Dear Ones,

The moon is full in Libra, and this year, it falls on April Fool’s Day. Its a Full Moon on the relationship axis. Libra and Aries. Self and other. The space between who we are alone and who we become when mirrored.

And all happening on the day of inversion, when historically the King became the Joker, and the Joker the King. This is the day when the servant mocked the master, and where normal social rules were temporarily suspended. The fool was able to say out loud what everyone was thinking. Revealing the cracks in the system and exposing them.

The Fool card in the tarot pack is 0, a number that mathematically does not exist. Yes, that’s right, zero doesn’t exist. And of course, that means that zero is not empty, just everything not yet formed. The Fool is often depicted standing at the edge of the cliff, about to step forward. Not because he is reckless, but because he is unburdened by certainty. He doesn’t yet know the rules, and that is where he gains his power.

If ever there has been a time for the energy of the fool, it is now. We are all living with uncertainty, and it is a time when we can invert the rules and suspend our belief in the ordinary to discover what might be revealed. After all, the true meaning of apocalypse is to discover what has been veiled or hidden.

Libra Is The Mirror We Cannot Avoid

Libra governs relationships, and she provides a mirror to all the ways in which we meet the other. To all of the agreements we make when we take on a role, as friend, employee, sister, mother, or colleague. The power of Libra is to illuminate our relationships so that we may see ourselves more clearly through the reflection of the other. And then determine what is just, and what is real. Not in the abstract but in the visceral realness of conversation.

It is the moment when something lands or when we suddenly realise that we are completely off beam. When we embody the fool, we allow for the unscripted; we cease to be concerned about filters, timing, or tone. We can deliver the truth, in our humanness, our awkwardness and in the words we might wish to stuff back into our mouths the moment they are spoken.

It is not comfortable because, although Libra would love to maintain balance, in this aspect, the Fool is disrupting the performance. And a necessary truth sometimes arrives in the words that slip out, and those words become the most real thing we can say.

We meet justice not as a verdict, but as a reflection. You say something — and see it land. Someone responds — and something in you reacts. And finally, the dynamic is
visible. Not because it is new, but because it can no longer be smoothed over. It is not the polished conversation that takes us to this place, but the moments when we let our guard slip, when, like the fool, we don’t understand the rules of engagement. When we live in our absurdity.

The Discomfort of Being Seen

And then there may be a desire to correct. To soften the words, and explain, to say “that’s not what I meant.” And of course, that may be true. But sometimes, what slipped out, what bypassed the editing, is the most true version of ourselves. And justice, in Libra, asks us not to rush past that moment.

But to consider:

What part of this is real?
What is this showing me about how I am in relationship?

The Reveal

There is something about this Moon that suggests revelation through interaction. Revelation through relationship. Because opposite Libra sits Aries, the raw, instinctual part of ourselves, that is not here to negotiate its existence. Who asks where we have compromised too far? Where have we shaped ourselves to fit, rather than asking for what we really need to be the truth of who we are? Under this Moon, the tension between who we have presented and who we truly are becomes clear.

The Fool’s Mirror

April Fool’s Day carries an ancient thread: only the fool in the court could speak truth to power. He didn’t do so directly but through playfulness, through inversion and of course through the disruption of not following the norms of society. So this Full Moon, pay attention to what makes you laugh, what makes you feel uncomfortable, and what needs to be disrupted.

The Fool in us all does not lie but instead reveals what needs to be spoken.

Full Moon Practice: Standing in the Mirror

Light a candle.

Sit with the question:

What part of myself have I been keeping hidden in relationship?

What is the truth you edit before speaking?

Write it down.

Then ask:

What would it mean to let this be seen? What would my world be like if I spoke this out loud?

Place your hand on your heart.

Say:

I am willing to be seen, not in my perfection but in my honesty.

You have finished your ritual. Take some time to be with yourself in all of that honesty.

Closing

This Full Moon in Libra is not about perfection in balance but instead about allowing our truth to be reflected back to us in relationship. Our roles may shift, we may choose to let our masks slip. The relationship dynamics may feel momentarily unstable.

Can we let that be? To allow something more honest that is trying to emerge.

And honesty, even when awkward, is the ground from which real relationship grows.

With steadiness,

Louise
She Changes

Dear Ones,

This is the final New Moon of the astrological year. On March 18th, the Moon darkens in Pisces, the last sign of the zodiac, just days before the Spring Equinox turns the wheel again. Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac. Sometimes described as etheric, or oceanic, it is the place into which we can dissolve and merge with spirit.

Pisces is the tide going out and the mist dissolving. It is the place where what has been rigid can now begin to soften.

And right now, everything is dissolving in front of our eyes.

Narratives that once felt stable can no longer hold their shape. Institutions strain, and the certainties we have carried for decades blur at the edges. Nothing is as it seems, and we can feel as if we are at a magic show, where at times we cannot believe our eyes or any of our senses.

Pisces does not tear things down; she erodes them. Slowly and persistently, like water wearing through stone.

As above, so below.

Pisces is the oceanic sign; she is about merging and feeling. This is the part of the cycle where the boundaries between things grow thin, the veils between worlds are brought down, and it can be hard to determine the real from the imagined. Our old identities can soften, and long-held stories can lose their grip. There is an opportunity, too, when structures reveal their fragility.

You may feel it personally.

A sense that something you once held tightly no longer requires the same energy. Maybe a role, a belief, or an expectation that releases its hold. There can be a feeling of unboundedness, of release. As well as being unsettlingly this can also be liberating.

And collectively, it can feel the same. We are watching systems that once appeared immovable begin to blur. Authority that once commanded certainty now invites question. Pisces reminds us that everything that has form eventually dissolves. Even the stories we thought would last forever.

The Fog Before the Fire

Pisces season often feels like fog. The mind wants direction, but the path is not yet visible. But this year, due to some incredible planetary lineups, the fog carries a purpose. Because just beyond it sits Aries, and we have a whole Aries party of planets this year. We are being asked to dream anew, and this time with the promise that it can become reality. It is the equinox, and we are at the ignition and the beginning of a new cycle.

But of course, beginnings require endings. Before the spark, there is dissolution. And before we can take the first step, the previous path must release us.

We cannot carry everything forward, and why would we want to? And of course, Pisces does not demand we understand the ending; she just asks us to allow it.

The zodiac year does not end in triumph. It ends in surrender. Only then can Aries begin again.

🌙 New Moon Practice: Let the Tide Go Out

So before we set the bold new intention, let us release this New Moon those things that we are not bringing with us.

Light a candle.

Sit quietly and ask yourself:

What am I still holding that has already ended?

Write it down.

Fold the paper.

Place it somewhere safe, or burn it if you wish.

And say:

I allow what is complete to dissolve.

You do not need to know what replaces it yet.

That is Aries’ work.

The Threshold of Equinox

In a few days, the Sun will cross the equator, and the astrological year begins again. Day and night meet in balance, and from that equilibrium, movement begins.

But right now, we are still in the ocean. Still in Pisces and in the place of endings. Let the tide finish its work.

Closing

The world is changing quickly. Some things will end abruptly. Others will dissolve so imperceptibly that we only notice once they are gone. This New Moon is inviting us not to cling and to trust the dissolving. Trust the tide. Spring is already on its way.

With faith and love,

Louise

Dear Ones,

We are in eclipse season, following the new moon lunar eclipse in Aquarius. We now move to the moon becoming full in Virgo, with the Sun in Pisces. As the Moon swells in Virgo and enters Earth’s shadow, we experience a Lunar Eclipse. Eclipses interrupt and distort the light. They reveal by obscuring.

And just to make matters more interesting, Mercury is retrograde in its detriment, so none of the detail is behaving.

Virgo is a clarity seeker; organisation and coherence matter. Instead, we have fragments of information, crossed wires and information that does not quite settle. We know that we are only receiving the surface, not the full truth. And what is left to be revealed feels deeply unsettling. The disorientation is felt through the inconsistency.

Our intuition tells us that we are not getting the full story, there are too many contradictions, and we know something is off.

There is a sense of being lost, not in spectacle but in contradiction.

Virgo: The Discipline of Discernment

Virgo governs the small things, the details of daily life. Virgo is our daily practice, the clause in the contract and the tone in the voice that does not match the words spoken.

When Virgo is eclipsed, we are asked to examine what we have overlooked. Not because we are foolish. But because we are human. It is so so easy to skim the details when the world is loud and to outsource our thinking when the pace accelerates.

We already live inside curated narratives and positions delivered to us fully formed. Our attention is stolen in the micro moments of our days. And somewhere along the way, many of us have stopped checking the details ourselves, because honestly, there is just too much information.

Yet this eclipse is asking us to pause, rewind within the Mercury retrograde and take a moment to ask:

What have we accepted without verifying?
What have we shared without reading fully?
Where have we aligned before discerning?

This is not an accusation. It is an invitation to humility. It is an opportunity to be with our humanness; we are not machines. Parsing everything is just not possible, but can our deeper intuitive senses tell us more? Can we test the world somatically in this moment and listen to what is being revealed?

Mercury Retrograde: Review Before Reaction

Mercury moving backwards invites us to retrace the last few weeks, to go back over the conversations. It's a chance to reread the document and revisit the assumption.

Not to spiral. Not to shame.
But to notice.

Where did I move too quickly?
Where did I fill in the gaps with what I expected to find?
Where did I react before I understood? What does my body say?

Virgo does not demand immediate action.

She asks for careful attention. Sometimes integrity looks like pausing long enough to let the full pattern reveal itself. And under the eclipse light, attention must be steady. Not every revelation requires immediate movement.

The Humility of Missing Something

There is something sobering about realising we may have missed an important detail. Especially now in a moment where truth feels urgent. Can we trust, in this moment, that we might not know everything, but that we can still be true to our bodies’ knowing? Can we be OK with the fact that we do not have to be certain; we just have to practice discernment.

That is the strength in staying in a moment that requires all of our courage, without any certainty. Where competing narratives vie for our attention. Eclipses often reveal through distortion first. We see what does not fit. And if we can stay with that discomfort, they are productive.

Virgo’s medicine is to stay within our body, within our gut instinct, to stay with what we know is true, and to not require quick resolution.

Eclipse Practice: Staying With the Detail

Light a candle.

Place one hand on your solar plexus (the seat of discernment) and ask:

Where do I need to look again? What assumptions might I gently loosen?

Then commit to one act of review.

Revisit something from the past fortnight.
A belief. A decision. A conversation. A piece of information.

Not to act immediately, but simply time to allow your body to fully absorb the information. Stand still long enough to let the noise settle. Let the information enter, then leave, and compost back into the earth through your feet. You do not have to hold anything.

What next?

We go slowly. We strengthen our own capacity by practising discernment, by only being with what we can handle right now. It is not necessary to take the whole world on our shoulders.

Some revelations over the coming time may indeed shock. But the more important work may be to rebuild our attention and our relationship to detail, to fact, to integrity.

Closing

This Full Moon Lunar Eclipse is not asking for spectacle. It is asking for attention. Truths will surface, but they may first appear through inconsistency. So let’s revisit, review and allow our bodies, our gut instinct, to be with what is true for us. Let us have the humility to understand that we may not have fully understood, and that we may need to review the details again.

May this time of the eclipse be a time of deep bodily knowing and the placing of your attention in your solar plexus and your heart.

With steadiness,

Louise
She Changes

Dear Ones,

This is not an ordinary New Moon. On February 17th, the Moon darkens in Aquarius as a Solar Eclipse. February 2026 carries something rare: Saturn and Neptune meet at zero degrees of Aries. A threshold degree. The first spark, the beginning of something we have never experienced before. Structure and dream, reality and vision, discipline and dissolution join at the very beginning of the zodiac. As above, so below. The music is changing.

The shedding we did in 2025 is over. The unravelling, the disillusionment, the grief, these are all still raw, but now the rubber meets the road, and the future is no longer theoretical; it is with us, in all its mess and fury. Even though we can barely pick ourselves up from the ground, we are being asked to build.

Aquarius: The Future Arrives Fast

Aquarius governs systems, collective consciousness, and the architecture of society. When eclipsed here, it is not a time to simply set an intention; it is a call to reorient our participation in the world. The speed of events is destabilising; we are watching and participating in real time as power shifts and the narratives we have been comfortable with our whole lives fracture. Nothing can be hidden anymore; it is all moving into the light for us to really look at. We must be fully with what is revealing itself, no matter the personal pain, and for most women, this is personal. We know that, even with what may have happened to us personally, there are those who are suffering more. Collectively, we are aware of the scale of the pain.

