you are the moth, and you are gone. 

a gift from my mother on my 34th birthday

I went into the woods alone with a flask of whiskey and a picture of my Mom to find some way of being with her, the woman who brought me into this world, on my second birthday since her death.

The sky opened up and the woods howled with thunder and rain. I found a dead turtle by the water and a blue heron kept pace with me as I climbed over rocks and slippery slopes towards my campsite.

I felt grief and fear and sadness and confusion. I pitched my tent in the rain and managed to start a fire with damp logs. I had a moment of panic that I had picked the wrong campsite somehow, that the clearing on the other side of the trail was where I should have gone. I took my diary and crossed the path in the rain and there she was. Bright, almost fluorescent green wings like puddles of light scattered against the soft dark earth like a trail leading me home.

altar for my mom | full strawberry moon rising in scorpio

I drank whiskey & peppermint tea and stoked the fire until the intensity of tending the flames overcame me and I walked down to the river to try to coax the Full Moon out from behind the rainclouds. I lay on my back on the flat rocks and listened to the deafening chorus of frogs and crickets howling into the dark with no moon in sight.

I crawled into my tent, feeling claustrophobic and blind under the raincover. I wanted to see the trees around me and the moon in the sky but the steady drizzle kept on.

I lay on my back in the cold wet dark and closed my eyes but no sleep would come. I set up an altar in the corner of the tent with my headlamp, Mom's picture and the wings I found on the trail. At the moment of my birth I poured a little whiskey out for Mom and pulled two cards.

The 7 of Cups represents the inner work of feminine consciousness. The fisherwoman is surrounded by overflowing vessels and she holds a net for winnowing. She balances a cup on her head from which everything flows; a dove alights here, activating her oracular vision and guiding her hands as she practices her craft, choosing the emotional needs to tend to and those to release. She connects me to the lineage of feminine consciousness from which we all spring and honors the emotional labor of mothers and daughters everywhere.

The Magician is 1 in the Major Arcana. She carries a knife that cuts a lightning bolt into the sky, marking the moment of self-recognition in human development. She is the fire of will and the magic of self-determination. She is my muse and my totem on this dark midnight on the first day of June. She brings light to the darkness and whispers 'You Can Do It' in my mother's voice.

you are the moth, and you are gone. 

Luna Moths live for just one week in Spring. They do not eat or sleep; their sole purpose is to mate. They are nocturnal creatures, drawn to flight by pheromones on the wind and into the flame, perhaps, by some instinct to transform again. 

When I found these they were scattered on the ground with no body in sight. They are shed wings, a vestige of life, and yet they felt so electric laying there.

They are a reminder of light and beauty in the dark wild of a stormy night. Their insect medicine speaks of what we must let go of to grow.