Musing about a magical gathering with sonic meditations under the August supermoon.

Last night’s full moon gathering could be described as unexpected even though I did not consciously hold expectations. We started the evening on a hill surrounded by strangers who had all come out on a Monday evening to gaze at the orange supermoon rising on the horizon. This post will be the first of a new blog thread that explores full moon gatherings and similar shared experiencies. This also marks my farewell to Uppsala, which has been my home for two years. My summer has been filled with goodbyes and magical moments spent with friends amidst natural splendour that Sweden has in abundance. I’m left with a fresh and peppery aftertaste, much like the juniper berries found around the perimeter of a beautiful hill in an open field.

Squirrel energy

Nine people showed up to celebrate the full moon with me. Old friends and new friends came together during this breezy night and participated in sonic meditations. I had planned a deep listening exercise as well as a sound making exercise, to help us connect and communicate with our surroundings. Our bodies were to become sensors. Earlier that day I had gone to this exact nature spot to scout the environment, take note of ant activity (low and only between the pines) and to dig a hole in between the compacted soil and tough roots with a flimsy kitchen spatula.

On my way back home I decided to do the sounding exercise for myself. A shaded space beneath hazel and pine trees attracted me, or perhaps the large granite rocks did. I sat down on the largest one and pressed my palms against the cool surface. After taking in some deep breaths I exhaled in a low tone. My search in sound became a tentative melody, and it was during this melody that a squirrel suddenly ran up to me through the tree covers and loudly started chittering. Surprised, I stopped my own sound to gape at the little creature. As soon as I stopped, the squirrel started backing away, so I resumed sounding. They came back to chitter at me some more. An unexpected encounter! I later looked up that squirrels symbolise resourcefulness, positivity and organisation. This, I could embrace fully as an encouraging sign.

See, I told you they are a cult!

Besides having a loose format that allows room for on-the-spot adaptations, there are many things that cannot be anticipated at all when hosting an outdoor event that heavily relies on natural surroundings and the willingness of people to engage. Instead of having this add to my anxieties and need for control, I could accept my role as a gentle guide while also placing trust in nature, other people’s openness, and the way we ultimately shape these experiences together.

Once everyone had arrived we sat down in a circle, mesmerised by the giant glowing orb that after much excited anticipation made a dramatic and fiery entrace over the treetops. Besides our group more people had come out to Kung Björns hög to watch the moon. I refused to give up our central spot on the hill and poured out strong mugwort brew to initiate the night’s celebration. Soon after people went off to explore the open area covered in heather, huge rock surfaces and a patch of pine forest. Embodied exercises are sometimes a better way to really ground in the physical here and now than listening to more words. The prompt for the first deep listening practice was one of Pauline Oliveros’ sonic meditation scores:

“Take a walk at night. Walk so silently that the bottoms of your feet become ears.”

I tried to encourage people to follow their intuition and seek out spaces that called to them, and then to listen to how that space sounds. Since I didn’t bring any sound making device other than my own body, we decided for the word ‘moon’ to be our cue to gather back before starting a second exercise. As soon as I started howling ‘”mooooon!” amidst the field that still also held other people, shouts of “moon!” were repeated back to me in reassurence. (This was enough confirmation for people overhearing us to declare us a cult.) Since we were quite a large group I asked everyone to share just one word that came up for people. In doing so we composed the following poem together:

“Distraction, vargbröder liveliness. Earthquake calmness. Grass. Peaceful cult. Hallucination, buzzing.”

The night gradually grew darker, yet that day farmers had been harvesting out in the fields, and agricultural vehicles were still moving about in the distance. Together with the relentless chirping of crickets it felt to me as though sleep was moving further down the list of worldly priorities. So, now that we finally had the hill to ourselves, I took more time introducing the second exercise which we initiated together in hums and whispers. Internally I had named this exercise ‘sounding sensors’, as people were to go out into the field a second time, but now they were to also talk back to the environment and find a common tone. Confined to the hill with all our belongings, I crept around the edges, sang to the dried flowers, and enjoyed how even a sigh took up space in the air. Another poem emerged out of our experiences:

“Island, ease melody. Melody patterns. Freshness, surrender. Light, soothing crisp.”

Burying the treasure

As late summer ripens into autumn, we move from flowy states of being into a period of harvesting and taking stock. How are we caring for the physical spaces we reside in, those we call home? How can we better nurture our body? Our house? Our surroundings? The full moon offers a clear opportunity to reflect on what we have in abundance and what we lack. Anything that stands in the way of our dreams and acting from deep values can be given back to Earth to be composted so that new opportunities can grow. In doing so we create more space for the unexpected—of which the natural world has plenty to offer.

Exercises such as sonic meditations and generally spending time in nature can help declutter our minds and put us in direct contact with our more intuitive and sensing sides. Making use of this, I dedicated time at the end of the night to reflect on how we show up for ourselves, and to inspire care, compassion and courage when assessing this. I asked people to write down two things: something they wish to let go of and something they want more of. We then left the hill to the moon, and set off to bury our offerings in the small hole I had clumsily dug with a kitchen spatula earlier that day.

This night has been a special one. I’m amazed by how many people showed up, some of which I had not met before, and also by how many people generally have shown interest in these experiences. The amount of moon photos I received yesterday makes me feel very seen, and I love that I can connect with people in this way. This year has shown me where to direct my efforts so that they are returned to me in a multitude of ways. Gradually surrendering into trust has been a liberating learning curve, and I am slowly but surely finding my own language and way of doing things. Next week I move back to vibrant Brighton to reconnect with people and places I have missed during my time in Sweden. I’m looking forward to continue hosting these moon circles (and hopefully more) with and for other people. Ideas are growing exponentially. But for the moment I have a more pressing priority: reducing my belongings so that they fit into my suitcase and backpack!