Posted by: Zane Maser | May 12, 2011



While we are still within the energy orb of Mother’s Day, with its potent Moon in Cancer (the sign of the matriarch), I’ve been thinking about my mom and missing her physical presence on this side of life. She died in September 2009, a week after her 83rd birthday. Already two Mother’s Days ago, how fast time has traveled! Last year’s arrival of this celebratory event was a very difficult emotional patch for my sister and me. That day we cried freely, sharing the sadness of our hearts and some of the poignant stories that made our mom who she was.

Me, Mom, and Leslie

This morning, quite by accident, I was rummaging through a closet for a gift bag and surprisingly discovered my mom’s treasured suede jacket with its once stylish fringe. When I was a slender teenager and wore her jacket, I felt myself to be a class act! The jacket, alas, came to be a symbol or personification of an anguished mother-daughter relationship that was not one of bolstering my self-esteem and confidence but of undermining it in both overt and subtle ways. Mom was a practiced agent delivering the message that I was lesser and of making me feel lesser. Mine was a tutelage in lesserness.

At least, that was how I perceived and felt it to be on the receiving end of mom. In The Soul’s Code, James Hillman makes the vital distinction that, “Our lives may be determined less by our childhood than by the way we learned to imagine our childhoods.” My interior receptors and picture of mom may not have been remotely who she was or who she valiantly struggled to be to the best of her ability at any given moment in time. Clearly, I was a far cry from being the perfect daughter! Perhaps I, too, had my own devilish ways of making her feel lesser as mom material. My own internal Stinger Woman pays me a venomous call from time to time. . . .

In our natal birth chart, the lunar realm is meant to be the signpost of our relationship with our own mother, as well as the emotional inheritance from the maternal line as each mother passes the Moon baton to the next. Moreover, the problematic (and harmonious) links the Moon makes to other planets in our chart can suggest the difficult or fulfilling aspects of this central, formative relationship.

My niece, Erin, the next generation in the matriarchal lineage

These links often describe, in part, the level of connectedness or its lack and what our experience of receiving nourishment (love) may have been. The quality of the “food” we were offered and digested generally translates to the quality of food we are able to offer not only to our self but also to others in our significant relationships. One such loving example is the actor Cuba Gooding, Jr.’s experience of the mother food dished to him: “The rock in my life, the spiritual anchor, was my mom.” The emotional, security blanket he was nurtured under was undoubtedly a soft, warm fuzzy mama—you can make your dreams come true, son. I believe in you.

Like the archetypal Great Mother, our own mother can function both as the creative power of new life, the one who, in her best guise, is gently enfolding, comforting, reassuring, and protective of her child. This is the Divine feminine who replicates love and passes on the legacy of love. Alternately, she can arise as the destroyer of that which is tender, fragile and/or undesirable, crushing the newborn’s psyche when it’s “who am I?” preceptors are the most vulnerable to incoming energetic impressions from its caretakers and the environment.

Every one is a moon, and has a dark side which he
never shows to anybody.
Mark Twain

The silvery Moon is often described as a container, with its dual functions as receptacle and reflector. According to our own perceptions and evolving expectations, learned in the classroom of Mother Earth, we decide to make our mother cup either half empty or half full. Granted, it’s often done unconsciously, but it becomes the prima materia in which we later tell our sad or happy mother story—the most important story line of our lives for women and men alike.

For much of my life, I colluded with my wounded inner child and saw my mother cup as half empty. This was my story, told and retold ad nauseam. I can’t explain it, really, but after my mom died the negative feeling residue remaining from the unresolved issues and emotional jousts between us passed away as well, not unlike a miracle. Effortlessly, I forgave and released the old story, rewriting a new one of acceptance and love for two human “works in progress” who did our best.

What I feel towards mom is a full cup of gratitude and unconditional love, that in the bigness of her soul (the Moon) she was willing to take on the role of being the mom in this life with me. It was a tall order. Our lessons together were many. For her now, in her new life in the inner world, she has hung up the coat of clothes labeled “my mom.” Though her pearlescent glow remains with me in a wonderful spectrum of ways, she is free. My mother cup is overflowing.

We see the moon increasing and decreasing,
but it is always the moon.
Thich Nhat Hanh


Related Posts:

• Sacred Ashes

• The Gift of Release

• Memory Garden

• Families in Spirit

• Pray Ceaselessly (discusses another primary facet of the Moon)

Also check out April Elliot Kent’s excellent post The Moon and Momzilla.

Text © by Zane Maser, 2011. Photos © by Chris and Zane Maser, 2011. All rights reserved worldwide.

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My editorial guru and technological wizard is Chris Maser, my delightful husband.

If you are interested in an astrological consultation and/or a specific question answered by a horary chart, please visit SunnyCat© Astrology.

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