This last lunation before we re-enter eclipse season could be a challenging one, collectively. It is likely we will be faced with some very difficult truths, perhaps realize that we are no longer able to lie to ourselves, or maintain the cognitive dissonance to believe someone else's lies. We may be wearing our hearts on our sleeves during this time, which can be difficult for proud Leo and aloof Aquarius.

Ten of Swords is a card of defeat, of crisis, of hitting rock bottom. It is also a card of carrying on.

I’ll be honest, I’m not sure it actually does get easier. If it does, not in any way that’s linear or straightforward or reliable. But there is something in the surrender to the inevitability of failure, difficulty, and most importantly, of change. This too shall pass, as do all things.

Also known as “firefox” these adorable, acrobatic, raccoon-like tree-dwellers live in the Himalayan forests, eating mostly bamboo shoots, as well as occasional berries and flowers. They are technically omnivores, also sometimes eating eggs, birds, or even smaller mammals. Their habitat is threatened and they have been officially listed as endangered since 2015.

Look at those faces!

They are elusive in the wild, well camouflaged among red moss and white lichen during the day, most active between periods of rest at night. They are mostly solitary, territorial creatures who mark the boundaries of their territory with bodily secretions. Red panda knows that “No” is a complete sentence.

The guide for this deck of question cards says, “You are responsible for finding your medicine (which is not usually what we want or enjoy doing, but what others find extremely useful for the balance and wellbeing of the whole collective metabolism). The next step is to ‘cook’ it: learn as much as you can about it (what it is for, how it can be toxic, how much is enough). You are also responsible for learning how to offer it with humility and how to integrate it with other medicines. Therefore, you will need to experiment A LOT and learn to learn quickly from your failures.”

The ceremonies and rituals of this lunation are experiments, experiments in living, becoming, and dying. It is through these works we can come to know our own medicine, discover what it is we have to give to the world. Not just as in what we possess, but what we must give. It is through these works we can discover what is left when we are reduced to our lowest lows, so we have the opportunity to delivery it to the place of our highest highs, and to everyone we meet along the way.

This lunation’s ceremonies are designed to prepare us for the rituals of the month, of the waxing moon, the full and waning moon, and the dark moon: grief and praise, becoming ancestor, and preparing for ritual death.

I know it’s Leo season and Mercury is retrograde and all a lot of us want to do is be loud and proud and social and all snuggled up with our pride, but that’s even more reason to engage with this process of learning to die.

Have you ever had the opportunity to witness someone die well?

I return again and again to Martin Prechtel’s work on Grief and Praise. These acts of love, he argues, are two sides of the same powerful force which connects us. To praise someone or something is to acknowledge its inevitable end. To grieve for someone or something is to acknowledge the ways they are worthy of praise.

How often do you feel worthy of praise? How often do you actually get it?

Last year I asked a question of some friends: how do we create in the world when doing just about anything in public means being forced to buy a fame lottery ticket, leaving us at any minute a few small steps from being the center of attention of millions of people. Especially knowing that if we do “win” that lottery, even if it does come with praise, it will almost certainly also come with a whole lot of grief—and not the good kind.

A fellow witch and writer Bunny Morgan-Brown came with the answers: reckon with your own death. Don’t wait. Become an ancestor now.

Bunny explores how individuals become cultural icons through the process by which a person's identity expands beyond their physical self into a constellation of mirror-objects (photos, stories, memes, interpretations) that exist in collective consciousness. She explains how these fragmented representations can take on lives of their own, potentially leading to dehumanization and hyperreality, and argues that in our current era of AI, social media algorithms, and global communication, understanding this process is crucial to avoid exploitation and maintain compassion. Conscious engagement with astralization, grounded in ancestral wisdom and responsibility, she says can help us navigate influence and power more ethically, contributing to a more balanced world and interrupting cycles of harm.

While I’m certain there are many paths to astralization, ancestor work has been my entry point. I can work toward becoming a living ancestor because I have elevated ancestors from my own lineages who I can talk to, lean on, ask for help and support, from whom I receive messages and dreams, and to whom I can navigate on this journey.

There are many ways into this work. In addition to the resource mentioned in Bunny’s essay, I also recommend Lex Hesperus’ and Nicole at Folke Healing, both of whom I have worked with myself in uncovering and reconnecting to my own dead.

If you don’t think you have any queer ancestors in your lineage, I promise that you do. But if it helps give you somewhere to start, we also gained a queer ancestors during the last lunation, when Andrea Gibson died on July 14. If anyone has gone through the process of astralization, of becoming intimate with the fact of their own death and with the making of themselves as an ancestor while they still lived, it was Andrea.

Working with a practitioner or in a small group can provide something that working with a book cannot—direct feedback. After so many years of being told to ignore our feelings, to shy away from magic, to fear the supernatural, it can be easy to dismiss the changes that ancestor work can bring, to ignore the messages we receive. Having a teacher or a working group to listen to our stories and validate our experiences can make a world of difference in developing the kind of trust necessary to continue down this path.

A few other suggestions from my own archives:

This month's ritual guide is longer and more intensive than usual—and for good reason. We're entering a lunation that calls for deep, transformative spiritual work as we approach eclipse season and navigate collective upheaval. The three practices offered here aren't casual rituals but invitations into profound inner territory: the sacred dance of grief and praise, the radical work of becoming a living ancestor, and preparatory work for facing our deepest shadows.

This is soul work. It asks for time, presence, and courage. You don't need to do all three rituals. You can adapt them for your own needs, make them simpler and more accessible as needed. Listen to your inner wisdom about what you're ready for, create sacred space, and remember that choosing to go deep is itself a radical act of love.

Theme: grief and praise

Speak aloud or silently: "In this time of growing light, I come to honor the sacred dance of grief and praise. I acknowledge that to truly love is to hold both the becoming and the ending, the joy and the sorrow. May this ritual connect me to the powerful force that binds all things."

Throughout the waxing moon phase, practice daily moments of both grief and praise. When you notice something beautiful, acknowledge its temporary nature. When you feel loss, honor what was once precious enough to grieve.

Remember: This ritual is an experiment in living, becoming, and dying. Trust what arises and be gentle with yourself in the process.