"Threshold of Balance,
The Autumn Equinox arrives as a sacred pause — the point in the year when day and night stand as equals, when the earth itself leans into balance.
This balance does not linger. It hovers like a held breath, a doorway between what is ripening and what is falling away. Here, we remember that wholeness is not found in choosing. It is found in belonging to both — to what ripens in our hands and to what slips through our fingers. To stand here is to feel the world gathered in one moment — light and dark leaning into each other, the ancient powers bowing into union, holding the earth between them like a prayer. And in that prayer, we remember ourselves: not fragments, not halves, but beings born of both shadow and light, woven whole in the turning of the year. Personal Reflection This threshold is alive in me. Part of me gathers what is sweet — the fruits of my labor, the warmth of light upon my skin, the comfort of what feels full. Another part feels the pull of release — the falling away, the descent into silence, the truth that nothing is mine to hold forever. I used to believe I had to choose. But the Equinox whispers otherwise. It asks me to open my hands, to let myself be carried by both at once — by the fullness and the fading, by sweetness and sorrow entwined. Here, I remember: it is not about halves at all. It is about the weaving — how light and shadow together thread me complete. Autumn Equinox Teaching On this day the earth herself leans into balance. Day and night stand as equals — a truth written not in metaphor, but in the sky, in the turning of the seasons, in the body of the world. This balance does not endure. It is a passage, not a possession. A doorway that opens only for a moment, then carries us onward into the darkening half of the year. The teaching of the Equinox is trust. Trust that abundance and release both belong. Trust that the descent is part of the spiral, not its end. Trust that the earth remembers her rhythm, and we are carried in it too. The Spiral Way ~ Autumn Equinox Teaching Time does not march forward in a line. It circles, bends, and deepens. The Equinox reminds us of this — we return again to balance, yet never to the same place. Each turning brings us back carrying the weight of what we have lived, the lessons gathered, the losses endured, the blessings that have shaped us. The Spiral Way teaches that descent is not an ending. It is the sacred inward turn that roots us. Every leaf that falls is a vow to return. Every silence is already cradling a song. At the Equinox we remember: we are not fragments scattered in time. We are traveler's on a spiral, returning and becoming, deeper each time we pass this threshold. Shamanic / Animistic Teaching The Equinox is not only written in the sky. It is alive in every being, every tree, every stone, every wingbeat. The trees release their leaves without resistance, teaching the sacredness of surrender. The soil opens to receive what falls, teaching that nothing is ever wasted. The winds scatter seeds into the unknown, teaching that every ending carries the whisper of beginning. To walk in an animist way is to listen to these teachers — to recognize that balance is not an idea, but a living rhythm woven through all things. The Equinox is the earth herself in ceremony. And when we pause with her, we remember our own place in the circle of belonging. Celtic / Contemporary Teaching The great Celtic festivals were Samhain (SAH-win), Imbolc (IM-bulk), Bealtaine (BYAL-tinna), and Lughnasadh (LOO-na-sah). The Equinoxes were not named among them, yet the stones show they were honored. In County Meath, Ireland, the pre-Celtic Neolithic cairn of Loughcrew (LOKH-croo) — the Hill of the Hag — was built more than 5,000 years ago. Its central cairn, Cairn T, is aligned so the rising sun enters the passage at both the Spring and Autumn Equinox, illuminating the carvings hidden within. Nearby at Knowth (NOW-th) in the Brú na Bóinne (Broo nah BOHN-yuh) complex, twin passages face east and west, catching sunrise and sunset on the same day. And further north, at Callanish (CAL-uh-nish) on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland, the great stone circle frames the rising and setting sun at the Equinox. These ancient monuments carved balance into stone, reminding us it is fleeting but sacred. Later, the Celtic imagination gave Loughcrew (LOKH-croo) — the Hill of the Hag -- to the Cailleach (KAI-lyukh), the veiled one, ancient crone of stone and storm. Brigid (BREE-jid), by contrast, is most strongly associated with Imbolc (IM-bulk), the festival of quickening and renewal in early spring. And yet, in my own experience of this day, I feel her here too. Perhaps it is the nature of thresholds to call companions who seem far apart. The bright goddess of fire and well, the veiled goddess of stone and storm — standing together at the Equinox, each carrying the other’s gifts, each holding the turning of the year. The teaching is this: balance is not meant to last. It is a sacred pause, a threshold, when opposites bow into union, and the world remembers its wholeness. Practices for the Autumn Equinox
The Equinox does not ask us to hold balance forever. It offers it for a breath — a sacred pause where earth and sky, body and spirit, light and dark lean into each other. To stand here is to remember that wholeness is not an achievement but a belonging. We belong to the spiral, to the ripening and the release, to the bright edge of fire and the deep silence of stone. Balance passes, but its memory roots in us — a truth to carry into the dark, and a promise to meet again when the light returns. With Reverence, Lorriiii Dragon Dream 
© 2025 Lorriiii Dragon Dream. Words from the Spiral Path.
