Well my Blood Moon didnt quite go to plan - it was one of those days and nights where everything seemed in flux. I had intended to join the full moon walk at the local peace park, but my fridge freezer died. In the dash to save rapidly defrosting food and visiting neighbours to try and borrow freezer space, I missed the moon rise and the start of the walk. I shrugged it off and figured I would put the youngest to bed and then go out with my son, but my youngest was so upset that I spent all my time running between the children. At this point I realised that the two placentas I had frozen were also defrosting - I had intended to plant them under a dwarf apple and a dwarf pear this spring, but somehow that didnt happen and now I had to do something with them whether I felt ready to or not. We had been given a baby spruce this year, so I decided to bury both placentas under this - which seemed fitting and appropriate. I thought I could take some time out to do that after both babies went to sleep, but neither child really settled and my entire night was spent comforting one or the other, dozing fitfully with a child on my chest. At 4am I gave up on the concept of a warm bed and headed downstairs with my youngest. At some point she dozed off and I was left in a quiet house. I stood outside the back door, looking up at the full moon hanging low over the back of our property and just breathed in the stillness. The light was just starting to change in the sky behind me, although I couldnt yet see the sun through the trees. So as the moon set and the sun started to rise, I found myself in my nightclothes, in the pre-dawn darkness, burying two placentas under a new spruce and reflecting upon birth trauma, sacrifice, and motherhood. Sometimes ritual is not what we plan to do, but what we find ourselves doing.
Posted on: Sat, 19 Oct 2013 12:13:15 +0000
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