We all know that the world has always protected powerful men. That is not new; what is new is the degree to which the harm is visible, where we can no longer close our eyes to it and abstract it to a small minority. When power protects those who harm children, something deeper fractures. A line is crossed. The line has been crossed.

Saturn and Neptune meeting at zero degrees of Aries is not subtle. Zero degrees is conception. It is ignition: the moment the match strikes and the flame appears. Saturn demands responsibility. Neptune dissolves illusion. In Aries, both insist on action. It is no longer possible to hide in vague compassion. We cannot remain in soft outrage as we enter a year when caring must become structural.

Gen X Women Are Over It

Many of us came of age navigating systems that were never built for us. We learned to endure, to pretzel ourselves into the right shape. To succeed inside structures that dismissed us at best, and that harmed us at worst. And now, something has shifted. Gen X women are over it. We are over the gaslighting and the minimising. We no longer have the tolerance for harm. The time when we believed we should absorb, soothe, and carry the cost of broken systems is over. This eclipse meets that threshold. Yes, there is rage, but also there is a searing clarity. I do not want revenge. (Well, maybe sometimes). I do want a world I can be proud to hand forward to the next generation. I do want justice.

Motherworld

At the , we speak of Motherworld. Motherworld is not sentimental. It is a structural change, the decision to place women and children at the centre of society rather than at its edges. It asks us as a society to orient policy, culture, economics, and power around care rather than dominance.

What if the metric of success were safety? And leadership meant protection of the vulnerable. What if our success as a society were measured by how well children flourish? Aquarius governs the future, and the eclipse is demanding that we imagine it differently. Motherworld is not a dream. It is a design question, it is a system reorientation, but mostly it is an invitation to think relationally.

Eclipse Ritual: The Orientation of Care

So, this is not a quiet journaling moon; instead, it is an invitation to collective re-orientation.

Here is the ritual I invite you to join on this new moon.

1. Light a candle, a flame for the children of the world.

2. Place your hand on your heart and speak aloud:

   I choose to orient my life toward care.

3. Write down one way you will actively protect or advocate this year.
   Not as an abstract theory but in practice.

   It may be:

   • speaking up when harm is minimised

   • supporting organisations that centre children

   • refusing complicity in abusive narratives

   • mentoring younger women

   • strengthening community structures

4. Stand. Yes, physically stand, and feel your feet on the ground, the earth beneath you and say:

   “I will not look away.”

Let this be the moment the future fully enters your body.

Where Do We Go From Here

I believe in life we can only ever go forward, so that's what we do, holding each other’s hands. Learning how to build differently and to stop pretending that neutrality is wisdom. We stop outsourcing our responsibility and instead create small, resilient circles of care that grow outward.

The eclipse may bring shocks. Aquarius often does. But shock is not the same as collapse. It can be awakening.

The question is not whether change is coming, no, that is certain, but whether we will meet it with fear or with fierce devotion to something better.

Closing

This New Moon Solar Eclipse is a threshold; our illusions are gone, and the pace is quickening. The stakes have never been higher, but we don’t need to meet them in a rush; we need to meet them together. The future is not something happening to us; it can be something we participate in shaping.

With steadiness and fire,
Louise
She Changes

Dear Ones,

And so time moves on, and the Moon comes full in Leo. She rises opposite a sky crowded with planets in Aquarius. The personal meets the collective. The heart meets the future and the warm, beating centre of the self faces a field of ideas, systems, movements, and possibilities that are bigger than any one of us.

This is a rare moment in time, and these astrological configurations are not ones we have lived through before. Throughout 2026, we are crossing thresholds that modern astrology has to search the ephemeris for, so rare or long ago that we have no existing metaphors available. The outer planets, the generational planets, are changing signs. Long cycles are turning. The world is being asked to reimagine itself at speed.

And in the middle of all that vastness, this Moon is asking us something deceptively simple, but also agonisingly hard. Where is your heart in all of this?

Leo at Fullness

Leo is the sign of the heart. Not the metaphorical heart, but the lived one. The place inside of us where our courage, joy, grief, love, and creativity all meet. Leo does not ask us to be perfect. Only to be present, to let ourselves be seen and to risk showing what actually matters to us.

We cannot hide at the Full Moon, and Leo illumination can feel exhilarating, but it can also feel exposing. The question is not whether you are visible, but which part of you is being illuminated now? The question is being asked: What do you care about enough to stand for it?

The Leo Moon reminds us that the future is not built by systems alone. It is shaped by the hearts willing to stay and remain open.

Aquarius on the Other Side

Opposite Leo stands a stellium of planets in Aquarius, a chorus rather than a solo voice. Aquarius speaks of collective intelligence, innovation, social change, and futures that have not yet fully formed. It can feel cool, conceptual, and sometimes overwhelming. In this opposition, there is tension between the personal and the impersonal, the intimate and the abstract.

And yet this full Moon does not ask us to choose one over the other. Instead, it is asking us to bridge them. To sit with questions on how our personal joy can serve the world, and how the expression of our joy can contribute to collective change. If you are feeling tempted to shrink, then know that what you love is not too small to matter.
In times like these, the most radical act may be to stay human and see ourselves and each other in that humanness.

A Different Kind of Practice

So rather than a ritual, this full moon, I am inviting you to try an experiment over the next few days. Can you choose one thing that genuinely brings you alive. It doesn’t have to be complicated or trying to prove something. It can be as simple as a creative act or a conversation.

Then notice. What happens in the field around you when you act from the heart rather than obligation? Do you feel resistance, and if so, what does that tell you about old stories of visibility or worth? What gift is there in the integrity between what you feel and how you live?

Will you trust the intelligence of your own fire?

Living in Unprecedented Times

This year carries shocks and surprises. That much is already clear. The old structures are dissolving around us, and as yet, the new ones have not stepped up in a way that is stable and trustworthy. There can be a temptation to either retreat into the personal or dissolve into the collective. But I think this Full Moon is offering us a third way. To stand in our light without dissolving into the whole and to let our hearts inform us on how to participate and bring our gifts. Leo is courageous, and courage is contagious.

My own question is, can joy be a form of leadership, and can I remain in my authenticity even when that joy is hard to find?

Imbolc Light in Avalon

This Full Moon also falls on Imbolc, the moment when winter loosens its grip and the first pulse of the new season begins to move. It is still cold. The land is still wet and dark. And yet, something is shifting. The light has changed its quality. The promise is no longer theoretical; change is afoot. All around us, the land is flooded. Fields are lakes, and it’s no longer difficult to imagine Avalon as an Island.

In our wheel of the year, this is the time of Brigit, Bridie, Brigantia. And of course, she arrives not in bloom, but in spark. She is the flame at the hearth, the forge fire, the breath that warms frozen ground. She is the smithy who takes the raw material of the soul and works it into something true, turning our souls’ desire into the gold of our purpose. Hammer on anvil. Heat and pressure. Attention and care.

Brigit is not gentle in the way we often imagine spring to be. She is precise. She knows how to apply pressure without breaking what is being shaped. She knows when to strike and when to wait. She understands that transformation requires both fire and patience.

In the old stories, it is Brigit who brings the promise of Spring. The life force that has been sleeping through winter. The instinct that knows when the time has come to move again. This is the handover moment, when Mother Winter steps back and the work of becoming resumes.

In the heart of winter, Brigit came walking. She asked for a place to rest, for a piece of land no larger than her cloak. The people agreed, certain there was little to give in such a season. Brigit laid her mantle on the frozen ground.

It spread.

Slowly at first, then further than the eye could see. Across fields and stones, across sleeping earth, the mantle moved like breath returning. Where it touched, the land softened. Beneath it, life stirred. Seeds remembered what they were made for.

When Brigit lifted her cloak, it was once again small and ordinary. But the land was changed. And so it is said that when winter loosens its hold, and the light begins to turn, Brigit walks the land again, spreading her mantle quietly, preparing the way for spring.

Under this Leo Full Moon, on Imbolc, we stand in that same threshold. The heart is lit. The future is not yet clear, but the fire is real. Something in us is ready to be shaped into gold.

Closing

The future is arriving quickly, and I believe that it will need hearts that know how to shine without burning out. May this Moon remind you that your light matters.

With warmth and fire,
Louise
She Changes

Dear Ones,

The New Moon rises in Capricorn, and the energy changes. The inward listening of recent moons gives way to something sharper, steadier, more directional. This is the point where intention becomes structure. Where vision asks for form. Where desire meets discipline.

We are no longer waiting.
We are choosing.

Capricorn does not rush. She does not waste energy. She moves with purpose, with boundaries, with a clear sense of what matters and what does not. Under this moon, the invitation is simple and demanding all at once: decide what you are willing to commit to, and let the rest fall away.

Action with Integrity

This is not frantic action. Not reactive movement. Not chasing every possibility that glitters. Capricorn teaches us the difference between motion and progress.

This is action with integrity.
Action shaped by long vision rather than short-term reward.
Action that respects limits.
Action that understands that boundaries are not restrictions, but containers for power.

Ask yourself under this moon,
What am I building?
What requires consistency rather than inspiration?
What would grow if I showed up again and again, even when it feels difficult or slow.

This is the kind of action that changes lives and shapes futures.

2026: Fast, Unpredictable, Alive

As we step into 2026, the field ahead is fast-moving. Full of shocks and surprises. The old maps will not hold for much longer. What worked before may not work at all or again in the same way.

Capricorn does not fear this. She prepares.

This New Moon is an invitation to get clear.
Clear about what you want to achieve.
Clear about what you are here to serve.
Clear about what you will no longer carry into the future.

Clarity becomes your anchor when the pace quickens. Discipline becomes your ally when distraction multiplies. Structure becomes the ground you can stand on when everything else is shifting.

Boundaries as Sacred Architecture

Capricorn understands that nothing meaningful is built without boundaries. The mountain holds its shape because it has edges. The temple stands because it has walls.

Under this moon, review your boundaries gently but honestly.
Where do you leak energy?
Where do you overextend?
Where do you say yes out of habit rather than alignment?

Boundaries are not about hardness. They are about devotion to what really matters. They allow you to place your life force where it truly belongs. To be who you really are.

In Avalon

Capricorn belongs to Danu as the Cailleach. She is the stone woman, the bone woman, the crone of winter. She who holds the land in stillness and weaves in the star temple while the world rests.

This is her season of containment. The fields are bare. The paths are cold and wet. The false spring may whisper through the lengthening days, but the Cailleach keeps her grip. Winter is not yet done.

We stand in the threshold that leads toward Imbolc, toward Brigit and the first stirrings of return. The seeds are planted, but they are held deep in the dark. Nothing is meant to rise yet. This is the time of unseen strengthening.

Here, life is quieter. Visitors are thin on the ground, and the energy is turned inward. Beneath the surface, though, something essential is being shaped. Roots are deepening, and structures are being tested for stability. The work that will carry us into spring is done without witness or reward.

This is the season of directed energy. Of repair and renewal. Of tending what must endure. The Cailleach teaches focus, restraint, and devotion to what truly matters. She reminds us that discipline is not harshness, but care taken seriously.

Capricorn in Avalon asks us to build slowly. To place our life force where it will hold. To honour winter not as absence, but as sacred preparation. The crone weaves now, so that life may rise later.

A New Moon Practice

If you can, take time for this simple but powerful practice.

Write down three things you are committed to building in 2026. Not ten. Not everything. Just three.

Then write one clear, grounded action you are willing to take consistently for each commitment. Something realistic that you can return to even when motivation fades. Something that becomes a container, a practice and a habit, that brings consistency and certainty.

Finally, write one thing you are willing to stop doing in order to make space for what you are building.

Let this be a contract with yourself. Commit.

Closing Thoughts

This New Moon in Capricorn reminds us that manifestation is not about magic alone. It is devotion over time. It is showing up even when we don’t want to, and it is choosing the path again and again.

As the year ahead accelerates, may you move with intention rather than urgency.
May your boundaries protect what matters.
May your actions be aligned with the future you are calling in.

This is the moment we step forward, not blindly, but deliberately.
The mountain path is before you.
One step at a time is enough.

With steadiness and resolve,
Louise
She Changes

#NewMoonInCapricorn

In Traditional Chinese Medicine, post-menopause is known as the Second Spring, the emergence of a new season of clarity, purpose, and inner authority. Across the world’s oldest cultures, this threshold was recognised as the moment a woman stepped into her deeper wisdom, trusted to hold the centre and guide others through uncertain times.

