Cancer New Moon:
Praying to and for the Mother
by Dana Gerhardt

Four years ago, on an otherwise beautiful morning just before the Cancer New Moon, I discovered my dog Jupiter in the bedroom, foaming at the mouth. His eyes were vacant, his jaw was locked. I raced to the vet, where after sedation and blood tests, we knew nothing but a few dark possibilities. Maybe it was poisoning, a brain tumor, a sudden emergence of epilepsy. If Jupiter died that weekend, there would be an autopsy; beyond that, we’d have to wait and see. I prayed of course. One always prays.

After a sleepless night, watching helplessly as Jupiter went into seizure every few hours, I prayed to the Mother of the world. My clock said it was five in the morning, but through my prayers, I felt myself transcending space and time. I joined a multitude. We were one body, all sitting in helpless vigil for our suffering loved ones, mothers for their children, children for ailing parents. I became one with the husband watching his cancer-stricken wife… I was there with the frightened newlywed whose husband was injured in a car crash… … I sat with the elderly woman who was about to lose her companion cat. We were one body, gathered in hospitals, tents, living rooms, pacing the streets, lying in fields. And we had no option but to pray to the Mother. What was my suffering compared to the vast suffering of the world? My pain seemed a paltry thing. But the Mother was there with me, saying, "Go ahead and ask." Through tears, I told her it was too soon; I needed more time with my dog.

I got my wish. Four years later Jupiter is still with me, dropping toys at my feet and pestering me for walks and cookies. Yet this Cancer New Moon, I find myself in a helpless vigil for another patient, one that’s close to the Mother herself—the Ocean. Oh, but it’s so much easier to worry about a dog or a child than the vast and suffering sea! It’s hard to hold problems of this magnitude, much easier to go numb. Yet the Gulf Oil Spill is simply another disaster in a list of countless human crimes against the ocean. Just one cruise ship dumps a million gallons of waste water into the sea in an average week. A collection of plastic trash—bigger than Texas—now floats in the Pacific Ocean. Various species of marine life—plants, fish, and mammals—are disappearing. Over a million sea birds have died due to the loss of food. The ocean now holds "dead zones" where nothing can live.

Recently I was in a gathering with Grandmother Agnes, one of the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers. All assembled were distressed about the catastrophe in the Gulf. "Grandmother," one woman stood up to ask: "What can we do?" The answer was swift. Grandma Aggie recommended the same thing that got me through that difficult night with my dog. "Pray," she said. "Pray."

This year’s Cancer New Moon brings a Total Solar Eclipse—which fittingly—is most visible from the Ocean, stretching from New Zealand to Patagonia. Total eclipses are particularly intense. In ancient times they inspired fear, when it seemed the Sun was abandoning the earth (in fact, the word "eclipse" comes from a Greek word meaning "abandonment"). If you find yourself feeling lost and abandoned at this eclipse, pray. Pray for yourself and pray for others. The less publicized truth about eclipses is that their intensity can energize significant new starts. Let this moment bring an opening in your heart. Join me in offering one of humanity’s finest yet hidden resources: heartfelt prayer. Pray for the ocean, its inhabitants, and everyone working so hard around the globe to save and nurture life.

Cancer is a water sign; its action is fluid, cleansing, and receptive. Cancer embraces the archetypes of both child and mother—that which needs mothering and that which is capable of nurturing, protecting and soothing others in turn. Cancer reminds us to nourish what we love. Over the past four years, my pal Jupiter keeps struggling with his health. But I’ve been blessed by taking care of him. I’ve become a better person through all the ways he requires my care. It’s true: we appreciate more deeply what we almost lost. But most days we enjoy a multitude of blessings, even in difficult times. At this Cancer New Moon, when the gardens are lush and the day stretches out, let it be an opportunity to remember and appreciate these forgotten things—every sweet little thing—that brings us joy. This is also a prayer to and for the Mother.

The Cancer New Moon is an anniversary for MoonCircles. Ten years ago we launched this website, not knowing how long we could nurture it or whether it would nourish us in return. We weren’t thinking very far into the future! But we’re still here because you are. Thank you for sharing our devotion to the cycles of the Moon and the Mother’s many gifts.

© 2010 Dana Gerhardt
All rights reserved