The Skill of Surrender



What a wild ride we have been on.  What a stirring stir.  We are in the first bit of breath after the eclipses, a moment of Earth and Water in the aftermath of the fiery airs of the last couple months.  If you are feeling dried out, there is a reason.  If you are tired, there is a reason.  If you feel like you have been scrubbed with something dauntingly shiny, there is a reason.  We are not done with the work the season has kicked up, but there will be some sweetness, some soothing to go with this moon.   A chance to integrate and reflect.

What has been cracked inside of you?  What have the last couple months laid bare?  Where have you been rattled, exposed, lit up?  It has been an enlivening time.  We don’t always respond well to that.  It pushes on the ways we try to stay safe, try to stay in control.  Surges of life force moving through our systems can highlight all the ways we stay small, all our little rigidities, the landscapes of our fears.  If crazy shit is happening where you live, there is a reason.  A whole lot of frightened animals with varying levels of support, skill, resource and safety, all knocking around trying to figure out what to do with ourselves and the energies we feel.  This is a frightening time.  We don’t live in a culture that knows about surrender.  We live surrounded by narratives of conquest:  just-do-it, never give up, push through until you get your way.  Why shouldn’t the monster of this culture be afraid to die?  How should any given white man know how to see his path to liberation in the end of white supremacy and patriarchy?  How do we know ourselves without this?  How do we know ourselves if we let go of what we didn’t really ever want to be but was all that was offered?  We are never taught surrender- the empowered, aligned, intentional act of working with what we can’t control, of working with process and change.  We are taught to win, or to lose, that we either have control or we are on the receiving end of trauma and oppression.  These patterns are breaking and we don’t know who we are.

This moon, we remember the ocean.  The ocean knows about tides, and change, and is so obviously, tangibly, irrevocably bigger than us that it can teach us about surrender.  What do you need to let go of, but don’t know how?  What are you calling in, but don’t know how to receive/be/allow?  Hold those things up to this moon.  Hold up the ways in which you want to be of service, but keep getting in your own way.  Hold up the ways in which you fear the unknown, even as you yearn for mystery.  Hold up the stubborn, know-it-all parts that can’t let your relationships breathe.  Hold up the filters of your conditioning that keep you from honoring the lives and knowing of others, however much you wish you never had to own those filters.

Hold them up to this wise, watery moon, and stare at them in the moonlight.  Look at them minutely.  See them in the silver.  Peer into their shadows, trace their contours.  This moon will not shame you.  This moon goes long on love.  This moon will reveal you, and hold you even then.

Hold up all the ways you don’t know how to surrender and ask for help.  Hold up all your uncertainty and ask for sweetness.  Hold up your tender, raw, shiny parts that might be wincing a little in the light and pace of change, and let something soothing move through.  

We are all working to change.  We can never know everything about that road.  We can never know what we will have to give up for the healing to move through us.  Surrender is a skill set.  We need to practice it, then practice it again.  Talk to each other about it, model it.  Hone it.  The tides of change are sometimes less about fighting and more about knowing what to tend and what to let pass on.  This moon is a moment.

This moon, we remember our shores.  The ways we shape and define ourselves, keep our edges, know our place in the singing of life around us.  How we add our voices.  How we serve the song.  The ways we track our growth, focus our intention, make ourselves useful.  The ways we are careful.  The ways we keep ourselves from getting lost on the tides.  

Standing at the crossroads of Virgo and Pisces, we are able and asked to work detail as well as flow.   We are able to surrender our resistance and reshape our shores.  We are able to make strong containers for our currents, and let our shores shape our waters.  We work the skill of surrender, the service of compassion.  We believe the evidence of our souls, the practicality of emotional intelligence.  We are dissolving some things and honing others. Standing at the crossroads of Virgo and Pisces, with Mars, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto all retrograde, we are looking for the ways to learn and let go.  To relinquish what does not serve life and love and step into the work of learning how to be who we are without what we were told to be.