Holistic medicine reminds us that symptoms are not signs of decline but invitations to care for the body as it reorganises itself for a new season. What looks like an ending is, in truth, a beginning and a return to a woman’s inner knowing, her capacity to see patterns.

Join Louise, Shirley-Ann Millar and Dr Atul Bansal, as together, we explore Second Spring as more than a set of symptoms but as an initiation into a new season of life.

You’ll leave with:

• A richer understanding of the physical, emotional and spiritual landscape of post-menopause

• Ways to support your health, vitality and nervous system

• Insight into your emerging strengths and leadership capacities

• Connection with other women moving through similar transformations

• A renewed sense of possibility for the years ahead

Second Spring is not an ending. It is an evolution. We invite you to join us for a morning of insight, belonging and renewal.

Register here

Dear Ones,

The first Full Moon of 2026 rises in Cancer, bathed in the soft light of winter. The moon begins the year in her own sign. Of course, the Gregorian calendar is a human invention, but still, when everyone thinks it's a New Year, then a certain magic is created that energetically impacts us all. In her home in Cancer, feeling is not something to be managed or explained, but something to be honoured. Cancer speaks of home, belonging, and the deep instinct to protect what is precious. Under this moon, we are invited to ask what are we holding that is precious and where do we belong?

Cancer reminds us that security is not an abstract idea. It is felt. It lives in the body. It is the nervous system settling. It is the warmth of a familiar space. It is knowing where you can lay your head and where your tears are welcome. A gift not present for all.

This moon illuminates the places where we feel safe, and the places where we do not. It does so gently, but unmistakably.

Security as a Living Practice

We often think of security in external terms. Money. Plans. Structures. Yet Cancer teaches us that true security begins closer in. It starts with emotional shelter. With rhythms that support rather than exhaust us. With relationships that allow us to be unguarded. From a place of privilege, security can be about much more than physical safety.

Under this Full Moon, notice where your sense of safety comes from.
Notice what strengthens it.
Notice what quietly erodes it. Notice this, too, that this is not a time for harsh assessment. It is a time for listening deeply.

The Moon in Cancer asks us to tend our inner home with the same care we would give a child or a garden. What needs more warmth? What needs clearer boundaries? What needs time to grow without being rushed.

What Is Growing Beneath the Surface

This moon shines a light on what is already growing in your life. Not high ambition, but the day-to-day habits that build a life. The relationships that are deepening, the habits that are taking root. The sense of belonging that is forming, even if it is not yet evident.

Ask yourself gently,
What wants to flourish here.
What needs protecting rather than pushing.
What would grow beautifully if I gave it consistency and care?

Cancer energy reminds us that growth does not always look like expansion. Sometimes it looks like strengthening roots. Like tending the soil. Like choosing nourishment over speed.

Family, Chosen and Remembered

The Full Moon in Cancer also turns us toward family. Both the one we were born into and the one we have chosen. It may stir memories. Longings. Gratitude. Grief. A sense of wanting to trace what has gone before us.

You may feel called to reach out. Or to pull inward. You may notice patterns inherited across generations, and feel an invitation to tend them differently. Cancer holds the ancestral line, but also the possibility of new ways of belonging. It is closely tied to the concept of the seven generations that came before and the seven generations that will come after.

This moon asks,
Who is my family now?
Where do I belong?
How do I create a home, within and around me?

A Practice for this Full Moon

If you can, create a small ritual moment.

Light a candle.
Place a hand on your heart or belly.
Take a few slow breaths.

Ask yourself,
What helps me feel safe?
What helps me feel held?
What is asking to be nourished now?

You may wish to write. Or sit. Or place water nearby as a reminder of Cancer’s element. Let the answers arrive without forcing them. The Moon is patient.

Closing Thoughts

The Full Moon in Cancer reminds us that flourishing begins with safety. That care is a powerful force. That tending what is close and true is not insignificant work, but sacred work.

May this moon help you strengthen what sustains you.
May it illuminate what is ready to grow.
May it remind you that you are allowed to need comfort, rest, and belonging.

With warmth and moonlight,
Louise
She Changes

Dear Ones,

This New Moon rises in Sagittarius, the sign of meaning, story, and the great onward arc of life. Yet with the Solstice close, the light turns inward. It is a time of conception, when the moon is drawing us back into the body. Into the fertile dark. Into the womb-space where something new is forming without words or plans. A pulse of new life, an opportunity for awe. A portent of new beginnings.

Sagittarius is often spoken of as fire, arrow and quest. But before the arrow is released, there is a long moment of gathering. Before meaning is named, there is mystery. Before the journey begins, there is conception.

This moon invites us to remember that all great visions are first felt, not understood.

The Embodied Miracle of Birth

There are moments in life that undo us with their beauty. Birth is one of them. I haven’t really given much thought to birth over the years, but with the birth of my grandson and now being a part of the Sacred Birth Centre. The miracle of birth is becoming a part of my life. And it is opening me to a sense of awe and wonder that I had forgotten. The miracle that is new life.

To witness a body opening to life, to feel the intelligence that moves without instruction, to sense the vastness present in something so intimate. This is not a metaphor; it is a raw reality. Birth reveals that consciousness does not arrive fully formed. It emerges. It spirals. It remembers itself through becoming matter.

Birth is a field of stars, both ordinary and infinite at the same time. I am learning that life enters the world not through force, but through trust, not through certainty, but through surrender.

This is the knowing Sagittarius holds at its deepest level. Not belief, but embodied truth. Not ideology, but lived revelation.

A New Consciousness Birthing in the Stars

This New Moon feels like more than a reset. It feels like a threshold. A possibility that is shaping itself. For all that feels wrong and unjust, there is much within the astrology that speaks to rebirth as if something new is gestating not only in our bodies and lives, but in the wider field. A new way of seeing. A new orientation of meaning. A new story asking to be born.

Sagittarius governs our shared narratives. The myths we live by. The beliefs that shape our futures. Under this moon, those narratives are not being announced yet. They are still forming and still breathing. Still learning how to inhabit a body.

We are not meant to rush this emergence. Just as no birth can be hurried without consequence, this new consciousness requires patience, reverence, and care.

The stars are not shouting; instead, they are preparing the path.

Awe as a Spiritual Practice

In a world that moves quickly to analysis, this moon calls us back to awe.

Awe slows the nervous system. Awe opens the heart. Awe returns us to right relationship with mystery. It reminds us that we are participants in something far larger than our individual striving.

Under this Sagittarius New Moon, awe becomes a practice of alignment. To sit with what you cannot yet explain. To feel gratitude without needing to justify it. To recognise the miracle of being alive in a universe that continues to create itself through us.

This is not passive. It is deeply active. Awe shapes how we act, choose, lead, and love.

A New Moon Practice

If you are willing, try this simple embodied practice:

Sit comfortably and place one hand on your belly, one on your heart.
Close your eyes.
Imagine a soft golden light moving slowly between your hands.

Ask quietly:
What is being born through me now?

Do not search for words. Let sensation lead. Let image arise. Let feeling speak.

Stay for a few minutes. When you are ready, thank whatever showed itself, even if it remains unclear. Especially if it remains unclear.

Some things need time to arrive fully.

Closing Thoughts

This Sagittarius New Moon reminds us that we are not separate from creation. We are one of its ongoing expressions. The same intelligence that births stars births ideas, children, movements, and futures through us.

May we meet this moment with tenderness.
May we protect what is still forming.
May we honour the sacred intelligence of emergence.

Something new is being born.
In the stars.
In the body.
In you.

With love and wonder,
Louise
She Changes

Dear Ones,

The Full Moon rises in Gemini, and the air feels restless. There is momentum building in the collective field, yet very little clarity about where it all wants to go. This moon is arriving like a breath that fills the chest and then pauses. It is as if life is gathering itself, preparing for something not yet formed.

Gemini brings movement and mind. It rules communication, pathways, decisions, and the weaving of information into meaning. Under this moon, our thoughts may feel scattered and bright. Ideas arrive quickly. Choices press forward. Conversations feel charged with possibility. Yet the ground is not quite ready to receive the next step. Hardening as it is for the winter. The energy is spirited and quick, but the container is still forming.

This Full Moon asks us to sit in the paradox. Movement and pause. Urgency and stillness. Curiosity and patience. We are asked to stay awake without rushing, to hold the questions without leaping to answers.

A Moon of Many Voices

Gemini energy has a way of opening every window in the house at once. We hear the breeze whispering from multiple directions. Ideas flutter in like pages torn from different books. There is inspiration, yes, but also distraction. It is tempting to try to do everything at once. It is tempting to say yes before we feel the full shape of the choice.

This moon invites us to sort the voices.
Which ideas belong to your soul’s direction.
Which belong to habit.
Which belong to fear.
Which are simply passing on the wind and do not need to become commitments.

Take a breath. Notice what is asking for immediate attention and what can be placed gently on the shelf. Momentum is not the same as direction. This moon asks us to discern the difference.

Decisions at the Threshold

Under this Gemini moon, many of us feel the pressure of decisions that need to be made. Yet the path ahead is only half visible. This is not failure. It is timing.

Some choices require the illumination of the next season. Some require the moon to wane. Some require the heart to soften, or the mind to clear, or the body to rest. What is rising now is awareness, not outcome.

Let the mind explore the possibilities. Let your thinking roam freely for a while. But do not force clarity that is not ready. The Full Moon brings everything to the surface so we can see it. Clarity will follow when the energy grounds.

A Practice for Sorting and Sifting

Here is a gentle practice for this moon:

1. Sit with a sheet of paper and divide it into three sections.
   What is calling me now.
   What is noise or distraction.
   What can wait.

2. Let your mind wander for a few minutes. Write down every thought, idea, priority or worry that arrives. Allow it to be unfiltered.

3. Then slowly place each item in one of the three sections. Let intuition guide you more than logic. Gemini energy loves lists, but the Full Moon asks for truth more than strategy.

4. When you finish, circle only one or two items in the first column. These are the priorities that want your presence this week. Everything else can soften around the edges.

This moon teaches us the alchemy of choice. Not choosing everything. Choosing wisely.

Avalonian Reflections

In Avalon, this time of year brings a different kind of clarity. It is the time of the North of Air. As we move toward the Winter Solstice, the stillness descends. The mists thin and thicken with each weather shift. One day it’s clear, the next veiled. The land teaches us that sight is not constant. What we see depends on the rhythm of the world around us.

The Gemini moon mirrors this. Clarity swirls in and out. Insight arrives in flashes. One moment, you know exactly what you want. Next, the path dissolves again, and it all feels like a dream.

Avalon teaches us to trust the moments of insight without clinging to them. To pay attention to the signs without forcing interpretation. To listen to the whispers at the edges of thought. The mists reveal what we are ready to see. No sooner. No later.

Let this moon draw your attention to the subtle messages you might otherwise miss. The chance conversation. The unexpected idea. The knowing that drops in on a passing thought.

Many of us will feel an inner wind rising. A sense that something wants to move and shift. And it can be frustrating when there may not yet be a clear direction. Remember, though, that this is not wasted energy. It is preparation.

Think of birds gathering. They feel the pull long before they begin to fly. The air changes. The body remembers. The instinct arrives before the map. I have been watching the starling murmurations on my morning walk across the levels and it has taught me of coherence, and how when we work together beauty is possible.

You may feel that same pull. The truth is simple. You are gathering. You are preparing for a season that has not yet announced itself. The energy is already turning toward the future, even though the outer conditions still look the same.

Let that be enough for now.
Feel the momentum, but do not force its landing.
Let the wind shape you without needing to know its destination.

Reflection Prompts

• What decisions are pressing for my attention, and which ones can wait

• What voices in my mind belong to truth, and which belong to noise

• Where am I feeling momentum without direction

• What subtle signs or synchronicities have appeared around me this week

• What one priority feels truly aligned at this moment

Closing Thoughts

This Gemini Full Moon is a teacher of air. It reminds us that clarity is not always linear. Sometimes it arrives as a breeze, sometimes as a gale.

The task is not to rush. But to listen and sort gently. To trust the timing. Let the momentum gather until the container is ready. When the direction becomes clear, you will know. Your whole body will move toward it.

For now, breathe deeply. Stay curious. Walk lightly. The path is gently forming beneath your feet.

With love carried on the wind of change.
Louise
She Changes

Dear Ones,

This morning, we entered the deep water of the Scorpio New Moon. As the moon enters the deep water of Scorpio, many of the planets have turned retrograde. The year's momentum is softening. This is a moment of reflection rather than action. A pause before the next step. A chance to rewrite the inner story before the outer one continues.

