There are nights when I look outside and the Moon seems to have almost completely disappeared from the sky. Of course, I know it is still there. It is simply that the side illuminated by the Sun is, at that moment, turned largely away from us. Even so, this dark phase of the Moon has a particular effect on my imagination. At full moon, I see something that immediately draws my attention. At new moon, it is precisely what is invisible that occupies me. Over the years, I have repeatedly come across claims that the new moon is a time of new beginnings, that its energy influences us, that we are more sensitive during this phase or that certain things can be released and begun more easily. The longer I have explored spirituality and perception, however, the more important another question has become for me: what do we actually experience, and what do we expect to experience because we have heard about it beforehand?
Astronomically, the new moon is first of all something very concrete. The Moon is positioned roughly between the Earth and the Sun, which is why the side facing us appears barely illuminated. Together with the full moon, this is one of the phases in which the gravitational forces of the Sun and Moon can influence the tides particularly strongly. That is measurable and has to do with the relative positions of these celestial bodies. For me, however, there is no automatic step from that fact to the claim that the same lunar phase governs our emotions, decisions or personal energy in a particular way. As far as I know, there is no convincing scientific basis for strong psychological or physical effects of the new moon on human beings that would justify such far-reaching claims. It is precisely at this boundary between what we know and what people experience subjectively that the subject becomes truly interesting to me.
Over the course of my life, I have learnt to become cautious whenever a spiritual explanation is already fixed before I have even noticed what is actually happening within me. If someone tells me that the new moon makes me particularly sensitive, it can easily happen that I pay closer attention to every trace of inner restlessness that day. If I am tired, the tiredness suddenly acquires meaning. If I sleep badly, the Moon may seem like a possible explanation. If I have an unusually clear thought, that too might be attributed to the new moon. Our minds are very good at recognising patterns, and just as good at linking events that are not necessarily causally connected. I do not see this as a human flaw. It is simply one of the ways in which we try to bring order and meaning to our experience.
At the same time, it would seem too simplistic to me to conclude that every personal experience connected with lunar phases is worthless or imagined. If a particular rhythm helps me to pay more conscious attention to myself, then that rhythm genuinely changes something in my experience. Not necessarily because the Moon is exerting some unknown force on my thoughts, but because I pause. A new moon can become a moment when I ask myself what is beginning in my life or what has changed. If I do not ask myself such questions on other days, that deliberate attention can certainly make something visible. The experience is real, even if its cause may be different from what I first assumed. I find this distinction important because, for me, it does not make spirituality smaller. It makes it more honest.
Our surroundings also change with the phases of the Moon. Nights around the new moon are darker, under suitable conditions, than nights illuminated by a bright Moon. For people who spend a great deal of time outdoors, that can be directly noticeable. For long periods of human history, natural light played a far greater role in life after dark than it does today, when streetlights, houses and screens can illuminate our surroundings almost independently of the Moon. It therefore does not surprise me that people have paid attention to the Moon for thousands of years. It served as calendar, orientation, visible rhythm and part of countless stories. What fascinates me less is the idea that every lunar phase carries a fixed message for us, and more the fact that human beings have always tried to place their own lives in relation to the greater rhythms of nature.
In my own experience, there are days when I feel more open, calmer or more sensitive, and others when the opposite is true. In the past, I was quicker to look for an energetic explanation. Today, I prefer to let such sensations remain as they are at first. Perhaps I have not slept enough. Perhaps something is on my mind. Perhaps the weather is affecting my mood, an encounter is still resonating within me or my body simply needs rest. And perhaps there are connections I do not yet understand at all. I have found that perception becomes deeper when I do not immediately decide what it means. This is true for Reiki as well as for many other spiritual experiences. Feeling something and knowing why I feel it are two different things. For me, keeping those two things separate protects something valuable: the possibility of remaining open.
This is exactly where I see a connection with New Reiki – Back to the Source. One of the central ideas that accompanied me while writing the book was a return to immediate experience. Not first to an explanation, a system or an idea of what should happen, but to what is actually perceptible. If I am quieter at new moon, I can notice that stillness. If I feel nothing special, that can be true as well. I do not need to convince myself that I am sensing an energy simply because a calendar tells me that today is a special lunar day. At the same time, I do not have to ridicule a personal experience merely because I cannot explain it scientifically. For me, there is a large space between blind belief and premature dismissal in which honest perception can remain possible.
Perhaps the actual influence of the new moon on many of us is therefore far subtler than the grand spiritual claims suggest. The very idea of a new beginning can set something in motion. Symbols affect us because we give them meaning. Rituals give structure to time. Recurring events can remind us to pause. That does not make their effect unreal. It simply means that we can distinguish between a demonstrable external force and a meaning that arises within our consciousness. I find this distinction important because it gives responsibility back to me. If I make a decision at new moon, it is not the Moon making it for me. The timing may hold meaning for me, but the decision remains mine.
Today, I therefore look differently at a dark new-moon night than I once did. I do not need to know whether it is doing something to me. Nor do I need to attribute a special power to it in order for it to move me. It is enough for me to know that up there, a celestial body continues along its ancient path while becoming almost invisible for a few nights. Perhaps that very disappearance reminds me that not everything that cannot currently be seen has ceased to exist. And while the sky remains dark, I can leave open for a moment whether I am sensing the Moon or simply sensing myself a little more clearly.