New Moon in Scorpio.

A Different Inheritance.

We honour those who came before us by choosing what will continue through us.

We can only begin to heal what we are willing to face with compassion.

What falls nourishes what is yet to grow.

At the Full Moon in Taurus, we returned to the hearth. To the presence within us that allows us to feel held. To the ground from which we can begin again.

Now, back on our Island, the days are shortening. The trees are offering their leaves to the Earth, and the wheel turns again.

The New Moon in Scorpio arrives on Monday 9 November 2026, after Día de Muertos, before the Winter Solstice. Between the remembrance of those who came before us and the quiet preparation for what wishes to be born.

In Scorpio’s symbolic waters, we turn towards the emotional truths beneath the lives we have learnt to present. Towards what has become too costly to keep hidden. Towards what is asking to be revealed, so that healing can begin.

Some truths have remained hidden for so long that we have almost forgotten the effort it takes to keep them there. The grief we postponed. The anger we learnt to conceal. The remorse that has waited for an honest apology.

Now, something asks to be acknowledged. First, by us.

This is our invitation to face our darkness. To look directly at what keeps us afraid, makes us small, and leaves us feeling stuck. To examine the stories we keep defending and the choices we keep postponing.

What truth am I avoiding? What am I afraid would change if I acknowledged it?

Compassion gives us the steadiness to stay with what we find. Honesty asks us to recognise what our fear has been costing us, and those we love.

We can begin quietly. With a feeling allowed its name. With the admission that something still hurts. With the willingness to hear an answer that may ask us to live differently.

The only way out is inward.

Deeply inward. Towards the place where an old response begins, and where another may become possible.

Know thyself.

Intimately enough to recognise when fear is speaking in our voice. Tenderly enough to hear what lies beneath it. Honestly enough to let that knowing change how we live.

No one can undertake this knowing for us.

We become intimate with ourselves. With what moves us, what we resist, and what we long for. Beneath the roles and defences, we begin to recognise the presence that can witness it all.

We bring the life we are living into relationship with the truth of who we are.

During Día de Muertos, we welcomed our ancestors through remembrance and Love. That welcome continues. We feel them close in what they have given us. Their courage. Their tenderness. Their determination to continue when the way was difficult.

We also recognise what remained unfinished. The losses they could not grieve. The words they could not speak. The ways of surviving that continued long after the danger had passed.

We stand on their shoulders. Proudly. Gratefully. Where they could go no further, we may now have room to take another step.

Our Love reaches them through the care we bring to what has reached us.

A silence becomes a conversation. Remorse becomes an apology, followed by repair.

Somewhere in this remembering, we may encounter a quiet question:

If I stop carrying this pain, am I leaving them behind?

Love remains after the pattern ends.

We can honour the lives they lived and still choose another way to live our own.

We can grieve what was lost, forgive where forgiveness becomes possible, and take responsibility for what is ours to repair.

There is room for tenderness here. For time. For the support of those who walk beside us.

We honour our lineage by allowing its Love to continue and its unfinished stories to change.

Outside, Autumn keeps teaching. The tree remains rooted as its leaves fall.

We, too, can remain faithful to our roots while allowing an old way of living to reach its end.

When we insist on carrying what is ready to fall, its weight begins to decide our direction.

The leaves return to the soil. What has completed its season becomes part of what can nourish another.

We plant here. In earth fed by what came before. Beneath a sky moving towards its longest night.

The seed we plant on this New Moon is compassionate truth.

A willingness to know ourselves deeply, acknowledge what we find, and allow that knowing to change how we respond.

One pattern. One truthful gesture. A different inheritance.

Winter is coming. A season in which to tend the seed and allow its roots to deepen.

We prepare for Winter’s metanoia: a change of mind and heart that reaches the way we live.

Our ascent takes root in the courage to go within.

The first fruit may be simple: a familiar moment in which we recognise the old pattern and choose differently.

Our becoming will unfold in its own season.

For now, we can begin where the truth reaches us, and give Love another way to continue.

Remember

We honour those who came before us by choosing what will continue through us.

We can only begin to heal what we are willing to face with compassion.

What falls nourishes what is yet to grow.

Practice

Find a quiet place.

Sit comfortably with both feet upon the Earth. Place one hand on your heart and the other on your belly.

Take twelve slow, conscious breaths.

Bring to mind an ancestor whose strength or tenderness you wish to carry forward. Allow that remembrance to accompany you.

Now bring your attention to one familiar pattern asking for care.

Only one.

Ask quietly:

What am I afraid to acknowledge?

What do I fear I would lose if this pattern ended?

What would an honest and compassionate response look like?

Listen without forcing an answer. Give what emerges a name.

Write it as the seed you are planting:

I am ready to acknowledge ______. I choose to respond with ______.

Choose one small action through which this truth can become part of how you live.

Return to your breath.

Tend that choice in the days ahead.

Journaling

• What truth do I already know but keep negotiating with?
• Where has fear persuaded me to live smaller than I am?
• What have I mistaken for loyalty that may be a repetition of pain?
• What do I wish to pass on, and what am I ready to let end?

Blessing

May I have the courage to face what I have kept in darkness.

May I know myself with honesty, meet myself with compassion, and allow that knowing to change how I live.

May the Love of those who walked before me strengthen the steps I can now take.

May grief find tenderness, remorse find repair, and forgiveness arrive in its own time.

May what is ready to fall return gently to the Earth.

May Winter deepen the roots of the Life I am learning to embody.

And may the seed I plant become a kinder inheritance for those who follow.

Yo lo Creo / I believe, and so it is.