🌕 Y'all....we have an amazing opportunity tonight!!!!! The Worm Moon rises tonight. She’s wearing red. Not to stir chaos.Not to create drama. But to illuminate what is ready to be released. This is not a night for frenzy. This is a night for stillness. Virgo energy moving through Pisces waters brings quiet precision. A gentle but undeniable clearing. Not a frantic purge — a grounded refinement. You may have already felt it. The urge to simplify. To clean out distractions. To step away from noise. To say “no” where you once said “yes.” This isn’t coincidence. This is alignment. Tonight offers something powerful — not because it is loud, but because it magnifies what is already surfacing. And what is surfacing may not need ceremony. It may need silence. What if this moon is not asking you to do more… But to sit? A Full Moon. A Lunar Eclipse. Water and earth heavy in the sky. This is fertile ground for release. Release does not require spectacle. You don’t have to perform your healing. You don’t have to dramatize your letting go. You can simply step outside. Barefoot. Let the damp air touch your skin. Let the red moonlight settle on your shoulders. And stand there. Breathing. Listening. Allowing what is no longer yours to quietly fall away. The swamp knows how to transmute without instruction. So do you. If you feel called to ritual, let it be simple. Set water in the moonlight — not to charge it with intensity, but to let it mirror stillness. Light a candle — not to command change, but to witness it. Write something you are done carrying — and instead of burning it in urgency, sit with it long enough to feel its weight soften. Lay your hands on the earth. Feel gravity. Feel support. Feel that you do not have to push transformation forward. It is already happening. This is not a night of fear. It is not a night of frantic manifesting. It is a night to remember that evolution happens in quiet soil. In still water. In pauses between decisions.

What feels solid? Home feels solid. Marriage feels solid. Goals feel solid. I feel stable when I stay in my lane. What feels unstable? Societal noise feels unstable. Doom and gloom feels unstable. The way things have always been done feel unstable. I feel unstable the second I attempt to run in the lanes of society that have been over used and over played. Realizing where my need for stillness stems from. Interesting.

There has never been more noise competing for our attention than there is now. Screens glow constantly. Notifications arrive without invitation. Opinions move faster than reflection. The internet, television, radio, print, and endless streams of information ask us — quietly but persistently — to react, decide, compare, and respond. None of it pauses. And without realizing it, our nervous systems begin to mirror that pace. We start answering before we feel.We scroll instead of noticing. We absorb urgency until it feels normal. Stillness becomes something we visit occasionally rather than something we live inside. But stillness is not meant to be an occasional escape. It is meant to become familiar. When we practice stillness daily — in whatever ways feel honest to us — something begins to change. At first, it may feel intentional. You set aside time. You breathe. You walk quietly. You sit with tea. You step outside. You journal. You listen to water. You move your body slowly. It can look like meditation. Or gardening. Or painting. Or silence in the car before entering the house. There is no single correct method. Stillness does not belong to one tradition or technique. Some practices may feel better than others. Some may fall away as you evolve. That is not failure. That is refinement. The goal is not perfection. The goal is familiarity. Because when stillness becomes familiar, it stops being something you perform. It becomes behavior. Pattern. Response. You begin to carry it with you. And then something remarkable happens. You can walk into loud spaces — crowded conversations, busy workplaces, emotionally charged gatherings, tsunami-style groups where energy moves quickly — and remain internally anchored. Not disconnected. Not withdrawn. Present. You listen without absorbing everything. You respond without rushing. You notice what belongs to you and what does not. Noise continues around you, but it no longer dictates your internal pace. This does not happen because you mastered a technique.

As everyone finds their way into Blackwater, I just wanted to share a few things to help give a little direction in navigating this community. Much like a street sign, just so we all know which was everything is in the swamp. You will notice various tabs at the top of the feed. General, confessions, Bloom reports, etc. Please feel free to share anything you may want to share into those tabs. General, is well, general. Confessions is more of a "hey, so this happened" and no advice will be given unless you specifically ask. This is where we hold space for you to get out the words and then we allow the stillness to transmute it, holding the space for your release to remember. I know, it sounds deep, but is much more of that initial setting down of the heavy stuff. Bloom Reports is definitely those "Hey! I had a Bloom moment and I wanna share my evolution!" posts. Here we celebrate the growth. I truly do not believe we celebrate our individual growths nearly enough, and it's hard to see our own growth if we are always face up a "I'm broken" tree. Stillwater is the place for the process you experienced, if you want to share it. Many times, my own grok came from witnessing how someone else remembered to navigate the experience. Rituals of Rot: We get to have a little group fun here. Here, we will gather on a video stream (zoom, meet or just me going live to facilitate, feel free to let me know what works for you so we can make this interactive), and we will do things like meditations for relaxation, clarity, breathing exercises, emotional releases, and celebrations. In the rituals, we will set down what we no longer want to carry and honor this time the way it is meant to be honored. As this community grows, as the swamp does, slow, intentionally and deeply rooted in ourselves and the universe, we will continue to evolve this all. And for those of you who like to have some insight for discernment into the fascilitator of this group (me!), here's my blog that gives that insight. There are not specific details into my story, which I do not give publically. I am not about the specifics of the breakdown that lead me here. I am specific in what I experienced and what I gained. I am happy to share specifics if you ask directly, however, the specifics in the public sector aren't needed.

This is not a place where people are fixed. It is not a place where language is sharpened into solutions or experiences are quickly reframed into something more acceptable. We are not here to improve one another, diagnose one another, or guide one another toward conclusions. We are here to hold the ground steady enoughthat understanding can grow on its own. In the swamp, nothing is forced to bloom.Nothing is hurried toward clarity. Life reorganizes itself because the conditions allow it. This space works the same way. When someone speaks here, we do not rush to interpret their words or correct their direction. We do not offer immediate insights or polished perspectives. We listen the way the water listens — without interruption, without agenda, without needing the moment to become anything other than what it is. What emerges from that kind of listening is not advice. It is grokness — the deep, embodied recognition that happens when a person understands something from the inside out rather than the outside in. This is intuitive evolution. Grounded growth. Change that arrives without pressure and therefore it holds. You may witness releases here — emotions surfacing, stories loosening, identities shedding. When that happens, we do not correct or evaluate. We do not rush to name what is occurring or assign meaning before it has settled. Release is not something to manage. It is something to allow. Transmutation happens quietly. Like leaves returning to soil, what falls away becomes nourishment for what follows. The role of the community is not to direct that process. The role of the community is to remain present while it happens. Support here does not always sound like words. Often it looks like: - silence that is not empty - attention without intrusion - acknowledgment without analysis - presence without performance We trust that stillness and space are more healing than commentary. Words have their place, but they are not the center of this field. The center is containment — a shared agreement that nothing needs to be solved in order to be witnessed.