Pisces New Moon by Sarah Jones - Moon Astrology from MoonCircles.com

New Moon in Pisces

Pisces New Moon Meditation:
Turtles of Mystery
By Sarah Jones

When I experience rather than just think about Pisces, I find myself losing sensation of skin and boundaries and honing in on the movement of blood, and water and energy throughout this thing I call my body. Pisces pulls me into the Magic and the Mystery. I find my curiosity and wonder awakening. Not a bad thing for an Aquarian thinker like me. Pisces also rules compassion and the sea. And recently, on a seaside vacation south of the border with my beloved, I had an experience that brought all of the Pisces themes together for me. There Mystery chose to grace us with a reminder of how truly tenuous and magnificent is this thing we call life (and death).

One morning we rose early to walk on the beach as the Full Moon set. On our return we discovered among a tribe of rocks along the shore, an abandoned turtle shell some 18 inches in diameter. The next day, walking the beach in the opposite direction, we came upon a baby turtle. She was maybe 3 inches long and a beautiful deep blue gray in color. Wow, I thought, what a sweet little creature. It was then that we realized she was not alone. In fact there were dozens of her newly hatched brothers and sisters embarking on the sacred journey from the warmth of their eggs, through the hot and barren sand...hopefully making it to the sea.

It was then that my human predicament descended upon me. Should I help these little beings on their arduous journey? Would I be interfering? After all, maybe they NEEDED to trudge through the boiling hot sand in order to strengthen their little flippered legs for seaworthiness. But the thought did cross my mind: Didn’t these eggs "normally" hatch at night, when it is cooler and the light of the moon can guide them? I remembered stories about these magnificent creatures. So many eggs are laid, because so few actually make it. I mean, no wonder, such delicate little beings popping their adorable little heads out of the sand...just born and immediately having to embark on such a pilgrimage. No mother's breast to suckle. No guiding hand. Just their instinct...and their will.

They were now coming out of that hole in the sand like popcorn. One nose, then another, and another. Steven and a Mexican couple were scooping them up and bringing them to the water's edge. It was just too painful to watch them try and trudge over the sand. Especially in the spots where there were now tons of human footprints...virtual craters to those little guys. "Get them to the sea" was all we wanted. Then, of course, another harrowing journey ensued for them once they got there. But that I could not worry about. It was this passage from womb to sea that we were asked to midwife.

I surrendered to my role by first just experiencing the awe of it. Taking it in. And from there I just adored every little one of them, simply for their magnificence. And out of that recognition and appreciation arose the impulse to be with them and "love" them forward on their journey. I found myself squatting at the water’s edge, where they had 4 feet or so left to travel. As they were being delivered from their hole I simply passed my hands over them. I "sensed" that even the portage from the hole to the edge was traumatic for them. Foreign hands scooping them up in bundles of three to five and then depositing them some 10 yards from their hatchery. I just didn't want to "disturb" them any more by lifting or petting. But passing my hands over them was remarkable. They lit up and moved. It was if they just received a burst of energy. And before I knew it I was "waving" as many as I could, rooting for them, cheering for them, to make it. As a midwife it was incredibly exciting to witness one make it the water, and then equally traumatic to watch one catch a wave, only to be thrown back farther from where he had started. The ocean, as we know, is not the most gentle being. But I just took a deep breath, hoping he would do well, as I passed my hand once again. Magic. Pure magic

Steven caught on and was energetically feeding them as well. The Mexican couple were a bit taken by it. But when they passed their hands, only air moved. I heard Steven say something about "curandera," but all that existed for me was those turtles and the sea. When the last of those adorable little guys had finally made it to their home, only four were left not breathing on the sand. We laid them in a row, as food for the other creatures that abound in this ecosystem. More had died but were buried in the sea. All together we guess that 75-90 had hatched.

When no more noses peeked through. And no more babies walked on the shore, we were done. And I cried. I cried tears of wonder, tears of joy. I knew that what I had witnessed was the miracle of life and death. And I saw that neither was better than the other. Both were a beautiful part of the magic of this place. My heart, my living heart, rooted for life. But my Spirit, my living spirit, rooted for Magic. And the Magic in death was as magnificent as the Magic in life. I remembered a vision quest I did some years ago, where I was given the medicine name "Turtle Dreamer", and reminded myself of my deep connection with turtles. Their ability to live on land and in water mirrors our potential to live in the spiritual and the material. Their slow and determined pace (remember the story of the turtle and the hare?) teaches me about patience, persistence and perseverance. Their shell encourages me to protect myself, to carry with me my home, and to love solitude. Those little guys gave everything they had to make it from the hole in the sand to the sea. And some did not make it. And it was perfect. Not making it did not mean they "failed" or were any "worse" than the others. All it meant was that they did not make it. But they tried. And that is truly all that is ever asked of us.

Steven and I held each other for a long embrace after it was all done. The next morning we walked the beach again. We stumbled upon a giant sea turtle washed ashore, very dead. It is hard to imagine those tiny little babies growing to be so big. I wondered how many of them would actually grow to full adulthood.. And then I wondered if maybe she was the mother of those babies.

Sarah Jones M.Ed.,LMT is a professional counseling astrologer, massage therapist and watercolor artist living in Southern Oregon. She cultivates a deep love of the spiritual and the material, always reaching for the sacred place where they meet. She welcomes your comments or questions and can be reached by email.