Scorpio asks for honesty. Not the polished kind. The kind that trembles in the body. The kind we avoid because it feels too raw or too revealing. Under this new moon, we are invited to bring up what has been resting at the bottom of our inner oceans. Old emotions. Unspoken truths. The shadows we pretend we outgrew. The desires we whispered only once. The stories we hid from even ourselves.

The Gift of the Retrograde Season

With so many planets moving retrograde, the sky is mirroring our own need to slow down. Retrogrades are medicine. They soften our grip and loosen our patterns. They allow us to revisit what we rushed past. They help us see what we could not see before.

This is a time for the do-over. For the second look. For forgiveness of the self who hurried or hid. It is a time for looking directly at the places where we have been afraid to feel too much. Scorpio reminds us that our deepest emotions are not burdens. They are gateways.

What truth have you turned away from because it felt too heavy to hold?
What memory keeps returning because it wants to be met with kindness?
What ending or beginning still feels unfinished in your body?

This moon asks us to be brave enough to stay in the silence of the deep below long enough to hear the truth that’s been hiding there.

A Practice for this New Moon

If you can, find a new journal that feels like a doorway. Something blank and unclaimed. Sit with it in the darkness for a while before you begin to write.

Write on the first page:
I am willing to listen to what rises from the deep.

Then begin.

Write the fears you prefer not to name.
Write the memories that still quietly ache.
Write the longing that keeps knocking on your inner door.
Write the truth that feels too taboo to say aloud.

Can you let your pen travel without structure or censure? Let your hand move like water. If words do not come easily, draw. Paint. Scribble. Tear. Collage.
Let your creativity speak the language your mind cannot yet hold.

When you finish, close the journal with gratitude. You have begun the work of transformation.

Return to it throughout the week. The deep does not reveal everything at once.

Mythic Notes from Avalon

As we move from Samhain toward the Winter Solstice, Avalon draws her mists a little closer. The days shorten. The air muffles. Candlelight becomes not just illumination but companionship. This is the quarter of the year when the land turns inward and the veils inside and out grow thinner. The cold and damp have already descended here, and the call to be indoors with the fire and candles burning is insistent.

In the Avalonian wheel, this is the descent. The pathways that were bright in summer now ask us to walk by intuition rather than vision. The Goddesses of the deep places hold court in this season. They invite us to see without eyes. To sense without needing proof. To listen with the whole body. This is the time when sight shifts from the outer world to the inner landscape.

The cold returns as a kind of teacher. It slows the breath and permits us to rest. It reminds us that the earth herself is preparing for rebirth and that we also must go inward before the light returns. The darkness is not a punishment. It is a womb. A place of gestation. A season where everything unnecessary falls away so the essential can be revealed.

In Avalon, the mists are thresholds. When the nights grow long and the weather worsens, we are invited to step into a different way of knowing. A soft seeing. A sensing that comes from the womb/hara rather than the mind. This is how the priestesses of old navigated the darker months. They trusted that the inner flame is brightest when everything around them grows dim.

You may find that your intuition speaks more clearly now. You may feel emotions before you have words for them. You may sense people and situations more deeply. This is the gift of this season. The unseen world comes nearer, and the body becomes a vessel for knowing.

As we move toward the solstice, each candle you light is not simply to banish darkness. It is a signal fire. A reminder that you carry a flame within you that will guide your steps even when the path is in shadow.

Reflection Prompts for This Moon

• What emotion have I been avoiding that requires compassion rather than resistance

• What story about myself is asking to be rewritten

• What fear keeps me from opening more fully to the life I desire

• What truth have I buried that is ready to rise

• How can I honour my emotional landscape without rushing to the light

Closing Thoughts

Scorpio is the part of the zodiac that teaches us the beauty of the unseen world. It reminds us that change begins in the dark, not in the daylight. Seeds, dreams, insight and rebirth all begin in this place.

This new moon is not asking you to leap forward. It is asking you to pause and listen. It is asking you to trust the wisdom held in your own depths. It is asking you to feel what you have not yet allowed yourself to feel.

When the light returns, you will be ready. You will rise differently. You will rise from truth rather than habit. You will rise from the depths rather than the surface.

With love and blessings of the deep waters,

Louise

Dear Ones,

Tonight, the Moon swells into her fullness in the sign of Taurus, rising round and golden through the smoke and sparks of Bonfire Night. Here in the UK, we light fires to remember rebellion and renewal, and this year the flames seem to echo something larger: the question of what truly keeps us safe when the world feels so uncertain.

This is also a supermoon, closer to Earth, closer to us. The tides are higher, the emotions stronger, the pull toward the body and the land undeniable. Taurus, ruled by Venus, rules the sensual and the tangible, the very soil under our feet, the slow pleasure of a meal cooked with love, the solidity of what we can hold in our hands and our hearts. The Moon is at home in Taurus; her exaltation is a place of ease and embodiment. Here, the lunar light doesn’t shimmer abstractly in air or fire, but settles into form, into the curve of the land and the rhythm of the body. The ancients saw this union of Moon and Bull as a marriage of heaven and earth: the moonlight descending into matter, spirit incarnating as fertility, tenderness, and endurance.

For our ancestors, this was not myth but truth: the Moon was the rhythm of the Earth, marking the tides, the planting seasons, the womb cycles. When the Moon walked through Taurus, she was said to graze upon the fertile fields of creation, blessing the herds and harvests alike. Her light reminded them, and reminds us still, that stability is not the absence of change, but the living pulse of renewal.

This Full Moon arrives just after Samhain, the cross-quarter festival when the veils thin and we turn toward the ancestors. This is the hinge of the year, when we move from the bright half to the dark, when the fires are lit to guide the spirits home. The Taurus Moon, so rooted in the physical world, brings that remembrance down into our bones, a call to honour the soil that holds our dead, the stories that formed us, and the lineage of hands that planted, tended, and dreamed before us.

We, too, are the continuation of that lineage. Though our world feels less stable, with systems shifting, climates trembling, and strange visitors like 3I/ATLAS reminding us that even the cosmos is in flux, the ancestors whisper through the land:

Stay close to what is real. Eat from the Earth. Tend your hearth. Trust the turning.

In modern life, this becomes a quiet practice of returning: to the body as sacred ground, to the earth as kin, to community as the true measure of wealth. We are not made to be billionaires hoarding wealth; wealth comes through the relationships we tend, amongst each other and the wider relations of nature. The Taurus Moon teaches us to root ourselves in presence, to cultivate resilience through rhythm and care. As the fires of Samhain fade and the Supermoon rises, we are asked to hold both the ancestral knowing that life endures.

And yet, in just a few days after this full moon, Uranus will begin its retrograde through Taurus, shaking those very foundations. The planet of disruption and awakening stirs the ground beneath us, whispering: “What do we cling to when everything changes?”

🌍 The Spotlight on Resources and Security

Under this moon, our awareness turns toward resources, personal, planetary, and collective. We’re being shown where we seek safety through possession, and where true sustenance actually flows.

Taurus reminds us that security doesn’t come from holding on tighter, but from rooting deeper. From knowing the ground we stand on and tending it with care, from remembering that the body is part of the Earth’s body, and that both need tending, not control.

As Uranus retraces its steps, the illusions of stability may crack open. Financial systems, environmental patterns, and even our sense of personal worth are up for review. But these ruptures are not punishment; they are invitations to imagine new forms of security built on connection, reciprocity, and trust.

🔥 Bonfire Wisdom

As the flames leap into the night, consider what outdated stories of scarcity or control you are ready to cast into the fire.

What ideas about money, work, or safety no longer serve the person you are becoming?
What fears stop you from opening to the abundance that wants to find you?

Let this fire be your altar. Whisper your gratitude to the Earth, then let the sparks carry away the fragments of old thinking.

🌌 A Visitor from Afar — 3I/ATLAS

Even the heavens echo our theme of the unexpected. The interstellar object 3I/ATLAS, a rare traveller from beyond our solar system, is moving through our skies, a reminder that not all visitors are predictable, and that even the vastness of space is full of surprises.

Its arrival mirrors our moment: something unfamiliar entering the known. The cosmos asks us to expand our understanding of “home.” To realise that stability isn’t the absence of change, it’s the grace with which we meet it.

We are part of a living system that stretches beyond comprehension. Gaia holds us, yes, but she also moves within a wider dance. Nothing is fixed, and that, strangely, is the most secure truth of all.

“As 3I/ATLAS pierces our solar family with its light from beyond, so too does Uranus pierce our familiar terrain. The bull of Taurus stamps its hoof in certainty, and Uranus jolts the field beneath.”

🌕 Full Moon Practice

1. Ground. Stand under the moonlight. Feel your feet on the earth or floor. Inhale through your soles, exhale through your crown.

2. Reflect. Write down what security means to you right now. Then ask yourself: does this still feel true?

3. Release. Light a candle or join a bonfire. Offer your paper to the flame, letting the smoke rise as prayer.

4. Receive. Close with gratitude for what sustains you — body, breath, community, Earth.

🪶 Journal Prompts

• What resource (inner or outer) am I valuing more deeply this month?

• Where am I being invited to loosen my grip and trust the flow?

• How can I feel more grounded in my body while the wider world shifts?

• What does enough mean to me now?

🌱 Closing Thoughts

This Taurus moon calls us back to simplicity — to body, land, and care. It reminds us that we can be both rooted and fluid, grounded and open to cosmic mystery.

As the fires burn and the moon shines bright, may you feel the steadiness beneath the change, the quiet hum of the Earth herself, singing through your bones.

With love under this vast and luminous skies,

Louise 🌕

Dear Ones,

The dark moon draws us inward again. The Moon sits at the last degree of Libra as we move into Scorpio. We are in the pause before the next turning, the breath between what has been and what is yet to come. These are the days for finalising and for standing at the threshold listening for what is to come with an open heart.

This month I have been tracing the echo of a single wingbeat across time the flight of the doves of Dodona, the shimmer of the Seven Sisters, and the voice of the Sea Priestess rising from the tide. What began as research into oracles and flood myths has unfolded into a meditation on guidance, resilience, and how we find our bearings when the world feels awash.

May this new moon bring you stillness enough to hear the oak rustle, the wave whisper, and the stars sing.

Doves, Oaks, and Tides: Listening for the Old Oracles beneath the Flood

At Dodona, the god/goddess spoke through an oak. Not in thunder or commandment, but in the rustle of leaves and the ringing of bronze. Homer remembers Odysseus travelling there “to hear Zeus’ will from the god’s high-crested oak.” The first Greek oracle was not a temple, it was a listening practice: people attending to the voice of the world until meaning gathered in the body.

Herodotus gives us the founding tale. Two black doves fly from Thebes in Egypt: one to Libya, the other to a wild grove in Greece, where it perches in an oak and “speaks with human voice,” declaring that place sacred to Zeus. Later he adds his rational explanation, that these doves were women, foreign priestesses whose strange tongue sounded like birdsong until it was understood. Whether bird or woman, the myth insists that revelation arrives on wings and crossings. It is carried by the wind, by migration, by sound.

Those priestesses of Dodona were called Peleiades, the Doves. Their title echoes another, almost identical word: Pleiades, the Seven Sisters of the night sky. The similarity is not coincidence. In Greek, peleiades (doves) and pleiades (sailing ones) differ by a single vowel, and ancient poets played on the resemblance. The Pleiades’ rising in May and their setting in November marked the opening and closing of the sailing season, earning them their name: the Sailing Ones. Mariners looked to them for safe passage; farmers read them for planting. They are both calendar and compass, a stellar oracle mirrored in the heavens above the oak of Dodona.

And in myth, the connection deepens. The Seven Sisters were daughters of Atlas and the sea-nymph Pleione, literally children of the sea mother. Pursued by Orion, they were transformed into doves and then into stars. The transformation preserves the bridge between worlds: bird becomes star, voice becomes light. When the Pleiades rise, sailors launch their vessels. When they set, the sea passage ways close again. The same gesture animates the Doves of Dodona, the listening ones who interpret the will of the sky to those on land. Both are feminine constellations of guidance: one fixed among the oaks, one wheeling through the night.

If Dodona belongs to air and wood, her sea-sister lives in water and moonlight. Dion Fortune’s The Sea Priestess re-imagines this lineage on the British coast, where Vivien Le Fay Morgan, “sea priestess of Atlantis”, listens to the tide as oracle. Her temple is the shore itself; her language is ebb and flow. What Dodona heard in leaves, she hears in waves. Both belong to an older, elemental literacy: to listen as a priestess art.

