No. 049 — Incantation for Moon Lust: Vieux Carre
Today is the day, Super Bowl LIX hosted in New Orleans. President Trump will be touching down shortly to be part of the hornet’s nest. Aside from the hum of helicopters and military jets overhead, the rest of the city feels quiet. While NFL revelers are contained to the French Quarter, ground zero for drunks and history buffs, the rest of us go about our Sunday list of errands, Church and chores.
Amid the drastically see-sawing political climate in the United States, I am heartened by our continued commitment to space travel. The incoming administration has pledged resources toward colonizing Mars. It’s important to remember that before our sights were set on the red planet, we were hell bent on the moon.
Our only natural satellite, at a distance of 289,000 miles from us, the moon keeps Earth on its axis and controls the ocean’s tides. She offers a metronome for harmonizing with monthly cycles. The moon’s movements are steady and to align with her synodic rhythm is a grounding practice, a practice of pacing. Farmers, midwives and sailors have relied on the moon to keep time and mark the change of seasons since the dawn of humanity. When syncing to the beat of the lunar month, the ebbs and flows of each passing day, week and month start to paint a mosaic.
The moon is constant and solitary, she offers solace, contemplation and a blank canvas. I recently led my first New Moon ceremony, investing long hours studying the foundational principles of astrology, it is a rigorous interpretive art. Astrology is not at odds with critical thinking nor with the teachings of established religion. Seeking guidance from celestial bodies is an ancient, universal, and instinctual practice.
This Aquarian new moon is a troublemaker and rebel rouser. This is a self-assured and idealistic moon, a moon for bold ideas. Guided by Uranus, the invitation since January 29th has been to draft a blueprint. This is an unprecedented astrological year, the stars configured in extraordinary form. We have a singular opportunity this month to co-write our narrative for the eleven months ahead. Now is the time to write down intention. And if you fuck it up today, try again tomorrow.
With every sunrise we are gifted a new beginning. Every waking minute creates the possibility of renewal, to focus on the things we want to grow. Every “right now” is a theater stage, we are summoned to put on a show, to engage with spiritual struggle and continue the heavy lift of bettering our cities, states, and country. Strange to think it is only in Louisiana that the moon fully reveals herself.
Louisiana, a water-soaked patchwork of farmland, plantations, petrochemical plants, marshes, prisons, alligators and pelican treading coastal wetlands - is a drastic scenic departure from my vertical, Tetris-like hometown of skyscrapers, elevators and subways. Louisiana sits flat as a slab of wood, nestled just below sea-level, here the scene is set for cherry pink vistas of an outsized moon. You’ll never see the moon larger than from the Gulf of Mexico1. Part geography, part occult, here the moon pulls with a siren’s gravity. She attracts gallant suitors, dreamers, troves of slop happy tourists, entrepreneurs and crooks.
The Deep South moon is a moon that demands cayote howls and barnyard hunting from nighttime owls. She’s led runaway slaves to freedom and witnessed mass casualties of the Civil War. This moon hovers above shallow waters, oil refineries, crawfish farms, hovers above the cast iron gates of the French Quarter, atop levees, tugboats, bayou swamps and parade floats.
The next time you feel old, remember that the Earth is 4.5 billion years old. Our water planet has had a steadfast, lifelong travel companion in the moon. The moon signals when to plant seeds and when to harvest. The moon is God’s instrument.
I’ve been knee deep in esoterica, pagan ritualism, Farmer’s Almanac, divination studies, cross-checking the Catholic Catechism. This is only the beginning of the journey. I will report back on changes, energy shifts and real-world outcomes. The moon brings me back to poetry. Take the next few weeks to create space for associative thinking. What dark unlit corners of your psyche can the moon help illuminate? What desires have been buried? Is your longing for God satisfied or stifled?
Look up and often,
Nathali(e)a
Soon to be “Gulf of America”? Sounds clunky, chunky, too many syllables.