The moon’s tears: On recent flooding

Posted on Nov 10, 2025 in Uncategorized

Moon stone

As soon as the rains arrive, my partner and I head out on our walks, tools in hand, to clear the drains and gullies that carry water safely down the hills around us. It’s become a small ritual of care for our little hamlet on the valley floor — simple, steady work that’s spared us many troubles when the storms roll in.

That last full moon in Taurus was a powerful one, and I’m still feeling its impact in my body (it fell in my sixth house, after all). Here in Carmarthenshire, her supermoon tide pulled high and hard, joining forces with a relentless downpour. Old stone bridges vanished beneath rising rivers, and houses in nearby villages stood several inches deep in water.

As I sent Reiki to those affected – and gave thanks that our home remained untouched – I felt the moon’s deep sorrow. It was as if she wept for the imbalance we’ve created in the world, her rain the tears of a loving mother watching her children drift too far from harmony. Her message was clear: pay attention.

I wonder if we did. Did so much water help us remember our responsibility; to the land, to one another, to balance itself?

This poem came back to me from years ago, and it feels right to share it now. May it remind you, as it does me, to listen to the waters and tend what you can. And may you stay safe and dry through our ever-wilder, wetter winters.

Moon stone

“It’s just a giant rock”, he said, but without it no life would exist.
A rock that rocks apparently.
So lifeless and barren on the shining face of her,
Pitted scars like pockmarks.
What affliction has she felt that those flaws linger clear,
Starry eyes a witness to her blitzing?

Did she scratch and pick away at the scabs till the life juice rained like vital tears to earth, dripping from her bright but blemished skin to bloom as scarlet flowers on her shielded sibling?
Unsetting weeping seeping down, paling her complexion to the powdered bone.
We ancient blood rose seedlings sense her sacrifice,
Praise the portal she tends through which we come and go from this blue sphere,
With such compassion as only sufferers know.
She sings of silver-lit darkness,
The constancy of change,
Fertility in death,
Pain worth enduring and blast-born beauty.
She is our rock.
Our rock of ages and philosopher’s stone.

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Semele Xerri

© Semele Xerri is a psychic intuitive guide, healer, animal communicator, and Reiki Healer / Master Teacher. To find out more about her and her services, go to her Work with me page.
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