The Ground Beneath Letting Go

Waning Crescent in Taurus
June 13, 2025

As the moon begins its quiet retreat, there’s a softness that comes over everything. The waning crescent phase—subtle, slivered, almost imperceptible—feels less like a movement forward and more like a gentle sinking down. And in Taurus, that descent feels steady. Rooted. Safe enough to let go.

Taurus is often associated with what we hold: comfort, beauty, the tactile security of things that last. But this moon doesn’t ask for more. It asks what’s still necessary. What we’ve outgrown. What can be released, not because it was wrong, but because it’s no longer needed.

There’s a symbol in the Haṭha Yoga tradition I’ve carried with me for a long time—the ghata, or clay pot. Before it becomes a vessel, it’s raw earth. Soft, unformed, unable to hold anything. To become what it’s meant to be, the pot must endure shaping. Pressure. Fire. Only then can it contain what’s sacred.

I’ve been thinking lately about how much of practice is this kind of becoming. Not dramatic. Not even visible from the outside. But slow. Interior. Marked by repetition and heat. The kind of transformation that doesn’t arrive with clarity, but with time.

When I’m in the waning phases of the cycle—lunar or otherwise—I often feel like that unbaked clay. A little undone. Not quite solid. But maybe that’s not something to fix. Maybe it’s just the necessary part of the firing. The part where something is being shaped—not by force, but by surrender.

The breath becomes the kiln. The practice becomes the shaping hand. And the emptiness? That’s the space where something meaningful can finally take form.

I’m learning to trust that.

To let go without rushing to fill the space.
To soften without losing shape.
To let the fire work quietly.

Because underneath the letting go, there is ground.
And that ground holds.