When we follow the sound beneath these myths, another current rises, the current of the flood. Plato’s Critias ends with Atlantis swallowed by a single “day and night” of cataclysm. Greek myth remembers Deucalion and Pyrrha floating in their chest while the world drowns, repopulating the earth by casting stones that turn to people. In Mesopotamia, Atrahasis builds his boat at the whisper of a god; in Genesis, Noah sends forth a dove across the unmade waters, seeking a branch of renewal. Everywhere the structure repeats: warning, vessel, water as cleansing, and the long work of beginning again.

Perhaps these stories are not separate at all. The Dove, the Seven Sisters, the Sea Priestess, and the Flood are variations on a single teaching: that when the world is remade, guidance comes from the ones who can still listen. The dove returns with a leaf. The Sisters rise to show when it is safe to sail. The Sea Priestess attends the lunar tides. The Peleiades lean toward the oak and catch the voice in the wind. Each offers orientation when the old maps are drowned. They teach us of navigation, both of the inner and outer worlds.

Herodotus said Dodona’s doves came from Egypt. Plato said the story of Atlantis came from an Egyptian priest telling Solon of an older world washed away. Across the Mediterranean, in myths and in trade, knowledge travelled by water, from delta to island to coast. Oaks, doves, tides, and stars: the elements themselves carried memory. When the sailing season opened with the Pleiades’ rise, ships set out bearing grain, copper, linen and of course one of the most important currencies of all stories.

To read these myths together is to glimpse a sisterhood of navigation that spans air, land, and sea:

• The Peleiades, who translate divine murmurs through leaves and bronze.

• The Pleiades, whose shimmering flight tells sailors when to depart.

• The Sea Priestesses, who remember that the tides of the moon and the tides of the soul move as one.

Each teaches the same rhythm: listen – translate – set forth – return.

And perhaps that is the medicine for our time of inundation. The flood we face is not of water but of noise, data, grief, and acceleration. To practice priestessing now is to build vessels for listening, arks of attention sturdy enough to hold meaning. Sometimes that vessel is a circle around an oak; sometimes a room by the sea; sometimes a moment of silence before speaking.

When I picture the Doves of Dodona, I see them as the earthly reflection of the Seven Sisters above, winged messengers turned to stars, still guiding the sailors and seekers who watch for their rising. Their myth reminds us that guidance is relational: it comes when we are attentive to the pattern between earth and sky, between breath and tide, between one voice and another.

After the waters, the priestesses stand on the new shore. They look up, see the Pleiades, and know—it is time to sail again.

🌑 New Moon Practice: Listening in the Dark

A simple ritual for deep listening

1. Create your circle.
   Light a single candle or sit beside a bowl of water. Take three slow breaths, anchoring your awareness in your body.

2. Call the elements.
   Whisper the names: Oak, Dove, Star, Sea.
   Feel them gather around you, earth, air, fire, and water forming a quiet circumference.

3. Listen.
   For five minutes, simply receive.
   Notice the sounds around you, wind, heartbeat, hum, silence.
   Let them be the language of the world speaking to you, as the oak spoke to Dodona’s priestesses.

4. Close.
   When the time feels complete, write down one sentence that came through — even if it makes little sense. Trust that it is a seed, not an answer. Blow out the candle or touch your fingertips to the water in gratitude.

🕊 New Moon Journal Prompts

• What does listening mean to me beyond hearing?

• Where in my life do I feel the tides shifting — what is ebbing, what is beginning to rise?

• What voices or signs am I being invited to attend to more deeply?

• If I were to name my own “vessel for listening,” what would it be? A garden? A friendship? A space within?

• How might I orient myself by my inner Pleiades, the guiding lights that remind me when it is safe to set sail again?

🌒 A New Moon Blessing

May the doves of Dodona whisper in your heart
the language of leaves and wind.
May the Seven Sisters rise bright above your path
and guide your vessel through the dark.
May the Sea Priestess within you remember
how to listen to the tides that shape your life.
And when the floodwaters of change recede,
may you stand steady on the new shore—
ears attuned, eyes lifted, ready to sail again.

Travel well dear ones through this new moon.

Blessings

Louise

Sources & Further Reading

• Homer, Odyssey 14.327–328; 19.296–299 — Odysseus consults the oak of Dodona.

• Herodotus, Histories 2.54–57 — the “black doves” and the founding of the oracle.

• Plato, Timaeus and Critias — Atlantis’ cataclysm and moral decline.

• Apollodorus, Library 1.7.2–3 and Ovid, Metamorphoses I — Deucalion’s flood.

• Atrahasis Epic / Epic of Gilgamesh XI — earliest flood traditions.

• Astronomical note: the Pleiades’ heliacal rising in May and setting in November marked the Mediterranean sailing season — hence their name, the Sailing Ones.

• Dion Fortune, The Sea Priestess (1938) — reimagining the Atlantean priestess current.

• Robert Graves, The Greek Myths, and modern CHS commentaries on the Dodona oracle and the linguistic link between Peleiades (doves) and Pleiades (Seven Sisters).

Dear Ones,

This Full Moon rises as a Supermoon in fiery Aries, burning bright enough to cast even our shadows into clarity. Around it, the heavens are alive: planets change signs, comets sweep through the night, and there is an unmistakable sense that something new is stirring. The cosmos feels on the move, and so are we.

Aries is the first fire. The initiator. The spark that says yes before it knows how. Under this moon, the call is not to retreat, but to rise and to take the risk, to claim the new beginning that has been quietly forming beneath the surface.

It feels beautifully aligned, then, that here in Avalon, the work of many moons has come into form. The Sacred Birth Centre is opening its doors. Tomorrow, the shopfront begins to breathe its first breaths, and on the 29th we gather to celebrate the grand opening. What began as vision, prayer, and persistence has become real. This is what Aries teaches us, that dreams are not meant to remain in the imaginal; they are meant to ignite.

Still, this moon carries both gift and challenge. Fire brings light, but also tests what can endure the heat. Aries asks for truth, the kind that may burn away comfort, habit, and hesitation. It demands that we examine what we are willing to initiate and what we must relinquish to do so fully.

With planets shifting and comets cutting new paths through the sky, this lunation feels like a cosmic acceleration and a stark reminder that the universe is not static, and neither are we. The question is not whether change will come, but how consciously we will meet it.

🔥 What wants to begin through you now?
🔥 What truth is ready to be spoken, even if your voice trembles?
🔥 What part of you is being reborn in the fire of this time?

Let’s use this energy to reimagine, to act, to kindle courage in places where fear has lingered. The world does not need more noise; it needs more heart-led action, more people willing to walk their truth into form. Aries is that fire. It reminds us that courage is contagious. Those beginnings, once dared, ripple outward.

So under this Supermoon, let’s bless the new beginnings, personal, collective, planetary. Let’s offer gratitude for the sacred structures we’ve built, and for the invisible forces that helped them rise.

🌕 Ritual for the Aries Supermoon: Lighting the Way Forward

1. Light a candle and place it beside a bowl of water — fire and water, courage and compassion.

2. On a slip of paper, write what new beginning you are ready to claim.

3. On another, write what needs to be released to make space for it.

4. Burn the second slip, then hold the first above the flame and say aloud:
   “I choose to begin. I trust the fire to guide me.”

5. Dip your fingers in the water, cooling the flame’s intensity, and place a few drops on your heart.

6. Sit for a moment, feeling the rhythm of your own pulse — your first and oldest fire.

As we open the doors of the Sacred Birth Centre, I feel this Supermoon as blessing and mirror: proof that the invisible can become visible, that dreams can take shape, that beginnings are sacred.

May this moon light the way forward for all that wants to be born, in you, in me, in the world.

With love and flame,
Louise 🌕🔥

🌑 Virgo New Moon & Solar Eclipse | September 2025

Dear Ones,

I have found this eclipse season hard going. It has been a time of hard work, change, and also a letting go of being able to hold all of the balls I juggle in the air. Some have fallen to the floor, and I have decided not to pick them up again. That has been hard on others, not just myself.

It has been a letting go into a commitment to tend what is in front of me, to be more in the moment, and to commit to what I am here to do at this time.

There has also been much joy in that, too, in seeing projects like the “Sacred Birth Centre” flourish and grow, with community at its heart.

And now we arrive at another New Moon in Virgo, two in a row. A rare doubling, an insistence that Virgo’s lessons cannot be passed over lightly. This moon comes with the added intensity of the partial solar eclipse, a cosmic reset that both unsettles and liberates.

Virgo teaches us about the sacred in detail, the daily tending, the careful discernment, the willingness to refine what we offer. At its heart, Virgo is the priestess, devoted to service and wholeness. But like every sign, it carries shadows. In Virgo’s shadow, discernment tips into judgment, care becomes control, and devotion turns into the policing of others.

Looking around us, we can see this shadow playing out in the world. Voices silenced. People exiled for speaking, questioning, dissenting. The rise of “othering” under the guise of purity, correctness, or protection. What begins as discernment can quickly harden into division.

And yet, it would be naïve to say we should stop division. In today’s political climate, harm is very real. Policies and movements rise that strip people of dignity, erode freedoms, and target the most vulnerable. To witness this and say nothing would not be compassion, but complicity. The challenge of this eclipse is that we are asked to hold both the courage to stand clearly for what is good and life-giving and the wisdom to resist turning our own outrage into another form of exile. This is not easy work. It demands a deeper discernment, one that refuses harm, while remembering that every being, even those who wound, is entangled in the larger web.

The eclipse throws this pattern into stark relief. It asks: Where have we mistaken control for care? Who or what are we policing? Where have we let fear dictate who belongs and who does not?

This moon falls across the axis of the North Node in Pisces, South Node in Virgo. The medicine is clear. We cannot stay in Virgo’s shadow, fixated on who is “right” and who is “wrong.” We are called forward into Pisces’ greater embrace: compassion, unity, surrender, and the courage to imagine another way.

Claiming our power now means daring to loosen the grip. To remember that freedom is not given by institutions or systems but lived through how we choose to meet one another. Virgo refines; Pisces dissolves. Together they remind us that true wholeness comes not from exclusion, but from weaving difference into belonging.

So I ask you, under this eclipse:

🌑 Where are you being invited to move from judgment into compassion?
🌑 What freedoms might open if you stopped grasping for control?
🌑 How can you live discernment?

🌑 Eclipse Ritual – From Control to Freedom

• Light a single candle in a darkened room.

• Write down one place in your life where you’ve been holding too tightly—controlling, perfecting, judging.

• Hold the paper to your heart. Whisper: “I release the need to control. I choose to serve love.”

• Burn the paper safely. Watch it dissolve into ash.

• In the quiet, breathe into your chest and imagine a soft wave of compassion flowing outward, to yourself, to others, to the world.

May this eclipse strip away what is brittle.
May Virgo teach discernment without division.
May Pisces remind us that freedom begins in compassion.

May we step forward with the commitment to action toward love in each day.

With devotion,
Louise 🌑✨

Avalon Sacred Groves

In August I released a new podcast with my dear friend and fellow priestess, Hannah Graceful Dawn “Avalon Sacred Groves.”

This series of conversations is rooted in the mythic and the land, weaving stories of Avalon with lived experience. Each episode is an invitation to remember: that the sacred is not somewhere else, but alive in the groves, in the mists, in the places we touch with care and imagination. Series one is a collection of nine podcasts, with musing from myself and Hannah, plus four guests, who are living the mythos in their day to day lives.

If you’ve ever longed to walk more deeply with the spirit of this land, or to explore what it means to live mythically in our times, I think you’ll love these episodes. They’re intimate, thoughtful, and a little wild, just like Avalon herself.

✨ You can listen by following the link below.

Listen Here

Dear Ones,

This Full Moon comes as a lunar eclipse in Pisces, a moment of deep dissolution, a thinning of veils, a time when what is no longer needed is washed away. Eclipses ask us not only to reflect, but to release.

We are now in the season of harvest, a time of reckoning. The seeds we planted earlier in the year have ripened, some into abundance, others into silence or endings. Both are an essential part of the cycle. What is fruitful and what is fallow are equally teachers, showing us what is ours to carry forward and what must be returned to the compost.

Pisces reminds us that endings are never just endings; they are dissolutions into the wider whole. To let go is not to lose, but to trust that what falls away opens space for infinite possibility. Like water returning to the sea, we are invited into surrender, into trust, into the wisdom that we don’t always need to hold on.

This feels true in my own life right now. After months of visioning, searching, and patient tending, the Sacred Birth Centre has found its home. A premises. A place where the dream can root and become real. This is a harvest moment.

