That Devil Moon — “Flying Under the Radar”
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The unforeseen ways by which syncretic alignment between ideas can enter metaphysical thought are truly remarkable. Human beings are conceptual pattern-makers who are always trying to draw parallels where no obvious convergence exists, and the subtle arts are no exception. I’ve acquired many fortuitous insights for presentation in this blog while engaging in conversation with like-minded people from different esoteric disciplines.
In a recent r/tarot post, another member observed that the Moon’s influence can be understood as a gentle, soothing light that banishes anxiety rather than in its usual context of illusion and misapprehension. I was going to post a rebuttal but, because I’m partial to Aleister Crowley’s observation that “This is the waning Moon, the moon of witchcraft and abominable deeds,” I had to disqualify myself from polite discourse for being entirely too seditious. I did mention in passing that it has been described as representing the sorcerous realm of Hecate and not the domain of virtuous Diana.
A more conventional take on it is that, beneath the dusky half-light of the Moon, the nefarious activities of burglars, thieves and other shady ne’er-do-wells often take place. The underlying premise is of defective discernment, or at least a whiff of perplexity that can result in unpleasant surprises if we act on faulty information. In other words, the Moon is not an accommodating presence in a tarot reading; it is moody and fickle, its capricious whims sometimes tempting us to do things we really shouldn’t. Astrologically, it corresponds to the mystical sign of Pisces, which psychological astrologers view as occupying the sequestered “psychic basement” of the natural (that is, Aries-rising) zodiac, not an auspicious location from which to direct practical matters with any degree of precision.
At the same time, I’ve been reading about Hexagram 36 (Ming Yi; Darkening of the Light) in Benebell Wen’s I Ching, the Oracle: A Practical Guide to the Book of Changes. Her key points are worth condensing and paraphrasing because she describes a stealthy ploy to win support for one’s cause without being too blatant about it, thereby sidestepping strenuous opposition.
“Use the darkness to your advantage. Use the cloak of night and the adversary’s chaos to manifest your vision.” (It is) “a time of transitions,” but “Do not cause the change to occur too quickly. Do not force a change. Do not compel a transition. The transition time, the darkening of the light, will bring adversity. Maintain your inner light and keep it guarded. If you must, conceal it in the darkness until it is safe again. Do not draw attention to your light, but do not let that inner light extinguish. A push for change is in the air, but the time for change has not yet come.”
Apropos to nothing in particular, the number 36 brings together the Qabalistic “9” of the Moon and the “4” of Earth, as well as being “twice 18,” doubling the Moon’s value in the series of tarot trumps. I’ve always felt that the tarot and the I Ching are distant relatives (one the upstart progeny and the other its divinatory ancestor, while geomancy in its Chinese form of feng shui completes the picture). Although it isn’t mentioned in the text for Ming Yi, “darkening of the light” might be interpreted as referring to a lunar eclipse, by which the Earth occludes the Moon, blocking its customary reception of the Sun’s radiance (for which “inner light” as used here is a euphemism). Come to think of it, there is an opinion in some tarot circles that the Waite-Smith Moon is shown “in eclipse,” a convenient shorthand for correlating it with Hexagram 36 and its “masking” effect on our guileful intentions.
The concept of cultivating the inner light while maintaining a cloak of outer obscurity is a compelling one. By not showing your hand when lured by the siren-call of the Moon, you can “fly under the radar” in circumstances that might otherwise expose you to censure. As I’ve said in the past, it is a common error among diviners to symbolically confuse the tarot Moon with its astrological counterpart; the latter is often characterized as nurturing and maternal in its emotional fullness, giving rise to the assumption that the Moon is all about showing (or hiding) our vulnerable feelings. But any sentiments that emerge via the tarot Moon are likely to be unsympathetic or at most indifferent to one’s hopeful expectations. Best not to reveal what’s on your mind at this time.
The onset of twilight presages the rise of lunar vagueness. Anything that emerges from the depths under the Moon’s rays should not be trusted until we have scrutinized and validated it with our penetrating “inner light.” Although it’s a tall order, Wen notes further that “Reaching the heart of obscured understanding means to attain full and clear understanding of the matter at hand.” I would submit that this is not optional if we are to make progress in our affairs when the Moon is upon us.
Originally published at http://parsifalswheeldivination.wordpress.com on August 8, 2024.
