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Full Moon — The Doorway of Wonder

21 hours ago
5 min read
An ancient, moss-covered tree forms a natural doorway along a winding rainforest path. A small fairy-wren perches on a fallen branch as golden sunlight filters through the surrounding ferns and towering trees.
Full Moon Practice — The Doorway of Wonder

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Welcome to the Wild Wisdom Monthly Practice.


Each New Moon, you are invited into a monthly practice designed to support your spiritual life in a grounded, lived way. These practices draw on the rhythms of the Earth and the cycles of the Moon, offering reflection and simple ritual you can return to throughout the lunar month. They are created to help you stay steady and in relationship with your inner wisdom as life unfolds.


Our practice this month is: The Doorway of Wonder



Our Prayer is:


May I go always

With the guidance of all guidance

With the light of all light

With the love of all love.



Throughout this lunar month we have been working on a dream for future generations:


What experience of wonder do I dream of for those yet to be born?


At the Equinox, we gave that dream physical form. We created a prayer flag, or clootie, and placed it outside for the elements to carry into the world.


Under this fiery, pioneering Aries Full Moon, let's honour those who dreamed of wonder for us. Those whose footprints light the way. Their dreams are part of the foundation beneath our feet. So much of what exists in our world was once only imagined, dreamed, or glimpsed as a possibility.


And now it is our turn to dream for those whose faces we can't yet see.


    Interior of an old caravan at dawn with soft grey-blue light entering through an open doorway, revealing the distant southern ocean beneath an overcast sky.

What we carry


Human beings have always found ways to honour their ancestors. We have tended graves, spoken names, kept precious objects, prepared food, lit candles and incense, sung songs and spoken prayers and blessings. And shared their stories of wonder.


There is strength in old practices. A prayer spoken for centuries carries more than its words. A song carries the voices that sang it before us. A ritual carries the hands that have performed it.


I remember when I was a child and my grandmother sat at the end of my bed and told me stories.


I snuggled down deeper beneath my soft red blankets, my feet touching the fluffy red cover of my hot water bottle. Nan tucked my sheet around me as I closed my eyes. As she always did, she was quiet for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and began.


“Bambi and his mother emerged from the woods on the crest of an open hillside. They stood, hearts beating fast, and looked with wonder at the stars above them, so many bright jewels hanging in the velvety night sky. Look Bambi, see that bright star above the saucepan? That star will always show you the way home...”


I could barely keep my eyes open, but I wanted to hear the end. Perhaps I dreamed it.


Nan's stories transported me into magical worlds where anything seemed possible. I wasn't just listening. I went into them.



A cosy bedroom at night, with a red blanket and hot water bottle on the bed, an old storybook beside a glowing lamp, and a bright star shining through the window.

When my daughters were little, something of those nights with Nan found its way into Star Above the Head, Inner Journeys I created for them at bedtime. And when we co-parented our grandchildren, Star Above the Head became our nightly ritual.

Before too long, it was them calling me for bed. Not long after dinner they would run down the hallway calling, “Nan, Nan, it's time for Star Above the Head.” There was never an issue about it being bedtime.


Storytelling travelled through at least five generations of my family that I know of, taking on a new form as each generation gave it life.

    Interior of an old caravan at dawn with soft grey-blue light entering through an open doorway, revealing the distant southern ocean beneath an overcast sky.

Practice


You can complete this on the night of the Full Moon or let it unfold over the days of the creative waning gibbous Moon that follow.


Choose an ancestor you wish to honour. It might be someone you knew and loved, someone from much further back whose life you know only through fragments, or a spiritual, cultural, creative, universal or chosen ancestor whose life has become part of the ground beneath your feet.


Find something that represents them — a photograph, letter, piece of jewellery, book, recipe or small object. You might clear it by placing it in the moonlight, passing it through incense or herbs, or simply speaking a few loving words over it.


Then make an ancestor tablet.


There is something ancient and mystical in this act. Across generations, people have inscribed onto tablets things they didn't want forgotten — a name, a prayer, a teaching.


Your tablet can be made from wood, clay, stone or beautiful card. Write, paint, carve or press your ancestor's name into it. Take your time as you give their name a place in the world.


Place the tablet with your photograph or object on your altar, or somewhere meaningful. This becomes your ancestor altar.

Over the coming days you might light a candle in the morning or evening, add flowers or incense, or something found on your daily walk.


You are creating a place of reverence for your lineage, your dreams and your relationship with wonder.


Mist lifting from dark water at dawn, with grasses moving beneath a fading star.



Standing between


Choose a moment during the Full Moon or creative waning gibbous Moon and take your ancestor tablet out to your dream flag.


Say your ancestor's name aloud. If you don't know their name, speak spontaneously. You might say your family name, or names, to honour those who came before you.


Then ask:


What reached me through you?


A story. A skill. Courage. Humour. Imagination. A prayer. Knowledge of a place. A way of making people feel loved.


What did you dream for us — those who came after you?


You may not receive a direct answer but perhaps you will receive a knowing. Notice the feelings that arise.


Then turn your attention to your flag. If you haven't had time to create one, you can create it now. It can be very simple, made from paper or a small piece of cloth, carrying your dream for experiences of wonder for future generations. (Read more about creating it here)


Bring your focus to the experience of wonder you dream of for your descendants. We don't know what their world will be like. But we know they will need love, safety, belonging and experiences of wonder.


Feel the ancestors at your back, the dream for those yet to come before you, and you, standing in the present moment.


    Interior of an old caravan at dawn with soft grey-blue light entering through an open doorway, revealing the distant southern ocean beneath an overcast sky.


Contemplate:


What kind of ancestor am I becoming?


Choose one thing you can do to help keep the dream alive — the experience of wonder you dream of for those yet to come.


What can I carry forward, with love?


Tell the story. Cook the food. Teach something you were taught. Record a memory. Care for a place. Make something new from something old. Or begin something that might keep wonder alive for generations to come.


Keep working with your ancestor altar as we move towards the next lunar cycle. It will become part of our October New Moon practice.


You may find yourself adding to it, exploring the traditions of your own ancestors, or discovering your own way of creating a place of reverence for:


Those who came before us.


Those living now.


Those whose faces we cannot yet see.


We don't only inherit a world.


We participate in what the world becomes.




With love



As a special gift, I’d love to welcome you as my guest to our next Wild Membership call — a shared gathering normally held for members.

You’ll receive a personal invitation to join us and experience the practice in community.


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