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New Moon — The Doorway of Wonder

2 minutes ago
6 min read
Glowing embers form a path across dark earth beneath the Milky Way and a distant mountain horizon.
New Moon — 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 mantra is:

    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.

May I go always

With the guidance of all guidance

With the light of all light

With the love of all love.



Wonder keeps us connected to the mystery and magic of life. It opens a door in a starlit night, the full moon’s glow, the last gold of sunset, mist rising from the mountains, a bee covered in pollen alighting on another flower. We cross thresholds into the mystery, often without thought. For a moment, time changes and our awareness expands. We see more. We feel our place within the great pattern of life. And what we receive begins to move through us. Wonder does not end with the moment. It generates movement. It changes how we participate in life.


Sometimes the door opens through beauty. Sometimes it opens through something strange, unexpected or frightening.


In Mexico in 2022, it opened for me through fire.


    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.

THROUGH FIRE

As darkness fell, the drumming began. Nearby, the Pyramid of the Sun receded into shadow, part of the immense ceremonial landscape of Teotihuacan, its presence could be felt throughout this place. Before us, the fire had burnt down to red-hot embers, raked into a long bed of coals.


I stood back a little and watched. The decision to hold a firewalk had been completely spontaneous. Walking across fire was something I had never imagined doing. I felt quite separate from the excitement and preparation. I would support the group, I thought. That was why I was there.


But as night closed in and the stars appeared, the heartbeat of the drums began to draw me closer. There was a growing sense of mystery. Of wonder.


Some people were excited. Some were frightened or nervous. Others knew they would not walk but wanted to stay and watch. Someone placed a drum in my hands, and I began to play.


The ceremony unfolded with singing, dancing and words of encouragement. There was no hype and no talk of overcoming anything. A highly experienced firewalking instructor guided the way, offering clear instructions and encouragement. Everything felt simple and natural.


Then the women began crossing the coals.


As I watch them dance barefoot along that long stretch of burning coals, something shifts within me.


A knowing.


I can do this too.


I drum a little faster, deepening into the rhythm.


Yes. I want to do this.


I am drawn closer and closer until I find myself at the head of the long avenue of coals, still drumming.


Ash grabs a drum and together we dance and drum our way across the coals. There is no thought of burning feet. No anxiety or fear. There is only the night, the rhythm and the red-hot coals beneath us. I am completely inside the moment.


As my feet touch the cool grass, I realise what I have done.


Wow.


And, of course, I had to do it again—just to make sure I had really done it and fully experienced it.


For the first time in years, my feet stayed warm all night. That in itself was a wonder.


But the wonder had begun before my feet ever touched the coals. It was there as I watched those women crossing barefoot, and in the knowing that carried me from the edge of the gathering to the fire.


When the ceremony ended, I felt a lightness in me. I couldn’t have explained it even if I’d wanted to. I only knew that I was not quite the same person who had stood at the edge of the gathering.


And the real wonder was that I did it.



THE RECIPROCITY OF WONDER

Wonder is part of everyday life—a way of experiencing the world as alive, mysterious and filled with meaning. It is a threshold into spiritual awareness, revealing that there is always more than we can immediately see or hear. Sometimes wonder deepens into awe, and we feel ourselves within the expanding circles of life. Beyond our familiar senses, movement, pattern, feeling and presence become languages of their own.


When we give wonder our attention, attention becomes relationship. What we receive begins to move through us as thankfulness, humility, praise, reverence, love and care. This is the reciprocity of wonder.


The stories we tell, the songs we sing and the places we tend and protect carry wonder forward.


The Tao Te Ching tells us:


“Mystery of all mysteries!


The door to the hidden.”

—interpreted by Ursula K. Le Guin

We enter that doorway whenever the familiar world reveals more of itself. Beyond it is liminal space—the living boundary between the known and the mystery. At the door to the hidden, we do not need answers. We can stand before the vast, unnameable mystery and be at peace with not knowing. Presence is our compass there.


Our capacity for wonder is inherent. Our relationship with it is something we tend.



THE PRACTICE

Through wonder, we experience the world as vivid, intimate and alive. We feel ourselves within it, and that intimacy deepens our love and care for the life around us.


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



Throughout this lunar month, give yourself the gift of time outside each day. Go out at one of the natural thresholds of the day—dawn, dusk or midnight. The time that calls to you is the right time.


Let the changing light or the depth of darkness open the way.


You might go into the garden, walk to the park, the water’s edge or a lookout. Trust what calls to you. Begin with quiet observation. Sit or stand without searching for a message or magical sign. Watch the light change, water move, clouds pass or the wind blow through the grass.


Be present and receptive. Let your attention follow where it will—to a movement, a colour, a pattern, the wind in the leaves or the first star. Be open to these simple moments of wonder.


If you can’t go outside, light a candle and reflect on a place or experience that has brought you into wonder. You might also take an inner journey to that place and experience it in this way.


As you move through this practice, carry this question with you:


What experience of wonder do I dream of for future generations?

My dream is for future generations to sit around a campfire beneath a sky filled with stars, sharing stories and laughter, just as I have loved to do ever since I can remember.


Around the fire, knowledge, memory and wisdom move from one generation to the next, or one person to another.


What is your dream for future generations?


At the equinox, carry your dream to the threshold.


Depending on where you are, the September equinox falls on the 22nd or 23rd. It is the moment the Sun crosses the celestial equator, moving from the northern sky into the southern—a great threshold in the Sun’s yearly path. In the Southern Hemisphere, the light continues to grow towards summer; in the Northern Hemisphere, darkness lengthens towards winter.


Day and night are not exactly equal at the equinox. The local day on which they are closest to equal is called the equilux, and its date varies from place to place. The equinox carries a different teaching: balance is not a place of stillness, but a crossing—a movement through change.


Handmade pieces of natural cloth bearing drawings, stitching and obscured writing move in the wind above mountains and water at sunset.


A DREAM FLAG FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS


On a small piece—or several pieces—of natural cloth, write, paint or stitch your dream for the generations who will come after us. This ritual is inspired by the Irish and Scottish clootie-tree and Tibetan prayer-flag traditions, in which cloth carries prayers and wishes into the elements.


You can prepare this over the days leading to the equinox or on the equinox itself.


Go out at your chosen liminal time, or when it best works for you. Tie your dream flag to a branch or hang it in another place where the elements can reach it. If you can’t hang it outside, hang it in a window where it catches the light of the Sun and Moon.


As you hang your flag, say your dream aloud. Then leave it in peace for the elements to do their work and carry it out into the world.


As you continue your practice of going outside at your threshold time, consider how you can keep your dream alive.


Wonder opens the door. What we love, tend and protect carries the possibility forward.



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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