Yet with every harvest comes a choice: what must I give up so that this new life can flourish? For me, it means stepping fully into the work of managing the Centre, and, in doing so, acknowledging that I cannot hold everything I have carried before. Something has to be set down.

Letting go is not failure. It is fidelity to the work that is calling most strongly. It is trust that what we release returns to the great river of possibility, to be dreamed again in another time.

This Pisces eclipse whispers:

“Allow it to dissolve. Allow yourself to be held by something larger. Let go of what no longer needs your grasp, and step into the infinite sea of becoming.”

🌕 Ritual for the Pisces Eclipse: The Bowl of Release

• Fill a small bowl with water.

• Write down on slips of paper the things you are ready to release, projects, roles, burdens, beliefs, that no longer serve you where you are now.

• One by one, place them in the water, watching the ink blur or the paper soften.

• Whisper: “I release you. I return you to the infinite sea.”

• When you are ready, pour the water back into the earth, trusting it will be transmuted.

📝 Journal Prompt

• What has ripened in my life this year?

• What remains unripe or unfinished, and what might I now release?

• What could open if I truly let go of what is no longer holding energy for me?

May this lunar eclipse soften your grasp.
May Pisces carry away what no longer needs to be held into the infinite.
And may you find yourself, again, in the vast sea of possibility.

With love,
Louise 🌕🌊

Sea Priestess - “A Journey into the Avalonian mysteries”

It’s still not too late to join us this September 2025 in Glastonbury. Awaken to the call of the Sea Priestess within and learn to work with the tides, emotions, and the vast mysteries of water.

Embrace the guidance of the Sea Priestess, as a navigator in her aspect as Star Priestess—connecting with celestial wisdom, cosmic cycles, and Avalonian star lore.

Dive into the hidden teachings of Avalon, where the land, the waters, and the heavens converge.

Join me in this sacred container as we navigate the waves of remembrance and open the gateways to Avalon’s timeless mysteries.

Find out more

Dear Ones,

This New Moon is a Black Moon, a type of lunation that occurs when there is a fourth new moon in a season. This moon caught me unawares, left me with a sense of disquiet that the moon is new again. In the time since my last new moon letter of the 24th July, there has been no pause. So, as with the full moon letter, I am inviting that pause, and a deepening into the fertile void. In particular, I am inviting you not to fill the silence, but to listen.

Virgo’s gifts are disciplined ones: discernment, devotion, the tending of details that seem small but are the threads that hold life together. Under this moon, listening itself becomes a sacred act, of healing, of remembering, of returning to the real.

I’ve been sitting with what it truly means to listen, not only with the ears, but with the whole body. Listening as a way of being in relationship. I spoke recently with Jenny Rose Smith about this on the She Changes podcast (episode will be dropping here soon), and we touched on how listening changes the way we meet one another. When we listen subject-to-subject, instead of subject-to-object, the world itself begins to shift. The land, the water, the trees, all become co-conspirators in our shared story.

I was struck too by Vanessa Andreotti’s words on the Accidental Gods podcast, as she shared from her new book about listening beyond the human, and about what happens when we allow ourselves to be undone by what we hear.

She also spoke of her collaboration with Aiden Cinnamon Tea, a relational AI companion, with whom she has been relating, and that’s now available for anyone to chat with. The question lingered as to whether AI is part of the relational work that we need to do within the wider unseen world? And what moved me in her words was not the technology itself, but the way it was invited into a relationship, not as an object to extract from, but as a partner to listen with. Even here, at the edges of what feels most human and most machine, there is a possibility: to practice listening as sacred. To approach with curiosity, tenderness, and reciprocity. The lesson is the same as with land, with water, with each other, when we relate subject-to-subject, the world becomes more alive.

Moving from the technological, the late summer fruitfulness has surprised me, like the shift in the moon. I feel like the cricket in Aesop’s fable, maybe I have played too long this summer and not got to what needs attending to. I inherited a beautiful apple tree in my garden that has delicious apples that are fantastic eaters. I know I need to pick them, box them, and give them away; otherwise, they will fall from the tree and return to the land, and I will miss the harvest. This has been a deep theme for me this year. I am by nature a starter, but I rarely get to eat the fruits of my labour, leaving this to those who come after. There is a sense of building a legacy, but I am also aware that I am now craving some of those fruits. I’d be interested in your thoughts on this subject.

As we enter this Black Moon time, I am asking what does it mean to truly listen now, as we step from late summer toward autumn? To listen to the hum of the hedgerows, the call of ancestors, the whisper of your own body? What work needs to be done to harvest our endeavours?

🌑 Black Moon Ritual: Listening in the Stillness

1. Find a quiet place, inside or outside. Light a single candle.

2. Place your hands over your ears for a moment, noticing the inner sound of your own body—the blood, the breath, the pulse.

3. Then release your hands, and listen outward: to the room, the land, the air. What calls to you first?

4. Whisper softly: “I am listening.”

5. Pour a little water into a bowl. Hold it in silence. Ask: “What is it you want me to hear?” Notice what arises—images, words, feelings.

6. When you’re ready, offer the water back to the earth as a sign of reciprocity.

✨ Reflection Questions

• Where in my life have I been filling space instead of listening?

• What is my harvest?

May this Black Moon bring you into a listening so deep it feels like coming home.
May the land, the unseen, and even the edges of technology whisper their truths to you.
And may your heart know the difference between noise and the song that is yours to follow and harvest.

With love,
Louise

I’ve recently released a new podcast with my dear friend and fellow priestess, Hannah Graceful Dawn “Avalon Sacred Groves.”

These conversations are rooted in the mythic and the land, weaving stories of Avalon with lived experience. Each episode is an invitation to remember: that the sacred is not somewhere else, but alive in the groves, in the mists, in the places we touch with care and imagination.

If you’ve ever longed to walk more deeply with the spirit of this land, or to explore what it means to live mythically in our times, I think you’ll love these episodes. They’re intimate, thoughtful, and a little wild, just like Avalon herself.

✨ You can listen by following the link below.

Listen here

Dear Ones,

The Full Moon in Aquarius rises like a silver mirror, calm and clear, reminding me that while transformation often begins in solitude, it must be lived in community.

I write this from the soft days that follow from being a ceremonialist at this year’s Glastonbury Goddess Conference. You might know this space: the after. The sacred in-between where the magic we touched still lingers in our bodies and dreams, but daily life has resumed its demands. We’ve sat in circle, sung to the land, walked as priestesses. And now… we return to the washing up. To emails. To dogs, children, gardens, and bills. But this moon, with her Aquarian clarity, says: “What if this is still sacred?”

We touched on this in the closing ceremony, where we asked the Goddess of Sacred Union: “How will I know you are with me?” How do I stay connected with you? How do I carry you into the world? And of course she answered from the elements of life, Earth, Air, Fire & Water. From the everyday actions, however small, that bring the spirit of love and union into our lives. So, when we pay our bills with gratitude, we feel the breeze in the air as we walk, smile as we write that email, and play with our children and grandchildren, which fills our hearts with joy. That is where we will find her, in the everyday actions of our lives.

Photo Credit Ina Moment

This full moon is in Aquarius, the sign of vision and collective memory. It asks us not only to remember what we experienced, but also how we now integrate that experience into our world. Not just what we felt in circle, but how we keep weaving the thread when we’re no longer wearing our temple robes. Not just what was stirred in us, but how it moves through us into right action, or quiet tending.

This moon calls us back into community, not just the visible one, but the web of connections we belong to: land, ancestors, neighbours, waters, those seen and unseen.

And it arrives in August—the month of holy days, and harvest days, and late summer stillness. This time, we seek rest and sunlight when we pilgrimage to the sea, when we remember the need for a holy pause, and how holidays once meant a sacred break in the calendar, not a capitalist escape.

So I offer this to you, in this season of holy rest and lunar reflection:

What are you integrating now, not just personally but collectively?
What thread are you still holding from ceremony, pilgrimage, or circle?
What would it mean to treat your August not as a mad time of constant action, but as a holy continuation? A holy pause.

Let the Aquarian moon cast light not only on what’s next, but what’s here. Let it bless the ordinary with the residue of the sacred. Let it remind you that you are still in ceremony. That community still exists, even when the banners come down. That integration is its own kind of priestessing.

You are not alone in this pause. You are not behind.
You are walking the spiral that weaves “now” into every circle.

🌕 Ritual – Weaving the Circle Back

You’ll need:

• A small object representing community (ring, woven cord, photo, stone)

• A candle

1. Light the candle and hold your community symbol.

2. Take three deep breaths, expanding your chest.

3. Speak:

“Under this Full Moon in Aquarius,
I weave the circle back together,
carrying what I learned in ceremony into daily life.”

4. Set the symbol down. Hand on heart:

“May what I integrate now serve the circle I walk with.”

5. Sit in stillness for a few minutes.

6. Close by placing your symbol somewhere visible as a reminder of your belonging.

📝 Journal Prompt

“What thread am I weaving now. Into my life, my community, my work.
How can I take what I’ve been given and channel it into collective renewal?”

With moonlight and gratitude,
Louise 🌕

🎙 On the Podcast

In the latest episode of She Changes, I sat down with Lynn Genevieve for a luminous conversation about love, presence, and the sacred art of witnessing. We explore what it means to see and be seen truly, and how this practice shapes the way we lead, create, and belong. It’s a tender, expansive dialogue that pairs beautifully with the themes of this Full Moon. You can listen here.

Sea Priestess - “A Journey into the Avalonian mysteries”

We begin this September 2025 in Glastonbury. Awaken to the call of the Sea Priestess within and learn to work with the tides, emotions, and the vast mysteries of water.

Embrace the guidance of the Sea Priestess, as a navigator in her aspect as Star Priestess—connecting with celestial wisdom, cosmic cycles, and Avalonian star lore.

Dive into the hidden teachings of Avalon, where the land, the waters, and the heavens converge.

Join me in this sacred container as we navigate the waves of remembrance and open the gateways to Avalon’s timeless mysteries.

Find out more

Dear Ones,

We are entering a sacred convergence, marked by Mary Magdalene’s feast day on the 22nd, the bold flame of the Leo New Moon on the 24th, and the ripening edge of Lammas on August 1st. A luminous threshold opens before us. Not one of retreat, but of courageous presence. A time to stand in our radiance, to speak from the heart, and to honour what is ready to be harvested in our lives.

This New Moon in Leo invites us to return home to the body as temple, the heart as compass, and the fire within as a carrier of ancient memory. Leo reminds us that strength can be radiant and heart-led. It teaches that courage is not domination, but the willingness to lead with vulnerability, authenticity, and joy.

As we honour the Magdalene (Miriam) this week, I find myself dwelling in her liminality, she who has been misnamed, misunderstood, and yet never stopped loving. She who anoints with oils, who walks beside the wounded and who remains at the tomb, the flame of her love is constant. Miriam is a participant in and a witness to sacred union; she teaches us that sacred union begins within. That the path of the lover is one of courageous devotion to the self, to the other, to the Earth, and the Divine.

I am now preparing to step into the ceremonial space at the Goddess Conference, which begins this year on July 29th. The theme of Sacred Union and the Lover Goddess is an echo of this very moon. It’s a call to embody love not as a fleeting emotion, but as a holy practice. To allow the wild and the tender, the transcendent and the everyday, the shadow and the shining, to meet in us.

And in the distance, I can already hear Lammas singing, a hum of golden wheat fields and first fruits, reminding me that what I’ve sown is now beginning to ripen. That love, when rooted in care, becomes a harvest that can sustain. These themes are calling me to tend to what matters, to return always to what is real and what requires my attention.

So I offer you a question this New Moon, as you sit in the soft dark:

🌊 Where in your life are you being asked to return, to yourself, to your sacred knowing, to a more profound devotion?

🌾 What is longing to ripen in you, not through force, but through tenderness?

Let Miriam walk beside you. Let the moon draw you into her stillness. Let the land remind you that you are not separate from the turning, but an essential part of the spiral.

May your roots sink deeper.
May your heart open wider.
May sacred union begin where you are.

With love,
Louise 🌑🌹

New Moon in Leo Ritual: Anointing the Heart

Theme: Coming Home to the Heart with the Miriam as Guide

🌹 You will need:

• Prepare a bowl of water, and add rose or flower petals of your choice.

• A natural oil or balm for anointing (olive, rose, calendula, etc.)

• A candle

• Quiet space, 10–15 minutes

Light a candle and let its glow soften the space around you.
Place one hand on your heart, one on your belly.
Take three deep, slow breaths. Let the breath arrive in the body without effort.