Please share with care — excerpts may be quoted with credit and a link back to this site.
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When the Wind Was the First Word — and Every Word Was Prayer
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May the balance hold you.
May the still point steady you. May you feel the turning as invitation.
As the spiral continues turning, may these pathways meet you where you are:
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 “Moon of return, The Virgo New Moon — the silent sky, holding the unfinished.. This September New Moon is Virgo’s second gift to us this year. The first, in August, opened the path — a reminder that preparation itself is sacred, that even the smallest openings invite Spirit to enter. Now, a month later, the Virgo New Moon returns at the far edge of the sign. Where the first asked us to prepare, this one asks us to refine. Where the first lit the candle, this one tends the flame. Where the first whispered of beginnings, this one speaks of endurance — of what devotion looks like after the spark has dimmed, when it has been carried through shadow, longing, and the ordinary weight of days. This Virgo New Moon is not the firework but the faithful tending. She is the hand that sweeps the table, the breath that steadies the body, the choice to return again and again to what matters. When I meet this Virgo New Moon, I feel her invitation to turn back toward what I once began. She does not scold me for the things I set down; she simply places them in my hands again — the vows I whispered, the hopes I tended, the small sparks that once lit my path. In her silence I feel the ache of my own unfinished promises — the prayers I left half-spoken, the work I laid down when I grew weary. And yet, she whispers that none of it is lost. That even what I abandoned still waits for me. That the sacred does not vanish just because I faltered. There is tenderness in this return. A reminder that devotion is not measured by perfection, but by the willingness to begin again. To say yes, this still matters, even when the spark has quieted. To trust that faithfulness itself can rekindle the flame. And so I receive her invitation — not to chase the new, but to tend what has already begun, and to discover the holiness hidden in staying with it. For in this staying, I remember: return is its own kind of beginning. New Moon Teaching Every New Moon is a beginning, but this one carries a sharper edge: it is not only a place to plant, but a place to return. She reminds us that cycles do not simply move forward — they spiral. What we set down comes back to meet us, not as failure, but as invitation. The Virgo New Moon teaches us that devotion is measured not by brilliance, but by presence. Not by how quickly we manifest, but by how faithfully we tend. Refinement is not about perfecting what is broken — it is about deepening what is already alive. She calls us to patience with our own unfolding, to humility in the face of time, to the quiet courage of showing up when no one is watching. And she shows us that the sacred does not lie in beginning again and again, but in carrying through what is already in our hands. This is the mystery she presses into us now: return is not a step backward, but a deeper initiation into the vow we already made. The Spiral Way for the New Moon in Virgo The Spiral Way teaches that nothing is ever lost — only returned to us in a deeper form. This Virgo New Moon is such a return. She does not circle back to shame us, but to invite us to meet our vows again with clearer eyes, steadier hands, and a more faithful heart. On the spiral, beginnings are never just left behind. They wait, gathering strength in the dark, until the moment arrives for us to pick them up again. Virgo’s second New Moon reminds us that the spiral path is not a straight ascent but a weaving — and every return holds a chance to embody what we could not before. This is her gift: to show us that refinement is not about polishing away the roughness, but about drawing closer to the essence of what matters. It is devotion practiced in silence. Endurance practiced in shadow. Faithfulness practiced when there is no reward but the knowing that we stayed. Walking the Spiral Way through this Virgo New Moon, we are asked to take what we began, what we half-lived, what we left untended — and breathe life into it again. To recognize that the return itself is initiation. That staying with it makes it holy. Shamanic / Animistic