Santa Muerte and the Sickle Moon

Photo by Alex George on Unsplash

Dear Cultiers,

The moon has always held such a fascination for me. Her shapes and changes have kept my attention for decades. I never tire of her. She has kept me in her thrall for all the years of my life that I can remember. In all her glorious light, and all her deep darkness, she is beauty. She swells with life and wanes into nothingness.

She teaches me.

Sometimes she teaches in a rapid fire succession of lessons that are quickly understood and integrated. These lessons can feel simple and easy to align with and absorb.

Sometimes she teaches lessons that repeat with the relentlessness of her cycle. Coming round and round again. Sometimes cutting and sometimes bludgeoning in each revolution until finally, surrender, and the lessons are understood.

And sometimes, sometimes, her sickle comes around so keenly edged, that I bleed out into the warm water of her attention, unaware that I have been touched at all. I just suddenly notice the Loss. The wash of color in the once pristine tub. It's in this moment that I realize that I can only accept what has come to pass. There is no undoing what has been done.

She has that in common with Santa Muerte: for when she comes, there is no undoing it. Scholars say that Santa Muerte is an amalgamation of our European Grim Reaper and the ancient Aztec goddess, Mictecacihuatl, the “Lady of the Dead.” This pre-Columbian death goddess ruled over the underworld and was often depicted as a partial skeleton or having a skull for a head.

In Mexican culture Santa Muerte is not revered morbidly as a death dealer, but rather she is known for protection, healing, prosperity, and as the collector of passed souls, tenderly ensuring that they find the path to the afterlife.

This year already, Santa Muerte has been busy in my life. First coming to collect my father, Michael, He was short 1 1/3 lungs thanks to the Vietnam war and Agent Orange, and was very ready to be at peace so that he could breathe again. My time with him was short, and I am sad for it. I think had I been a boy it would have been different. I think he realized it too late like I did, and tried to make up for it at the end.

And just days ago, this beautiful goddess Santa Muerte came to escort our beloved matriarch Madrienne away, suddenly and swiftly to her long earned rest. My Grammy was the last elder of her generation and her passing has decentralized our family. My mother said she grimaced at the time of her consciousness passing, and I can imagine Madrienne's furrowed brow and questioning look as she uttered under her breath, "Who is this stupid c**t?" (Many thanks to the series Deadwood for giving us this gem that we used amongst our selves in gest for several years now.)

After the sickle moon cut her thinning thread, and Santa Muerte enveloped her soul and led her to rest, I had some realizations. My Mother, is now the oldest in our line, and the elder of our house. Her brother and sister while younger now head up their own houses. There is nothing left that unites us under one banner, and while it seems a small thing, it had unexpected and profound effects on how I see things now.

For so long I have still felt like one of the kids. Hell, I was treated like one of the kids in some ways. With Mamie gone now, something has transformed. Mom is now no longer just my mother. She is also my elder. Technically she always was, but now I can feel it. Now she is THE elder. I can see that she carries the elder's wisdom now, and I am much less like one of the kids. I'm only one step away from carrying that mantle myself. And I feel that too. Like a heavy blanket in winter.

I am so grateful to have my beloved Mamie as an ancestor. I KNOW my blessings will find a clear path to me, and that trouble better watch its back if it thinks its coming for me. Have mercy on any soul who thinks to do harm or get one over on me and mine. Mamie ain't no joke.

In between these passings our house was robbed during this sickle moon theme, and my most prized possessions, my tribal jewelry collection and my rings were stolen, among other valuables. So many things that felt very defining have been taken. All suddenly, and without warning. I know this means I'm in transformation, but the heart hurts for the comfort of the known. The mind longs for its place and its identity of association.

But the spirit, the glorious and expanding spirit, finds the freedom it needs to morph into its next shape. I pray for the easeful journey of the souls recently passed, and I pray that I find comfort in the changing of the tides and the shifting of the winds.

May our paths, whether straight and narrow or winding and obscured, take us toward out deepest desires. Let each loss of this Sickle Moon lighten our load, and open us to the blessings and lessons that will bring us closer to our true selves, and closer to peace. And good Gods, let peace feel serene and more like home and less like waiting for something else that's bad to happen.

So mote it be.
With love and tears,
Madame Moonflower

@madame.moonflower
www.madamemoonflower.com

PS My biological father is Michael. My Papa, Bruce, whom some of you have met is still alive and vibrant.