I watched a massive full moon rise over the horizon. It was halfway up when I first noticed it, and I stopped what I was doing to stare in awe.
I was out with the cows, moving them from one paddock to the next. The air was cool but not freezing, and the fog was thick, slowly dampening my shirt. The dogs weren’t even brave enough to join me in that much fog, preferring their warm beds to keep their paws dry.
I was transfixed, a giant, glowing ball of light piercing the fog and rising steadily. It was a good while before my awe gave way to reason and my brain started wondering why I was seeing a full moon rising in the east in the early hours of the morning.
Fascinated, I stared at it more intently, puzzling out what I was seeing. As it rose higher, almost completing its break over the horizon, it grew bigger and brighter until it dawned on me: it was not the moon at all, but the sun.
All of this happened in a matter of seconds, yet it felt as though time had slowed as my whole attention was absorbed in the moment. The "trick" was created by the dense fog, which dimmed the sun’s light so much as it rose that, for all intents and purposes, it looked like the pale reflection of the moon. I’ve had plenty of mornings where the sunrise is hidden by cloud, but nothing quite like this, nothing that looked so completely like something else.
It reminded me of a mirage on a long, straight road on a hot day, shimmering pools of water that vanish when you get close. What fascinated me about my "moon" was how quickly my mind had taken what it saw and filled in the blanks. Pale glowing orb, low on the horizon, dimmed by fog: moon. For those few seconds, I didn't question it because I thought I knew what I was looking at.
That’s when I thought of The Moon card in Tarot. Among its many meanings, The Moon points to illusion, confusion, and those times when we can’t quite trust that things are as they appear. Not always because we are being deceived, but because we’re trying to make sense of something we can’t fully see yet. I started to wonder if there was a bigger message for me in that strange morning fog.
I’ve just returned from the Southern Realm Festival, a medieval festival a few hours’ drive away. What a wonderful time. There were authentic encampments set up in a living history village, with blacksmiths working at forges, traditional crafts, cooking, historical clothing, and so much more. Almost everyone dressed up, visitors included, most in elaborate medieval garb and some in fantasy. It was an incredible spectacle.
But here’s the but: the whole weekend was an illusion. And yes, I went all in, too. I’d made a beautiful blue velvet period dress, styled my hair medieval fashion, and set out my stall without a single piece of modern metal or plastic visible anywhere. I had an absolute ball.
And yet, that dress wasn’t the "real" me any more than the "good daughter" mask I put on for my mother, the "caring mother" mask I put on when talking about my children, or the million other masks I wear to face the world. It’s simply the side of me that feels safe to share, because heaven forbid anyone see the real me.
I noticed that a lot of the readings I did over the weekend shared a similar theme: finding yourself again by removing the masks. So, who am I really if I strip away every single layer?
Personally, I’m still discovering this. My intuition tells me that there is more after this life beyond what I can conceive right now. And while that is comforting, I’m far more interested in how I can strip away some of these masks in practical terms today. Why? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t come into this life to live out a pre-arranged script that is identical to every other woman in my situation.
Maybe authenticity isn’t about finding a single "true" version of myself hidden under all the masks. Maybe it’s about knowing which role I am playing, why I am playing it, and whether I am choosing it consciously, or if I’ve simply forgotten that I have a choice.
I keep coming back to an idea from Vedanta: I am not my body, and I am not even my mind. I don’t pretend to fully understand everything contained in those words, but one part fascinates me: if I can observe my thoughts, then I cannot simply be my thoughts. If I can notice myself slipping into the role of good daughter, caring mother, or wise woman, perhaps I am not any one of those roles either.
Maybe the first step isn’t ripping off all the masks. Maybe it is simply noticing them: Ah, I’m doing it again. And then asking myself:
"If I wasn’t trying to be who I think I should be at this moment, who or what would I choose?"
Perhaps that’s enough. A clearing of the fog, allowing just enough light in to see what is real.
☙ A Seed to Carry ❧
❧ Where in your life have you been showing up as who you think you should be, rather than choosing who you want to be?
❧ If, for just a moment, there were no expectations of you, not anyone else’s, and not even your own, what would you choose?
❧ The harder question: How do you know which parts are really you, and which are the expectations, roles, and stories you’ve carried for so long that they simply feel like you?
May this day bring you peace. May you feel the warmth of the sun on your face.
Until next time,
Leeanne
P.S. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Reply directly to this email: What expectation, role, or story have you been carrying without even realising it?
