Moon Medicine

Devotion, Inner Cycles, and the Rhythm of Emotional Power

The Moon doesn’t just move across the sky—she moves through me. Her rhythm lives in my breath, my blood, my bones. She calls me inward. She doesn’t demand attention; she pulls it, like the tide. She invites me to notice what’s hidden, what’s blooming, what’s unraveling.

When I pause long enough to feel her, I start to feel myself more clearly. My emotional landscape sharpens. My intuition rises. My body remembers the ancient truth that I am a cycle too.

Moon energy doesn’t ask me to be consistent—it asks me to be reflective and honest. Some days I glow with clarity. Other days I wane. Some nights I disappear entirely. And all of this is sacred for me.

Ancient Wisdom of the Moon

Long before digital time and artificial light, people watched the Moon to understand what was happening inside and around them. Lunar deities rose across every culture, each embodying the emotional, intuitive, and psychic nature of the cosmos.

In Kemet, we honor Iah and Khonsu, celestial beings who hold lunar cycles and divine timing. In West African traditions, the Moon is a mirror between worlds, reflecting not just light but knowledge passed down through water, dream, and drum. In the stories of the First Nations and Indigenous Peoples, the Moon holds feminine wisdom, signaling when to bleed, when to plant, when to retreat, and when to rise.

These aren’t just myths. They’re memory. The Moon is a nurturer and is our first teacher. She teaches through experience. She changes in plain sight. And we learn to shift with her.

Moon Energy in the Now

The Moon still governs me, even when I forget to look up. I feel her in my dreams. In the days when my skin feels thin. In the quiet urges to nest, to cry, to speak, to stay silent. I feel her in my hunger, my creativity, my grief, my longing.

Moon energy governs my inner tides—my emotions, my memories, my instincts. She stirs my unconscious, my ancestral memory, my intuition. She reveals what needs release, what’s surfacing, and what’s calling for reverence.

Tracking her phases becomes a form of devotion. It brings me home to myself. I begin to notice when I’m most fertile with ideas, when rest feels like a spell, when my body says no before my mind understands why.

My Embodied Lunar Path

I was born under a waning gibbous Moon, the phase just after a Full Moon. The Moon had just poured out her light, revealing everything—and then she began her descent. This is a phase of reflection, integration, and sacred refinement.

My Moon sits in Virgo, in the 10th house. I don’t experience emotions for the sake of feeling them—I transmute them into purpose. I work with my feelings like sacred tools. I analyze them, refine them, and use them to guide others. My emotional world isn’t hidden in the background. It leads. It teaches. It anchors my sacred labor.

And yet, beneath my Virgo structure lives Mars in Cancer retrograde in the 8th house, Uranus in Scorpio in the 12th, and Neptune in Sagittarius in the 1st. This isn’t a neat emotional story—it’s multidimensional. My feelings don’t arrive in a single wave—they come through time, through sensation, through silence.

I feel timelines and realms. I sense what isn’t said. I grieve things that haven’t happened yet. My emotions stretch across lifetimes, pulling insight from the unseen and delivering it into the now.

My Moon is connected to my Mars and Mercury—how I move, how I think, how I speak. When I feel, I don’t just cry. I move. I create. I destroy. I communicate. I dissect. I need emotional movement to express mental clarity. I need space to feel in order to show up in the world as a guide.

I carry this lunar awareness deep in my roots, shaped by a 4th house Pisces IC that softens my foundation with dreams, intuition, and ancestral feeling. My Neptune in Sagittarius rises in the 1st house like a compass made of stardust, filtering how I move through the world—vision first, emotion wrapped in light.

And in the stillness, my Scorpio Uranus in the 12th house opens secret doors. I feel lightning strike beneath the surface. I receive visions, disruptions, and remembrances I didn’t ask for—but always recognize.

My lunar placement is a gift and a blessing. My Moon teaches me how to hold space for others, not because I studied it, but because I live it.

Rituals for Lunar Devotion

Moon rituals bring me home. They don’t require perfection—just presence. I return to them again and again, adjusting them as I grow.

Some nights, I light a single candle and speak my truth aloud, not for anyone else, but for the Moon to hold. Other nights, I write and burn, cry in the bath, or lay in silence on the floor with music that cracks open the hidden layers. Every act becomes prayer when I let it be.

Here are some ways I work with the Moon in ritual, aligned with her phases:

• New Moon – I rest. I write letters to my future self. I plant seeds—intentions, thoughts, ideas. I visualize the timeline I want to walk. I listen more than I speak.
• Waxing Moon – I take action. I begin building. I plan. I pray with movement, not just words. I charge my altar. I call in. I affirm aloud.
• Full Moon – I witness. I hold ceremony. I gather with others or commune with my guides. I dance. I let the energy rise. I also notice what feels too loud, too bright, too much.
• Waning Gibbous – I reflect. I journal. I share. I integrate. I name what is working and what needs to change. This is my birth phase—I embody it like a priestess of wisdom.
• Waning Moon – I release. I fast from noise. I cut cords. I cleanse my home. I clear digital spaces. I detox my body and relationships.
• Dark Moon – I go quiet. I sleep longer. I anoint myself in silence. I feel what I’ve ignored. I allow death to speak.

You can also work with the Moon through the elements:

• Water – Moon-charged baths, river offerings, crying rituals, scrying with bowls of water.
• Earth – Moonlit walks, burying intentions or grief, grounding your body under moonlight.
• Air – Breathwork, journaling, singing to the Moon, letting your voice carry emotion.
• Fire – Candle spells, fire cleansing, burning what no longer aligns, dancing to transmute energy.

None of this needs to be complicated. One breath with intention can be a ritual. One whispered truth can realign your entire day.

Lunar Wisdom for the Waning Gibbous Soul

If you were born under a waning gibbous Moon like me, you carry the frequency of insight and integration. You are here to reflect, to share, to hold space for what others are still trying to name. You don’t rush into newness. You walk with reverence for what came before. You teach through presence.

Your path may often feel like you’re holding a lantern for others while walking through your own fog. That’s part of your magic. You transmute in real time. You gather lessons and offer them gently, without pressure. You guide others through the post-illumination period—the space where clarity turns into truth. You are a part of the ones who help others remember what the light reveals.

Walking the Moon Path

The Moon asks for honesty. Not performance. Not aesthetics. Not curated emotion. Just truth. Raw, tender, sacred truth.

You’re allowed to change your mind. To feel differently at dusk than you did at dawn. To cry for no reason and still trust the tears. You’re allowed to be radiant one day and invisible the next. The Moon does it all the time.

This is Moon medicine—fluid, ancient, and personal. When you walk in rhythm with her, you stop forcing clarity. You begin to feel your way forward. You stop trying to be consistent, and you start being aligned.

If you feel called to deepen your relationship with the Moon, to explore lunar rituals, energetic cleansings, shadow-work, ancestral messages, or emotional clarity, I invite you to book a session with me through Healing through Visions appointments. We’ll co-create sacred practices that meet you where you are and honor how you move.