Full moon, new moon, shad­owy Moon, wan­ing Moon, har­vest Moon, blood Moon – so many names, but behind each of them lies hid­den the same mys­ter­i­ous heav­enly body. One either loves the Moon and its phases, or does not. Change­ab­il­ity, cool­ness and mys­tery mark the Moon; it gives light by night, is some­times near enough to touch and at other times at an alien dis­tance, and may be a radi­ant disc or a sickle barely glimpsed… While the elec­tric Sun rev­els in light and, as the sym­bol of reas­on, pours forth its cre­at­ive, magic­al might, the mag­net­ic Moon bears the mys­ter­i­ous power of being­ness, shrouds itself, even in its bright­ness, in mys­tic twi­light, and calls to man with an intu­it­ive pull.

I receive your mys­tic power into myself!

The Moon gov­erns the reck­on­ing of time, and four times seven days make one lunar month, pulsing between the extremes of Full Moon and New Moon… In one sea­son – that is, three months – usu­ally only three full moons greet us, but when a sea­son holds as many as four, the third of them is called the blue moon, and the fourth, in Europe, the rose moon or flower moon, while Nat­ive Amer­ic­ans call it the straw­berry moon. The Moon stirs the seas and makes women fruit­ful, and suf­fuses the plants with the sweet sap of life.

I receive your nour­ish­ing power into myself!

Full Moon – do not see only the spots on the full moon! The Full Moon is a light in the dark sky, the mys­ter­i­ous eye of God, opened upon the world through the night… At even­ing, too, the Full Moon paints the east­ern hori­zon gold, and, sur­pris­ingly, the rising disc of the moon looks just as large as the rising disc of the sun. The light of the Full Moon fills the sky with radi­ance, and beside it the stars hide… But slowly the Full Moon begins to wane, dwind­ling day by day, until it hides almost wholly in the gloom and only a sliv­er of it palely adorns the sky. Beside the enig­mat­ic sickle the disc can barely be made out, but to the attent­ive eye it shows itself. Then this fate­ful wan­ing turns round, and the sickle of the New Moon begins, beau­ti­fully, to grow. A Moon wax­ing anew fol­lows the darkest night. The ancients held that the Moon fat­tens on the souls that reach it, and dwindles with those that return from it to the Earth.

I receive your power of love into myself!

The full moon near the autumn equi­nox, at the end of Septem­ber, is also called the gath­er­ing moon, or har­vest moon. Every­one reaps the fruits of his labour, and it is to be hoped that good people, too, may gath­er the blessed yield of their sac­ri­fice, not for their own good but above all for the good of oth­ers.

Inspirer of lov­ers, com­pan­ion of night wan­der­ers, Full Moon… If you were to meet the Moon, what would you ask of it? Put your thoughts into words – this is med­it­a­tion, this is med­it­a­tion, this is pray­er, a ver­it­able poem. The Moon itself is a poet when, though full, its pale disc barely glim­mers in the east­ern sky, or when it emerges from the clouds, or when on cold winter nights it shows its vast halo. It is a sur­real poem, though, when in the night sky it draws a rain­bow around itself in the dark! This is a true mys­tery, when light and dark meet: the black sky, the white disc of the moon and the many-col­oured arc of the rain­bow. Wherever the Moon goes, there my thought goes too, for the full moon pours out its bless­ing rays, and shines even into the court­yard of the sin­ner…