Teaching The land teaches what the sky confirms: nothing left behind is ever truly gone. A tree drops its leaves, yet the soil drinks them in. The fire burns low, yet embers keep the memory of flame. So too with us — what we abandon waits in the unseen, alive, listening. This Virgo New Moon reminds us that return is not punishment. It is the earth’s way. To circle back is to embody what we once only dreamed. To carry it through is to join the rhythm of stone and root, of night and dawn. Celtic / Contemporary Teaching In the Celtic imagination, time is not a straight line but a weaving — seasons folding into one another, thresholds opening where endings and beginnings touch. The spiral reminds us that life deepens by circling back, not by rushing forward. This Virgo New Moon carries that truth into the present. She teaches that refinement is not about fixing what is broken, but about listening more closely to what is already alive. It is the art of shaping a life with patience, with presence, with devotion to the quiet details that hold everything together. Practices for the Virgo New Moon To walk with this Virgo New Moon is to walk with devotion in the small things. She asks us to honor the humble, the ordinary, the overlooked — for here the sacred hides. Work with her by:
To stand beneath this Virgo New Moon is to remember that the spiral always brings us back — not to what we failed, but to what is ready to be lived more deeply. She reminds us that devotion is not measured in sparks, but in the staying; not in perfection, but in presence. May this dark sky be a threshold for us all — a return that becomes its own beginning. With reverence, Lorriiii Dragon Dream Join our Sacred Circle Mailing List
© 2025 Lorriiii Dragon Dream. Words from the Spiral Path.
Please share with care — excerpts may be quoted with credit and a link back to this site.  "Moon of endings, The Waning Crescent Moon — a silver grin in the dark. She leans into shadow, almost gone, yet radiant with memory. Every fullness lives within her curve. Every surrender is etched in her light. She is the vessel of the whole cycle, reduced now to a sliver — the elder presence who has witnessed everything and still remains. She does not shine with the brilliance of youth. She gleams with the wisdom of having endured. She whispers: I have been all things, and I am still here. Do not mistake smallness for absence, nor surrender for defeat. When I look back, I see my own broken places — the stumbles, the doubts, the losses that felt like endings. For so long I thought they were failures. But under her smile I know: nothing was wasted. Every fracture became a doorway. Every shadow shaped the way I now carry light. The waning crescent teaches me that even the places I would discard are woven into the story of my wholeness. The Spiral Way of the Waning Crescent Moon In the Spiral Way, life is never linear — it circles back, deepens, and returns. What seems like repetition is not error, but initiation. The Waning Crescent Moon marks one of those turns on the spiral — a bending inward, a gathering of wisdom from all that has been lived. She asks us to take what we thought was broken, what we thought was wasted, and place it back into the spiral of becoming. In this way, endings do not erase us; they remake us. Shamanic / Animistic Teaching Shamanic practice reminds us that what dies is not erased; it becomes medicine. The dark is not a void but a womb. Compost. Soil. What falls away is not lost — it is transformed into the ground of becoming. Animistically, the waning crescent is not a symbol but a presence. She is the elder moon, curved and luminous, smiling at our striving. She knows the secret we forget: wholeness was never about perfection. It was about carrying every bright and shadowed thread in one body, one story. This is her teaching: Do not discard yourself. Do not believe the lie that brokenness disqualifies you. Even the darkest parts are feeding the spiral that carries you onward. The Waning Crescent Moon reveals that no effort, no experience, no fragment of our path is wasted. Everything belongs. The cycle is not linear but spiral — each turn gathering what came before and transforming it into the ground for what is next. This phase shows us that life itself is regenerative: even what feels broken becomes part of the whole. Working with the Waning Crescent Moon To walk with this moon is to apprentice yourself to endings. To trust that what falls away is not wasted, but transformed.
