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Buddha saying
"Just as a candle cannot burn without fire, men cannot live without a spiritual life"
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The moon phases for January 2025 are:
Here's a dialogue between two friends in Australia, discussing the moon events in 2025,
Setting: A casual outdoor cafe in Noosa Heads, overlooking the ocean.
Characters:
- Liam: A bit of a space enthusiast.
- Chloe: More easygoing, interested but not obsessed.
(Liam is excitedly tapping on his phone, Chloe sips her coffee)
Chloe: What's got you all riled up, Liam? You look like you've just discovered the meaning of life or something.
Liam: Better than that, Chloe! I was just looking up the moon phases for next year - 2025 - and it’s going to be epic!
Chloe: Oh, the moon? Okay… what’s so special about the moon next year? It’s pretty much always there, isn’t it?
Liam: Yeah, but how it’s there, that’s what’s cool! For starters, we’ve got our usual full moon on January 12th. And guess what that one’s called?
Chloe: Hmmm, not sure, a big round one?
Liam: (Chuckles) It’s known as the Wolf Moon, the Old Moon, or the Ice Moon. Apparently, that’s because wolves howl more in the winter. Though I guess our ‘winter’ is a bit different here. So, that's our full moon, then a new moon on the 29th of January, completely dark!
Chloe: Right, I think I remember something about that from science class in high school. So what's so epic?
Liam: The supermoons, Chloe! We are getting six of them next year! Six!
Chloe: Six? Seriously? What's a supermoon again?
Liam: A supermoon is when the full moon coincides with its closest point to Earth in its orbit. It looks bigger and brighter! The first three are coming up in March, April and May. The 29th of March, the 27th of April, then the 26th of May. So we are going to see some amazing ones.
Chloe: Wow, ok that sounds pretty cool. So, anything else?
Liam: Oh yeah, there’s another three later on! October 7th, November 5th, and December 4th. So, a fair bit to look out for. I was thinking we could try to find a good spot to see them, maybe up at Mount Timbeerwah?
Chloe: Okay, you’ve convinced me. Six supermoons in a year does sound pretty spectacular. Mount imbeerwah would be fantastic. But what about the new moons? Will we see much then?
Liam: Not see, but more, not see something. They are completely dark. The moon goes through eight phases, you know? New moon, then it waxes to a crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full moon, waning gibbous, third quarter, and waning crescent, they just keep repeating every 29.5 days.
Chloe: So, it's a whole cosmic dance up there? That's pretty interesting. I guess it's good to have a reminder of what's going on outside of everything.
Liam: Exactly! And imagine getting all six supermoons! We should definitely make some plans.
Chloe: Absolutely! Let me grab my diary… and I’m holding you to finding that perfect viewing spot!
(Both smile, Liam still looking excitedly at his phone, Chloe now starting to get interested in his moon obsession.)
The Moon:
The old woman, Elara, lived in a cottage nestled at the edge of the Whispering Woods, far from the clamor of the village. Her life revolved around the cyclical dance of the moon, a rhythm she understood as intimately as the beating of her own heart. She wasn't a witch, not in the way the villagers feared, but a keeper of ancient ways, of stories etched in starlight.
The New Moon arrived, a sliver of darkness against the night sky. Elara sat by her window, a single candle flickering, and closed her eyes. This was a time for silence, for listening to the quiet whispers of her soul. She had been feeling lost, adrift in the currents of her life. With the moon’s absence, a clarity emerged. Her goal shimmered in the darkness: to write down all the stories she carried, the ones passed down by her grandmother and her grandmother before her. To plant the seeds of her legacy.
As the Waxing Crescent appeared, a delicate curve of light, Elara felt a stirring of energy. She started small, writing a single story, then another, the ink flowing with newfound enthusiasm. Each day, as the sliver of light grew, her dedication followed suit. She arranged her writing space, organized her scrolls, and felt the seeds she'd planted begin to sprout.
The First Quarter arrived, a bold half-moon in the sky. Elara encountered her first hurdle: the sheer magnitude of the task. Self-doubt crept in, whispering insidious things about her ability. This was a moment for decision. She chose to push past the fear, to believe in the stories she held, to make the choice to keep going. She worked through late nights, her quill a constant companion.
The Waxing Gibbous phase brought a sense of refinement. She reread her stories, made alterations, and found her voice strengthening with each revision. This time was about growth, about polishing her work, and about letting the stories take on a life of their own. The closer the moon drew to fullness, the more confident she became.
The Full Moon bathed the world in its silvery glow. Elara, standing on her porch, felt a surge of completion. The first volume of her stories was finished, tied with a piece of embroidered ribbon, illuminated by the moon. She celebrated the progress, the culmination of her efforts, recognizing her own strength and determination. It was a powerful moment of clarity; she saw a clear path for the coming cycles.