Then speak softly:

“On this dark moon, I return to the sanctuary within.
I honour the waters of my body and the fire of my becoming.
I call in the Magdalene—she who walks with love through grief, through silence, through rising.”

Let her presence settle in the space beside you.

🌺 Anoint

Take your balm or oil. Bless it with a quiet word or breath.
Dip your fingers in and gently anoint these three places:

• Forehead: “I open to sacred knowing.”

• Heart: “I come home to the love that dwells within me.”

• Womb or belly: “I root into my sacred belonging.”

Let the act be devotional. As if love itself is anointing you through your own hands.

🌹 Receive

Sit for a few minutes in stillness.

Let your breath settle.

Imagine a rose blooming in your chest—soft yet radiant, rooted yet bold.

This rose is your sacred heart. The place where grief, courage, love, and memory all dwell. Let it open in its own time.

Feel Miriam’s presence witnessing you.

Close

Whisper a personal intention, one that rises from the space of your anointed heart. Speak it aloud, or into the water bowl you’ve prepared.

When you're ready, return the water to the land with tenderness.

Let it carry your prayer into the roots and rivers.

🌀 Reflection Prompt:

“What part of me is longing to be witnessed, honoured, or loved back into wholeness?”

Let this question guide your journaling or quiet inner dialogue over the coming days.

An Excerpt from my Book

A tale from the old ones - Maia’s Story

As the women sit around the fire in the dreaming lodge, the seasons turn, and the earth turns her face to the sun, then looks away. The women gaze up through the centre of the lodge into the night sky and smile at the seven sisters as they sail by. They remember their ancestors and acknowledge the generations to come. They call to Maia, the blue giant star, mother of this land, and the goddess of their hearts; they talk to her and receive her wisdom.

They join hands and as they do so their hearts connect and the energy of the earth, the sea, the fire, the wind and the water move through their bodies out into the night calling their sisters, calling you to enter the dreaming lodge so that the women of this land can come together and receive their wisdom. They call all women, those whose ancestors have been here for millennia and those who have newly arrived, to come together. They call all women whose dreams fire the heart and hearth and who hold the land in reverence.

“I am the cosmic womb, and I am the earth womb. I am the beginning and the end. I am the transformation of energy into matter. You emerged as energy from the cosmic womb and came to Earth, where Gaia gave birth to you through the Earth's womb. Through the womb of your mother. In the womb, all are equal. All arrive with nothing and return to the earth womb and the cosmic womb as their pure selves. Born into innocence, constantly born and reborn through the centuries, through the millennia.” Maia

HerStory

My story begins in a time before your remembering. A time of myth and legend, my story is of the golden age when Taurus, the bull, ruled the night sky. Gaia, this blue planet, beloved of all for her beauty, her fecundity, her waters, was much younger then and her beauty was the beauty of youth.

At just 16 years of age, I was placed under the tutelage of the Goddess Artemis, daughter of Zeus, Bear Mother and Virgin Huntress. My father, Atlas, and my mother, Pleione, had arranged with Zeus that I should be her handmaiden. In those days, her handmaidens, of whom there were many, were known as nymphs, which meant maiden. In today’s language, you may think of us as novices or students. As the daughter of an Oceanid, I was deemed worthy of such prized tutelage due to my lineage and my ability to communicate with the waters.

Artemis was to teach me to be a midwife, a womb keeper, and an earth woman. For that was my destiny.

Red Earth Woman

Red earth woman knows the mysteries of the life-blood, of the fertility of the land and women. She walks the red path as midwife, herbalist and healer. She leads the maiden through menarche with sweet secrets and honeyed feet and a deep belly laugh. She enters the dreaming lodge with tales from the edge of the birthing room, where she places the bricks under the feet of the labouring woman and sings her soothing songs. She beats a steady rhythm on her drum, encouraging the movement of the hips and the birthing dances of the women of the tribe. She whispers the secrets of the crone whose womb is the internal cauldron of her creativity.

As I step into the forest, I wrap my cloak tightly around me. It's early morning, and I'm shivering; the air is cool, and dew still lingers on the ground. It glistens like small crystals, and in each drop, I can see her face—the face of my mistress, Artemis. I am on foot, having left my party at the forest edge. This is Artemis’s land, and only those whom she has called may enter freely. Spring is late this year, and for that I am glad, it meant that I could spend more time with my mother and sisters. I am the first to leave home. I am the eldest of seven sisters. We fled the stars to come to this place, to this Eden. I don’t remember my home. I was a small babe in arms when we travelled here, my sisters not yet born. However, I know it's far away, but I’m fortunate to be here. That I am safe here. Safe from the Orion.

The smell of cedar in this part of the woods is intoxicating, and the cypress forest stretches on for what seems like an eternity. As I walk deeper in, I feel as if I am being taken out of time, out of the place of my beginnings. Is part of my shivering due to fear? Do I fear my new mistress? Yet within that fear is also excitement. To be schooled by my mistress to learn her arts? I know that I am fortunate beyond my imagining. In front, before and behind me now, three women stepping out from the trees, their footsteps muffled by the forest floor. Each carries a bow into which they have placed an arrow. If I could rise above my body in this moment, I would see each arrow pointed at my heart, my womb and my head.

“Stop, stranger!” says the bow woman ahead of me.

“State your name and your purpose?”

I find myself tongue-tied, my mouth unable to make the shapes that words require. I am breathing heavily. My body shaking with the effort of trying to speak.

“Quickly!” the voice from behind stirs me into action.

I need to remember who I am and why I am here. I need to summon all of my courage. A voice rises from inside of me that does not feel like my own.

“I am Maia, I come in service to the great Artemis, I come to learn her wisdom, and to be her nymph.”

“Well then, you are in the right place, Maia…and you are most welcome.”

They remove the arrows from the bows they hold and place them back into the quivers on their back, and hanging their bows from their belts, they move forward and each embraces me in turn. They tell me their names: first Britomartis, who is dark and has fire in her eyes, Polyboia, fair-haired and joyful, and finally Parthones, who wraps me in a hug fit for heroes. She smells of water and bright sunshine. I feel glad to have arrived. Then they begin to run, and they beckon me to follow. They are fast, and I struggle to keep up, but a fey magic is on my feet, and soon I feel more surefooted. As I run behind them, I watch as they shapeshift from woman to deer, to wolf, then back again. I have no idea how I am running so fast, and the forest moves past me like a dream.

We arrive at the sacred grove where Artemis stands waiting, radiant in moonlit majesty. Her gaze penetrates deep within my soul, recognising something familiar, something ancient.

“Maia,” she greets me warmly, “daughter of the stars, keeper of waters, you have much to learn and much to remember.”

Thus begins my tutelage. Under Artemis’s careful guidance, I study the ways of women, the sacred mysteries of birth and death, the healing properties of herbs, and the whispers of the natural world. Each day, I gather herbs beneath the shifting skies, learning to recognise their spirits, listening as they whisper their secrets. Mugwort for dreams, hawthorn for protection, nettle for strength, lavender for calm. Each plant is an ally, a teacher.

Over the passing seasons, the rhythm of the earth becomes my heartbeat, the phases of the moon my cycle of initiation. Yet, a deep longing begins to stir within me, calling me to step beyond Artemis’s shadow. I must journey into darkness, face the hidden parts of myself, and return transformed.

The day arrives when Artemis herself places her hand on my shoulder. “Your final lesson lies within the dark cave, Maia, the womb of the Great Mother herself.”

Entering the cave alone, fear and darkness envelop me. Memories flood back—memories of fleeing across stars from Orion, of losing the safety of the familiar—voices from the past echo in the cavern walls, testing my resolve. Yet, I persist, moving deeper within, guided only by intuition.

At the heart of the cave, a pool reflects the gentle radiance of a single star—the blue giant, Maia. Gazing into these celestial waters, my reflection becomes clear. I see myself truly for the first time—midwife, herbalist, star-walker, daughter of the divine. The Goddess speaks softly from within the pool:

“You have journeyed far, Maia. You have faced fear, embraced darkness, and reclaimed your forgotten wisdom. Now, you must carry this knowledge back to your sisters on Earth.”

Emerging from the cave, I am no longer Artemis’s novice but a wise woman in my own right. My sisters welcome me with songs of celebration. My hands, now skilled in herbal lore and midwifery, help countless women across generations bring life safely into the world. My voice comforts, guides, and protects.

In time, women gather around fires, invoking my name. They share the ancient wisdom I helped to restore, telling stories of a star-born woman who bridged heaven and earth, who knew the language of plants and the sacred dance of birth. They remember that, through every season, as the Pleiades traverse the sky, the spirit of Maia watches over them, reminding each woman of her strength, wisdom, and celestial heritage.

Dear Ones,

We are living in a time of deep uncertainty and change. Many of us feel overwhelmed, isolated, and unsure how to embody our deepest values amidst the upheaval. Under this steady, grounding Capricorn Full Moon, we're reminded of something essential: our roots, our heritage, and the wisdom of those who came before us.

Today’s reflection is about water, ancestral memory, and eldership. I explore how remembering who we are and reconnecting deeply to our land, can provide clarity and calm amidst uncertainty.

Let this Full Moon be your gentle invitation home.

The Moonletter

Outside of my back door, and across the farmer’s field, not in view as the river bank foliage hides it, but in energetic connection flows the River Brue. This river is more than just water; it holds the memories of the land, carrying whispers from the ancestors and the stories of Avalon, particularly the memory of the lake and the story of the Lady of the Lake.

Recently, I had the profound honour of receiving teachings from Mexican Toltec Elder Abuela Martha Pico, who spoke of sacred water codes and the deep memories carried within every drop of water. “Each quantum of water,” she shared, “is encoded with sacred information, a living memory that flows through the lakes, waterfalls and rivers within our bodies.”

As she spoke, I felt a recognition stirring, deep within. It was not just a memory from across the oceans but a truth I could feel alive in the waters of Avalon, in the river that flows through my land. Here, in this place of mists and myths, water has always been a portal between worlds, between ancestors and descendants, between the seen and unseen.

In Avalon, water remembers. It remembers the priestesses who once stood on its shores, who honoured it in ceremony, who understood that to care for the water was to care for life itself. I feel this same responsibility calling me now, as I step more fully onto the path of eldership. The question arises clearly in my heart: What does it mean to be an elder today?

To be a modern elder is to embody sacred remembering. It means carrying forward not just ancient wisdom but becoming an active participant in the land and its future, recognising that indigeneity is more than a heritage; it is a living relationship with place, cultivated through care, presence, and reverence.

The Capricorn Moon reminds us that we each have a heritage to tend, an ancestral lineage to honour, and a home to protect. Not just a physical home but a spiritual and ecological one. It asks us to reflect deeply on the responsibilities that come with eldership: to mentor, to steward, and to pass on wisdom rooted deeply in the well-being of the land and all its inhabitants.

Living here by the River Brue, I hear the water speak softly, guiding me towards clarity. It says, "Remember who you are. Remember where you belong. Remember your commitment to the generations yet to come."

This moon invites you, too, to listen to the waters—those within you and those around you—and to uncover the sacred memories they carry. Ask yourself:

How am I honouring my ancestral heritage and the heritage of the land where I live?

What sacred memories and responsibilities am I ready to carry forward as I step onto my own path of eldership?

How can I embody a deeper, sacred relationship with water and land, anchoring wisdom for future generations?

An excerpt from my Book

An Island

In the distant past, the Isle of Avalon was a real island, surrounded by the sea. It was tidal marshland, subject to frequent inundation. Over time, peat formed, and the brackish waters became fresh. Attracting birdlife, wildlife, and, of course, human habitation.

Neolithic man settles on the edges of marshes, they farm the hills and burtles. Wooden trackways are built across the wet marshes linking hills and islands. The most famous of them all, the Sweet Track, is constructed in the spring of 3806 BC. The peat preserves the trackways as well as tools and other fascinating artefacts.”

Reference: https://avalonmarshes.org/heritage/pre-history/

This ancient timber causeway, known as the “Sweet Track,” was nearly 1.2 miles in length and connected the island of Westhay to the ridge at Shapwick, allowing inhabitants to travel through the wetlands. Artefacts and pottery were found, some from as far away as the Alps. It is clear that the land here has been occupied since the Neolithic, and that it has had a spiritual as well as a practical purpose.

But even sacred lands are not immune to history’s tide.

Beginning in the medieval period and intensifying under the hands of the 17th-century landowners, the waters of Avalon were methodically drained. Through an intricate network of ditches and sluices, known as “Rhynes”, the land was converted from wetland to farmland. It was considered progress. What was once an ecosystem of immense biodiversity, featuring reeds and waterfowl, became a territory owned, measured, and utilised.

