03/03/2026
“There is a teaching in that…”
Tonight and into the morning of March 3, the full moon rises — known in many seasonal teachings as the Worm Moon — and this year, it carries an added rarity: a total lunar eclipse, when the moon will turn a deep copper red across the skies of Turtle Island.
In Western language, it is called a “Blood Moon.”
In many Indigenous ways of knowing, it is something quieter, older, and more relational.
A time of illumination.
A time of reflection.
A time when the light changes so we may see differently.
The Worm Moon marks the turning of the season. The ground begins to soften. The earth awakens beneath the surface. Life that has been resting through winter begins to stir again. This is not a loud awakening. It is subtle. Patient. Intentional. Just like healing.
For many Indigenous Nations, the moon is not simply an object in the sky. She is a relative. A Grandmother. A guide of cycles, balance, and timing. The moon reminds us that life moves in phases — fullness, release, darkness, and return.
During a lunar eclipse, the moon does not disappear. She is momentarily shadowed. Covered. Transformed in colour. Yet still present. Still whole. Still watching over us.
There is a teaching in that.
Survivors of harm, grief, and injustice are often shadowed by systems, by silence, by misunderstanding. But like the moon, their spirit is never extinguished. Only temporarily hidden from full light.
This year’s full moon arrives just days before International Women’s Day, a time when we honour the strength, leadership, and sacred roles of women, girls, and Two-Spirit and gender-diverse relatives. It is also a time to remember that Indigenous women and girls have carried disproportionate burdens of violence, yet continue to hold communities together with resilience, love, and ancestral wisdom.
The eclipse reminds us that transformation is not always comfortable. It can feel heavy. Emotional. Even unsettling. But it is also a moment of alignment — when the sun, earth, and moon come into relationship in a precise and powerful way.
In Indigenous teachings, relationship is everything.
Relationship to land.
Relationship to community.
Relationship to truth.
Relationship to healing.
As the moon darkens and glows red in the early morning sky, we are invited to pause. To listen. To release what no longer serves balance. To honour what has been hidden, silenced, or misunderstood.
We are also invited to remember that cycles of darkness are not endings. They are transitions.
Just as the earth begins to thaw under the Worm Moon, our spirits too can begin to soften after long seasons of heaviness. After winter. After grief. After silence.
This moon is not about fear.
It is about witnessing change.
Watching the eclipse with the naked eye is safe, but more importantly, witnessing it with intention is powerful. Step outside if you can. Offer gratitude. Breathe. Reflect on what you are ready to release, and what you are ready to carry forward into the new season.
From an Indigenous perspective, celestial events are not spectacles to conquer. They are reminders to be humble within creation.
The moon does not perform for us.
She teaches us.
Tonight, as she shifts in colour and light, may we remember that even when light is dimmed, it is never gone. Even when systems feel heavy, healing is still possible. Even when the path forward feels uncertain, the cycles of renewal continue.
The earth is waking.
The light is changing.
And the moon, our Grandmother in the sky, continues her timeless journey — guiding us back toward balance, reflection, and renewal.
