Eclipsed

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Thursday, 13 March 2025

Written by Eve Moore

Eclipsed

I just had a huge cry.

A wail, really.

From the deepest darkest

corner my soul hides

in the granite of my

cosmic basement

secreting a geyser

aching to blow.

I've been getting acupuncture

—a pinched nerve affecting my

left shoulder/arm/hand. It surfaced

at the end of January, just before

my Imbolc birthday.

Out of the blue, it seemed,

though I now see its

shades differently.

I knew I was feeling unnerved,

'things' being as they are,

my age being what it is,

but this was something

altogether else.

Three sessions in, my acupuncturist,

her name means 'star,' asked again:

have you cried? No, I hadn't.

Though the pain has been considerable,

and some tears seeped here and there,

I hadn't had what she was feeling under

my skin: a big sadness seeking

a way out.

I'd kept this in my root cellar, locked away, along

with the orphan who felt such

crippling pain.

I see the traces in this life, to this

abandoned little one's grief, and had actually

been treating myself, quite intuitively,

with the Bach flower essence:

Star of Bethlehem—

healer of grief.

Potent, this.

Six-petalled symbol of

purity, innocence, hope

forgiveness and

reconciliation.

Among other mystical things.

Bach's remedy

"neutralizes grief and trauma,"

comforting and strengthening

by way of this flower's

vibration, its essence.

As I took in the energy of this bloom,

thus opened the opportunity

to engage my current

polestar.

I was led by the cosmos.

Her holistic wisdom.

Her seeing, via the keen pupils

of her fingertips, this core wound

that throbs my, our, present day,

seeking to be found, tended,

soothed. Let out

of the dark.

Star light.

Not coincidental to

Estella's chosen name

(her Chinese name

too twisting to the

Western tongue,

she said with

a glimmer).

Though relatively young in years,

she's far wiser than her age,

this age now in shift.

No, I said, yesterday afternoon,

I haven't cried.

Rather than addressing the

musculoskeletal points of the

first two sessions, this third

needled my emotional body.

My orphan.

Kim Krans' The Wild Unknown Archetypes

deck, a gift I gave myself some many moons ago,

has this to say of the orphan—its characterizations—

the wounded child, the abandoned, the beggar:

"We are in a time of universal orphanage—

of nature, of each other, of our own hearts.

Take refuge in the fact that we all share

this core wound and dilemma."

Yes. This was the pinch

that had its clench in the left,

feminine side of my upper body.

Estella said she saw my emotional

body as hunched, head bowed.

Weighted, weighted, weighted

down. This is what I have

been feeling—finally.

It didn't escape me, early on,

that this left-leaning was the neglected

side of my psyche.

Scolded for "wearing my heart

on my sleeve" as a new shoot in the weeds,

I learned what cultural conditioning

teaches: hide.

Your feelings.

Your seeing.

Your self.

As I did in the protective sinew of my

masculine muscle, reason, focus—

detachment.

Here, heavy-lifting, both literal and

figurative, superimposed as

independence, even, it

turns out, from myself

—my wholeness, my

connectedness,

my spirit.

Oh boy. Yes, oh, boy.

Thus, imbalance came knocking.

The penny dropped.

The geyser blew.

And, post the salty outpouring, this titanic

release, has come this outpouring to you,

sister, brother, fella/ow traveler of

this spacetime on mother earth.

This breaking down

to break through.

I thank you for your fellowship, as I trust

we are all in our individual ways digging into

the earth shadow, eclipsing our moon

so totally, as if to say: here, see, feel.

The manifold grief we all bear in our DNA,

the anger of so much time lost in hiding,

the care of our awareness, our

tending, and in it, the healing

we are made of—and for.

All surfaces as we surrender control

(the shadow of Virgo), to the vast

ocean of a Piscean sun's light

and in its beams: lightness.

This is how you change

the world: love

your deepest,

truest, smallest,

most tender

self

just as

s/he is.

This is the

greater

good.

∞|∞

© Photo: Eve Moore Eve Moore ©2025
Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well.

For more of Eve Moore's amazing and heart centered poetry and writings, click here!
http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

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