was a very isolated remembrance, that needed to move through me at its own pace - unregulated and unchecked by modern society and standards.
With the lunar essence guiding me as I shed old layers, I would spend hours in that garden, gently moving, puffing and humming, occasionally grunting and snorting, allowing the being, and beast, in me to breathe.
For my soul.
For my inner child.
For my wild womban.
For my ancestors.
And for anyone, and everyone, who’s hit rock bottom and wanted to fucking give it all up.
‘I’m TIRED,’ I’d scream inside. But she just wouldn’t allow me to cave in.
The moon shone powerfully on every inch of my bare skin (yes, there was a blissful naked moment here and there), feeding me with energy that gave me the strength to restore myself in the most magical, solitary and heartfelt way.
It gave me the soul food I needed to continue on this unknown journey. To move forward, however heavy my head hung on my shoulders.
Spirit channelled so much through me during that period, that my body started to change and morph. Cellular healing, some say. My tastes and movement altered. I dropped a lot of weight too, and even my brain changed. This was more notable, though, once I’d begun conscious personal ceremonies with psilocybin.
As the moon phases passed, at times I’d notice the way that I held my body became infused with the mystic of a garden fairy, and on other evenings, with the energy of the darkest goddess, wanting to rip the heads off an army of men in its entirety.
I allowed my emotions to be acknowledged, expressed, innerstood and released, without fear, because I recognised a greater power guiding me.
Intuition.
When we’ve felt so energetically charged by the moon, to the point where we awaken a profound knowing and intense connection to Spirit, it can alter our perspective on a few things, to say the least.
Energies from far and wide began to circulate in the space around me, galactic sensations filling my body temple with new language, thoughts, concepts, realities and timelines.
Limitless possibilities, I heard.
But then, one day, something connected me to a past life - many past lives, in fact, but I digress, as we’ve talked a bit about that here before, haven’t we - and slowly, I felt things in my soul that were unexplainable to me, in human words.
Right out of the blue, the time came - after much reflection, allowing, patience, grieving and loss - when I had a vision of being transported to sacred lands. Lands that I knew I’d previously stepped on, as I heard the crunching leaves and twigs get buried into the soil beneath me, riding on horseback through smokey fields, alongside others. Tribesmen, perhaps.
After deciding to remain grounded in the UK during this energetic transformation (and for other reasons which we won’t repeat here, cough, cough, lockdown, cough, I’m not wearing a mask BS), I was being called back to a place that I’d seen in my third eye - Mons Lunae, the sacred mount of the moon - and that I’d also been enchanted by when I visited as a young womban many years ago.
Maybe I could feel her more intensely because I’d nurtured my connection with the moon in mamma’s garden. And, I believe, once established, this bond is magnetic.
It just doesn’t leave us.
It ignites and holds the divine feminine in mysterious ways, bearing fruit with each passing cycle. And so, this is why I needed to travel to that part of the world, for a short while, and do a bit more solo shamanic work, among sacred trees, ferns and fireflies.
Healing with the moon (and other spiritual experiences I’ve written about before now) can evoke emotions of confusion, overwhelm, anger, lust, and joy. And, as a collective conductor, I know that some of what I experienced was not always my own energy, for sure. At the same time, however, I don’t fear emotion and, in a way, these newfound sensations gave me a sense of peace and divine connection that I’d never experienced before.
Simply becoming aware of being able to dive to a depth previously unknown to me, resonated like a feeling of belonging on so many levels. It was all part of this great homecoming - the moon, sound, psilocybin, intuition, movement and many other healing modalities - clearing away years of deadweight that I’d accumulated as an empath, outstaying and outgrowing environments and people that just couldn’t let me, or didn’t want to see me, fly.
I was finally becoming me, one more time. Better balanced, increasingly integrated, ever embodied, and much, much more at peace and in love with life.
And I strongly believe that this is one of the most significant reasons as to why the strange series of dark events (which I’ve not exposed, neither here or on YouTube) that took place in my life after this period of deep solitary work, did not, and never could, lead to my downfall.
Firstly, because I’d not shared the details or extent of my personal, shamanic work, because privacy is key in the times we live in - this work was for me, not external validation, thanks very much. I’m a humble person, despite what others may perceive.
And secondly, knowing thyself is the ultimate way to stop anything outside of us from distorting our own personal truth.
I know who I am, and no place, person or thing will make me question myself ever again.
Having grounded my soul and roots back in nature; harnessed a significant amount of moon energy (consciously and with good intention, because there are those that, you know, don’t); cultivated elemental connection; and dedicated my life to living in reverence of Spirit, I am so grateful that despite immense pain, I now inherently trust that we can overcome any obstacle that comes our way, if we so choose - the all is mind.
All in all, this ever-unfolding, shamanic life path of mine has been my biggest teacher, and saviour.
And now, I’m finally back to living as the sacred womban I was always meant to be.
Nature wins.
Always and forever.
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I give thanks to my mamma, and the late Mrs King, for cultivating such a beautiful garden space and that my healing was supported by this magnificent nature. Her roses were something special, and the burgundy lace fern was a special friend to me during this time, too.
Article cover image credit: Angela Ferreira - www.magicpaintings.com
This piece has been written for spiritual health awareness. If you have any questions, it would be my pleasure to answer them if I’m able to- hello@vwellness.co.uk
