Tammuz
The Womb of Longing, the Ocean of Light
The evening light was soft and open, like a gate to another realm. Many of us have found ourselves here, at the edge of land and sea, watching the tide move in and out, not just on the shore, but within us. The rhythm of water mirrors the rhythm of our hearts. In the month of Tammuz, we are drawn into that rhythm, asked to feel, to remember, to return. We are called home, not always to a physical place, but to an inner sanctuary: the womb of the soul.
There is something about this time that brings longing to the surface, not as a sign of lack, but as a sacred language our soul speaks when it wants to return to light. The sign of Cancer, ruled by the moon, awakens the deeper tides within us. The ache we feel—the nostalgia, the tenderness, the tears—are not weaknesses. They are ancient messengers. They rise not to shame us, but to remind us of something we have forgotten: that we are connected, that we belong, that the Divine has never stopped singing through the waves of our being.
In the presence of the crescent moon, just beginning her arc toward fullness, we feel something stir within us. The moon has always been more than a light in the sky—it is a mirror. It teaches us that we do not need to be full to be holy. That even in our waning, our dark phases, our retreats, we are part of a rhythm greater than ourselves. The light never leaves; it only becomes hidden for a time, asking us to seek it from within.
In the sacred language of Kabbalah, the moon represents Malchut: the vessel, the container, the receiver of divine light. It is also the Shekhinah, the indwelling presence of the Divine, who walks with us in exile and longing. As she waxes and wanes, so do we. There are days when we feel overflowing with purpose and clarity, and others where everything feels dim and uncertain. But the moon reminds us that these phases are not flaws, they are part of our design.
The symbol of Cancer is the crab, that soft creature who carries its home on its back. It teaches us that we, too, are allowed to retreat, to draw inward, to shelter our tenderness when the world feels too harsh. Tammuz invites us to turn toward our emotional body, not as a problem to fix, but as a sacred compass. We retreat not because we are broken, but because we are becoming. Like the crab, we know when to protect our soft interiors. And like the moon, we know we will return to fullness in time.
In Aramaic, the name for Cancer is Sartan, a word rooted in the idea of drawing out, cleansing, and releasing. This month carries a spiritual purging. What rises from the depths may feel uncomfortable, even painful. But we are not being punished, we are being purified. We are being invited to shed the layers that no longer serve, to let go of identities and roles we have outgrown. The waves may stir the silt at the bottom of our souls, but only so the water can become clear again.
We are each carrying a womb, a sacred inner space where light gestates and creation begins. This is not a gendered truth, it is a mystical one. We are all womb-bearers. We carry memory. We carry vision. We carry what the world has forgotten and what the soul remembers. The womb is the original sanctuary, and in this month of Cancer, we are asked to tend to it with devotion. What in me is ready to be born? What is asking to be held, not in judgment, but in love?
As we step into the waters of this month, literal or symbolic, we come home to something ancient. We come home to the Divine Feminine that lives in us and around us, in the tides and the tears, in the moon and the heartbeat. Tammuz is not just a time of mourning or destruction, as tradition often names it, it is also a time of soft power, of sacred memory, of coming back into emotional wholeness. The fire of this month is not a fire that consumes. It is a fire that refines.
We are part of a sacred rhythm. And in this rhythm, we are allowed to feel. We are allowed to remember. We are allowed to begin again. The light we seek is not beyond us. It is within us. It flickers in the womb. It pulses in the tide. It waits in the softness we so often try to hide.
May we soften.
May we trust the tides.
May we hold ourselves with tenderness and courage.
And may we remember that longing is not the absence of light,
it is the voice of the light calling us home.
I am wishing all of you a blessed Shabbat Day.
Today I will be in Magdalene Alaha Shela Ceremony for the Month of Tammuz with the Magdalene Priestess – Priest Training Group.
So much has been happening in the back office at The Desert Rose Mystery School. We have an amazing team that is in charge of the Website and Online School Portal. We also have an amazing artist and editor and I have a beautiful assistant who is helping me and the school in so many ways.
Many new courses and creations will be shared in the coming days. I want to take this moment and remind you that The Hidden Voice of the Magdalene, Light Conception Codes, Magdalene Myrraphore Accredited Training and The Magdalene Desert Rose Womb Awakening Accredited training are experiences that are heightened in this month of Tammuz – Cancer.
The Hidden Voice of The Magdalene. CLICK HERE
Light Conception Codes. CLICK HERE
Magdalene Myrraphore Accredited Training. CLICK HERE
The Magdalene Desert Rose Womb Awakening. CLICK HERE
AHAVA,
Ana Otero
The Desert Rose Mystery School
Image from one of our Magdalene Avalon Retreats.
