What a wonderful way to start the New Year with the Full Wolf Moon on January 1-2, 2018 in Cancer!
This is not just any Full Moon, but a Full Super Moon. In fact this Full Super Moon is going to be the closest one to us in 2018! Can you believe that? We are definitely going to have some strong energy on this night.
It is a New Year and time to set your intentions for this year by the light of the moon. For many people the Wolf Moon holds deep meaning and this is a good time to let your inner wolf howl!
This full moon falls under the sign of Cancer. So this full moon should be a time of letting go of being an adult and having fun! Use your creativity. Find ways to express yourself during this full moon. This full moon comes at the ending of mercury retrograde, so take a deep breath relax and enjoy yourself.
Read my full article to find out how the Wolf Moon will affect you in this coming year.
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In the midst of the holiday chaos, the Winter Solstice brings a moment of complete silence. December 21, 2017, marks the solstice. Winter solstice is an astronomical phenomenon which marks the shortest day and the longest night of the year.
The Winter Solstice is a time of reflection, during the darkest and longest night of the year. A time to spend with family and friends. A time to imagine what the coming year will bring. As an expression in nature, the Winter Solstice is the time to reflect on the power of our spiritual beliefs and the belief in the power of ourselves!
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This Story is based on a True Story from the front lines of World War I that I’ve heard many times. Ian Calhoun, a Scot, was the commanding officer of the British forces involved in the story. He was subsequently court-martialed for ‘consorting with the enemy’ and sentenced to death. Only George V spared him from that fate. — by John McCutcheon
My name is Francis Toliver, I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here,
I fought for King and country I love dear.
‘Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung.
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground,
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound.
Says I, “Now listen up, me boys!” each soldier strained to hear,
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
“He’s singing bloody well, you know!” my partner says to me.
Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in harmony.
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more,
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.
As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent,
“God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” struck up some lads from Kent.
The next they sang was “Stille Nacht,” “‘Tis ‘Silent Night,’” says I,
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
“There’s someone coming towards us!” the front line sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side.
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright,
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.
Then one by one on either side walked into No Man’s Land,
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand.
We shared some secret brandy and wished each other well,
And in a flare lit soccer game we gave ‘em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home.
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own.
Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a violin,
This curious and unlikely band of men.
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more.
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war.
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night:
“Whose family have I fixed within my sights?”
‘Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung.
For the walls they’d kept between us to exact the work of war,
Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore.
My name is Francis Toliver, in Liverpool I dwell,
Each Christmas come since World War I, I’ve learned its lessons well,
That the ones who call the shots won’t be among the dead and lame,
And on each end of the rifle we’re the same.