There was an eclipse. For a few, brief moments the face of the full moon turned to red, like the flesh of a blood orange. It was expected. Anticipated. Of course there were technical explanations – shadow of the earth, refraction, reflection, the scattering of light in the atmosphere. But for those who acknowledge the Goddess, it signified a surge of energy. Astronomers adjusted their telescopes, made images, wrote down numbers – as indeed they should – whilst the daughters of Diana lit candles and meditated. I tried to do a bit of both.
Among my various studies I have acquired a basic knowledge of astrology, not enough to demonstrate any expertise, but I know enough to calculate a birth chart and make a clumsy attempt at interpretation. Continue reading
Elenor Gill author 