The light began to wane with the Waning Gibbous. Elara now had time to reflect. She spent hours rereading her work, learning from her mistakes and appreciating her triumphs. She was grateful for the stories, for the journey, for her own perseverance. She released the anxieties and the doubts that no longer served her, allowing the Full Moon's energy to wash them away.
During the Third Quarter, she began the process of letting go. The unfinished drafts and ideas that hadn't made the cut were carefully put aside, clearing the space for new beginnings. She cleaned her cottage, preparing it, both physically and mentally, for the next cycle. An emptiness was left behind, but it was a peaceful one, a necessary shedding.
Finally, the moon became a Waning Crescent, a tiny sliver that soon vanished into the black canvas of the sky. Elara sat in the quiet, allowing the silence to settle within her. She knew that the darkness held the potential for endless possibilities. She had cleared the way for the next cycle, for new stories to be born, and she waited with a heart filled with anticipation, ready for the next New Moon.
The cycle would begin again, and so would Elara. Her life, like the moon, was an ever-changing dance of creation and release, of darkness and light, always moving, always growing, always returning to the start with renewed purpose and intention.
A supermoon is a full moon tharte moon occurs when the is at its closest point to Earth in its orbit, also knownas perigee:
The old lighthouse keeper, Silas, squinted at the horizon. The salt spray stung his cheeks, but he didn't flinch. For sixty years, he'd kept vigil, his gaze sweeping the churning grey of the North Atlantic, a loyal sentinel against the capricious whims of the sea.
Tonight, however, was different. Tonight was a supermoon. He'd heard the term whispered around the docks, a relatively newfangled phrase for an old phenomenon. "Supermoon," they called it, as if the moon needed a fancy title to exert its power. Silas, though, had witnessed the subtle dance of tides and moon his entire life, long before anyone dreamed of labeling it. He knew the pull, the barely perceptible but undeniable increase in the sea's restless heart.
He remembered his grandfather, another lighthouse keeper, telling tales of the ‘perigean tides,’ the old name for what the young ones now called “supermoon tides.” They were barely stronger, the old man had admitted, but they were there. You could feel it, a slight tremor in the ocean's rhythm, an extra surge in its breath.
He chuckled, a dry, crackling sound in the wind. The young folk, with their telescopes and their neat charts, they worried needlessly. They fretted about disasters, about earthquakes and tsunamis, attributing far too much power to the moon’s subtle shift. He knew better. The sea was a mistress both powerful and indifferent. She answered to no celestial body, not even one bathed in extra brilliance.Silas climbed the winding stairs of the lighthouse, the metal groaning beneath his weight. He adjusted the lamp, the beam slicing through the gathering dusk, a steady finger pointing across the waves. Below, the tide was already beginning its rise. He watched it, not with fear, but with respect, a silent acknowledgment of the ancient pact between sea and moon.
Down on the beach, a young woman, a marine biology student named Clara, aimed her telescope at the lunar disc. She was eager to witness the supermoon phenomenon, to capture a photograph that would impress her professors. She’d read all the scientific literature, the meticulous calculations of orbital mechanics and the surprisingly minimal difference of 13% in apparent size. She knew, logically, that it was practically imperceptible without sophisticated equipment. Yet, a part of her, the part that yearned for the magic of the natural world, hoped to see something different, something extraordinary.
She adjusted the focus, a thin crescent moon peeking out from the edge of the telescope's lens. She studied it, comparing it to the images and measurements she'd memorized. The supermoon was there, mathematically aligned in its orbit, but to her naked eye, it looked no different from any other full moon. A slight pang of disappointment pricked at her. Had she been expecting too much?She turned her attention to the surf, the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. As she watched, she noticed something she hadn't expected. The tide, though only subtly, was indeed higher, reaching slightly further up the sand than she'd seen it earlier in the day. It was a tiny adjustment, a mere few inches, but it was there, a tangible manifestation of the celestial dance she had been studying.
Clara lowered her telescope, a slow smile spreading across her face. She understood. The power of the supermoon wasn't in grand spectacle, but in the quiet, constant tug, a subtle influence that shaped the world in ways both seen and unseen. It was a reminder that even in the vastness of the universe, even amidst all the complex calculations and intricate science, there was still a place for mystery and wonder.
Silas, high in the lighthouse, watched the sea, the beam of the lamp cutting through the darkness, a steady beacon of guidance. He knew the truth about the supermoon. It wasn’t a harbinger of chaos, but a reminder of the delicate balance of the world, a quiet, powerful force that whispered secrets to those who knew how to listen. And he, the old lighthouse keeper, had been listening for sixty years. He knew, in the depths of his bones, that the real magic wasn’t just in the moon itself, but in the enduring, eternal rhythm of the sea.