Spiral Way Practice Compost Ritual Hold something small that represents what you’ve released — a written word, a natural item, or a symbol. Whisper: “I reclaim this as part of my spiral. Nothing is wasted.” Bury it in the soil as compost for your becoming. Spiral Return Journaling Draw a spiral on a page. On each curve, name a past ending, failure, or loss. On the next inner curve, write what it taught you. At the center, write what you now carry as strength. See how the spiral of your life gathers everything back into wholeness. At the edge of disappearance, the Waning Crescent Moon reveals her truth: nothing is wasted, and every ending is already becoming beginning. May you see your broken places as sacred threads in your spiral. May you walk forward holding all of you — light, shadow, wound, and wisdom — as holy ground. With reverence, Lorriiii Dragon Dream Join Our Sacred Circle Mailing list
© 2025 Lorriiii Dragon Dream. Words from the Spiral Path.
Please share with care — excerpts may be quoted with credit and a link back to this site.  "Not all paths are straight. There are paths we walk that take us from one place to another — clear, efficient, straight. And then there are the older ways, the spiral paths that curve and double back, carrying us not away from ourselves, but ever deeper into the heart of what matters. This blog, Reflections from the Spiral Path, is born from that second way of walking. It is not a place of quick answers or tidy conclusions, but of remembering. Here, I will share stories gathered from the turning of the Celtic Wheel of the Year, from the shimmering silence of the moon, from the voices of trees and the steady rhythm of the drum. These reflections are not meant to instruct so much as to awaken the memory that already lives inside you — the part of you that has always known how to belong. For me, ceremony has been the thread that ties these memories together. Lighting a fire, singing with the drum, stepping barefoot on the earth — each act opens a doorway. Through those doors I have come to know that we are not alone, not separate, not broken. We are part of a vast, living web, held by the land, guided by the unseen, and accompanied by the ancestors who walked before us. I write from the places where earth and sky meet in rhythm — where trees, rivers, and winds continue to teach me how to belong. My path is rooted in both Celtic and animistic traditions, grounded in the body, guided by the Earth, and carried by a quiet trust in mystery. Through SpiritDrumming, I offer ceremonies, drum circles, teachings, and writings as ways for us to walk this remembering together. This blog is one more circle. Some posts will be poetic whispers — invocations and reflections. Others will be grounded stories from ceremony or teachings from the land. Some will be invitations to join me in circle; others will simply offer a moment of stillness, a way to breathe with the rhythm of the seasons. I believe that each of us is walking a spiral path — through endings and beginnings, through darkness and light, through forgetting and remembering. My hope is that these reflections serve as companions along your own journey: a spark of recognition, a thread of belonging, a reminder that you are already whole. You are warmly invited to walk this path with me. Subscribe below to receive new writings, seasonal teachings, and invitations to ceremony. May what you find here guide you back to the knowing your soul already carries. With reverence, Lorriiii Dragon Dream Join Our Sacred Circle
© 2025 Lorriiii Dragon Dream. Words from the Spiral Path.
Please share with care — excerpts may be quoted with credit and a link back to this site. |
Lorriiii Dragon Dreama ceremonialist, writer, and poet whose path is shaped by Celtic and animistic traditions. Guided by the rhythms of the Earth and the unseen, her work invites healing, belonging, and remembrance through ceremony, drum, and story.
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