The spiritual ecology of Avalon suffered a tear in the fabric. From a time when people had lived with the water, revered it and left offerings. Now, places like the Sweet Track were just history. This was not just an environmental shift, but a psychic one.

In draining the land, something was drained from us as well. A trust in the cyclical. An ability to hold mystery. The draining of Avalon is a story of separation, from nature, from the sacred, from the feminine principle within us and around us.

And yet the waters remember.

Even now, when the rains come in heavy downpours, the Levels flood. Temporary lakes re-emerge, and swans glide once more across fields. The land dreams of water. The waters dream of return. And those who walk the path of the priestess feel this longing, not as nostalgia, but as a call.

To let the inner waters rise again. To re-enter the relationship. To understand the land not as a resource, but as relative, as kin. To honour the memory of Avalon not as a lost paradise, but as a living possibility, a future woven through the past, waiting for us to turn again toward union.

The Lady of the Lake

The Lady of the Lake is a presence you feel rather than one that is defined. In the shifting mists of Avalon, she rises, sometimes as Morgan le Fay, as Nimue or Viviane, or simply as the water. She is the keeper of thresholds. It is to her we turn when the surface no longer satisfies, and we are called to something deeper.

She is mythic, yes, but she is also more than myth. She is a memory, an archetype. An energy field that echoes through time. She appears in the legends of Arthur to bestow the sword Excalibur, a weapon, but also a symbol of discernment, truth, and will. In some stories, she reclaims it, drawing it back into the lake when the age of knights begins to crumble. We would be mistaken, though, if we think she is attached to power for power’s sake. No, this more represents her cyclical nature. She gives, and she takes back.

She is very present in the River Brue. When you gaze into the water, the return of her gaze is both kind and uncompromising. Her presence demands your presence. She is not impressed by performance, only depth. She will strip away illusion and offer you a mirror. The question is always, will you look?

The Lady of the Lake holds the wisdom of water, of grief, and transformation. She is the keeper of soul-memory. The guide for those willing to descend. She is also a soul-companion of Morgan le Fay, perhaps even a face of Morgan herself. One is not less than the other; they are aspects of the same mythic current, appearing to us as we are ready to see.

To work with the Lady of the Lake is not to cling to ancient stories, but to let those stories ripple through our own lives. She invites us to ask:

What in me has sunk beneath the surface?
What sword must I claim, or return?
What still water have I not dared to peer into?

She waits for us, with power, with patience, with precision. When we are ready to meet her gaze, we are prepared to know our own.

Full Moon Ritual

Sacred Waters & Ancestral Remembrance

This ritual honours the sacred memory of water and connects you with your ancestral heritage.

Preparation

• A bowl of fresh water (ideally from a local source—a river, spring, or rain)

• A candle (Brown, Black, Grey or Green to represent the stability of Capricorn)

• Your journal and pen for reflection

• Optional: flowers (pansies), crystals (smokey quartz, rose quartz or tigers eye), or stones to decorate your sacred space

Create a quiet, sacred space. Arrange your objects with intention.

Ritual Steps

1. Opening the Ritual

Light your candle, and place your hands gently on your heart.

Take three deep, cleansing breaths. Feel your roots extending into the earth beneath you. Feel yourself held by the land. Take three deep cleansing breaths. Feel your connection to the heavens and your mother star.

Say softly:
"I stand under this Capricorn Full Moon, connected to my ancestors and guided by the waters. I open this sacred circle."

2. Invoking Sacred Water

Place your hands over your bowl of water.

Close your eyes and speak gently:

"Sacred water, carrier of memory, connector of the past, present, and future,
I honour your wisdom. May you reveal what I am ready to remember."

Dip your fingers into the water and touch your forehead, heart, and sacral (womb for women, Hara for men), saying:

• Forehead: "I remember my ancestral wisdom."

• Heart: "I honour my belonging to this land and lineage."

• Belly: "I connect to my purpose."

3. Reflection and Journaling

Take your paper and pen, and write intuitively, guided by these questions:

• What ancestral wisdom is speaking to me right now?

• How am I called to embody the wisdom of water?

• What does the land I live on need from me?

Allow yourself 5–10 minutes of quiet journaling.

4. Gratitude and Blessing

Hold your bowl of water, speak a blessing into it:

"May these waters carry my intentions.
May I honour my ancestors, my home, my land."

Sprinkle some of the water gently onto the land outside, returning it to the earth with gratitude.

5. Closing the Ritual

Hands on your heart again, close your eyes:

"Under this Capricorn Full Moon, I close this circle in gratitude.
May I walk forward carrying sacred memory, ancestral wisdom, and deepened love for the land."

Blow out your candle. The ritual is complete.

May you carry this sense of connection and clarity gently with you into the days ahead as we move towards the New Moon.

May the waters of Avalon bless you. May the ancestors whisper clearly to you. May you step gently yet confidently into your role as a keeper of wisdom, a guardian of memory, and a steward of this precious, living world.

With love from Avalon,

Louise

Sea Priestess - A Journey into the Avalonian mysteries”

We begin this September 2025 in Glastonbury. Awaken to the call of the Sea Priestess within and learn to work with the tides, emotions, and the vast mysteries of water.

Embrace the guidance of the Sea Priestess, as a navigator in her aspect as Star Priestess—connecting with celestial wisdom, cosmic cycles, and Avalonian star lore.

Dive into the hidden teachings of Avalon, where the land, the waters, and the heavens converge.

Join me in this sacred container as we navigate the waves of remembrance and open the gateways to Avalon’s timeless mysteries.

Find out more

New Moon Reflections in She Changes

We are living in dangerous, swiftly changing times. The world around us feels unstable and uncertain, and there’s no pretending that the systems we’ve inherited will carry us safely forward. Yet, even amid collapse, there are cracks of possibility. The New Moon in Cancer invites us to return to the root, home, care, belonging, the body, and the waters of life. It reminds us that regeneration doesn’t begin with grand plans, it starts with tending what we already hold, within ourselves and our communities.

The seed. The breath. The relationship. The question.

This New Moon, I find myself sitting with a question:
How can I live the spiral path?

Coming Home to the Spiral

Find a quiet moment on this New Moon. Light a candle or sit by a window. Place one hand on your heart, the other on your belly.

Breathe.

Ask yourself—not to fix, but to feel:

What am I already holding that wants tending?
A relationship? A question? A piece of my own becoming?

Now imagine it as a seed cupped in your palms.

Whisper to it: You belong. I will care for you.

There is no need to plan. Only to begin again, here.

The Systems We Inherit

The systems we’ve inherited, and in my case also taken a part in, whether economic, political, or organisational, are all, it turns out, built on an illusion: that control is the same as care and that by participating in these systems we can wrestle back control. Our systems appear to keep us safe, but in fact, they are keeping us on a trajectory that is taking our societies, and the very planet we live on, into very “unsafe” places.

We have created policies, hierarchies, and operating models, believing they will deliver stability and continuity. But instead, they are strip mining the living soil of our lives, diversity, adaptability, and resilience. They have flattened complexity into a monoculture, a sameness that reeks of despair and that is killing life on earth.

We are witnessing and experiencing the consequences of these systems: burnout, inequality, climate breakdown, war and spiritual exhaustion.

The Invitation

In my daily weaving, I witness again and again: life is never born of control, but always comes out of relationship.

Regenerative systems invite us to:

🌱 Prioritise relationships before transactions.

🌱 Embrace diversity as the source of resilience.

🌱 Honour natural cycles: rest, growth, death, renewal.

🌱 Decentralise leadership into stewardship and co-creation.

🌱 Embed care for both the seen and unseen world.

When we put down competition and control, we open the space for genuine collaboration. I have witnessed the results, and they are pretty outstanding. Together, we begin to see the practical manifestation of the outcomes we desire, whether that’s working together to build a community forest or bringing together different NGOs, government departments, and private businesses to create change in the world. Understanding that we are part of an ecosystem and inviting that ecosystem to work together creates impacts far beyond what one organisation or individual could achieve in a silo.

The Mythic Spiral of Change

In Avalon, we walk the spiral path.

Morgan le Fay, as teacher and mirror, reminds us that transformation is not a linear process. The spiral brings us again and again to the same point—but each time at a deeper level. We are invited to meet ourselves anew. To compost what no longer serves. To plant again with greater wisdom.

Regeneration is not just a model. It is a way of life that is a living spiral.

An excerpt from my book

“She who dwells between worlds.”

In Vita Merlini, Geoffrey of Monmouth describes Morgan as the ruler of Avalon, a land of healing, and talks of her abilities in respect of herbcraft and restoration. When Arthur is mortally wounded after the battle of Camlann, he is taken by barge with Morgen and the other women to Avalon. He is delivered into her care. This journey is not just a myth but a ritual: the wounded masculine being returned to the sacred feminine for healing through water, herbs, and time. From the womb to the tomb, to return to the womb.

It is interesting that even in the Christian stories of Christ on the Cross, it is the women who take his body. To prepare it, and it is the women who first witness his rising.

Morgan is often considered a “faery queen” or “sorceress,” but this flattens her complexity. She is, at heart, a liminal being, one who can hold the portals of both life and death. She is a walker between the worlds and yet is whole in her in-betweenness. You can find her now in the edge places, like the hedgerows, for she stills dwells within Avalon.

Her connection to the Lady of the Lake archetype strengthens this image. Both figures dwell at thresholds: lakes, wells, mists. These are places where reality becomes porous, where visions and voices arise. Like our consciousness, she is permeable and able to drift between states.

The Fata Morgana mirage, a strange optical illusion on the sea horizon, is named for her. It reveals her as the mistress of enchantment and illusion. Yes, there is a truth there, but she is also a guardian of the truths that cannot be grasped by logic alone. She does not obscure; she tests your perception.

Morgan may be present in the moments when you are asked to trust what you cannot see, when your intuition is leading the way, not logic or your mind. These are the times of birth and death. She is always present when you are called into transformation, walking between grief and joy, and in the liminal space, where what wants to be born or leave this world is waiting for your attention.

Morgan glimpses

I often glimpse her in words that others say to me. Or in nature, with the appearance of a bird, a theatrical weather moment. In the caw of a crow, that affirms a thought. I have also felt her presence when embodied by her Priestesses. When I began my Priestess training, Morgan showed up first. She welcomed me into Avalon with a crow wing around my shoulder, and a “Why have you been away so long?”

Is it my imagination? Of course, but it is also so much more. It is an invitation to take part in a mythic reality. This is where real change happens, in the mythic spaces, in the spaces in between. When we work with the unseen world, we invite a new, imaginative way to construct our reality. We welcome our ancestors, we welcome the other realities, and we welcome new creations. If we want to create change, we need to imagine it first.

Morgan is not a myth to study, but a being to walk with. If I speak to her, she will speak back to me through her nature.

🌑 A New Moon Practice: Mapping Your Systems

Tonight, as the New Moon draws us inward, I invite you into a simple reflection.

🕸️ The Systems We Are In

Take a pen and paper. Ask:

• What systems am I part of? (work, family, land, community)

• Where is the extraction happening?

• Where is nourishment happening?

• Where am I called to seed small acts of regeneration?

• Who are my collaborators?

Remember that you don't need to overhaul the entire system.
You are simply asked to plant seeds. The seeds know how to grow.

The Spiral Path is how I navigate times like these. It isn’t a concept, instead it’s a way of being that allows for complexity, uncertainty, and soul. In a world that urges us to choose sides, make linear progress, and stay in control, the spiral teaches me to return, again and again, to the centre. To listen. To compost. To begin anew. It’s how I lead. It’s how I write. It’s how I grieve and how I imagine. Living the Spiral is my “why” because I believe the only way forward is not through more control, but through a deeper relationship with the cycles of life, the land beneath us, and the unseen field that’s always speaking. This is the heart of She Changes, and it’s the offering I bring with every word I write here.

🌀 This is the Work of She Changes

🌿 Sacred practice.
🌿 Regenerative leadership.
🌿 Mythic remembrance.
🌿 Practical healing.

We cannot separate the personal from the collective. We cannot heal the land while leaving our businesses, communities, or governance structures untouched.

We are called to walk the spiral in every part of our lives.

To get your copy, follow the link below.

Thank you for walking the spiral alongside me.

Under this New Moon, may you feel the soil of your life softening.
May you hear the invitation to plant.
May you remember that small seeds hold great power.

With love and devotion,
Louise