Tearing the Veil of Maya

The Sun has always been the source that sustains everything we know. It is not just the star that gives us warmth: it is the heart beating at the center of this nearby universe, the Omnipotent that creates and destroys, the Omniscient that sees all, the Omnipresent that dwells in every leaf, every river, every breath.

The Sun is neither only masculine nor only feminine: it is both and beyond both. It is the father who grants the seed and the mother who nourishes with her fire, womb and ray, origin and fruit, indivisible totality. Where humans see polarity, it reminds us that at the Source there are no fragments, only fullness.

And yet, history has taught us to look more at the reflection than at the source.

The Moon, that companion of nights, has been celebrated as the mother of cycles, as the guardian of the unconscious. But what if we dared to question even this? Some ancient traditions whisper that the Moon is not a mother, but a veil, a mirror that redirects rather than reveals. In the tarot, The Moon does not illuminate but conceals, does not clarify but confuses. Its light is borrowed, its cycles externally imposed.

This is not a declaration of truth, but an invitation to inquiry: What if the rhythms we devoutly follow were not those of the true Mother, but of a reflection designed to keep us asleep? What if we have been worshipping borrowed light while forgetting the original flame?

The true mother is not in the sky. She is beneath our feet.

The Earth sustains us with her fertile womb, feeds us with her flesh of fruits, embraces us with rivers and mountains, shelters us in her mineral heart. She conceives with the Sun, receiving its rays as seeds of fire and transforming them into tangible life. The Sun ignites, the Earth gestates, the Moon merely reflects. Authentic femininity is not in a star that lives on borrowed light, but in the living body that breathes with us, that holds us, that has never abandoned us.

To question the Moon is much more than doubting its physical origin: it is questioning everything we believe to be real.

It is bravely looking at the veil of Maya, the great illusion that makes us obey power structures, imposed religions, narratives designed to diminish the fire of the feminine and domesticate the creative impulse of the masculine. For millennia, women were taught to bow their heads, to fear their own power, to repress their connection to the Source. And men were shaped into obedient soldiers, separated from their hearts, reduced to force without tenderness. Both, mutilated from their greatness. Both, hungry for wholeness.

But the time of shadows ends when we decide to see.

The masculine is not the enemy of the feminine. She is not his shadow, nor he her obstacle. He is spark, she is portal. He is impulse, she is vessel. He is lightning, she is ocean. Together they are creators of worlds, guardians of life, custodians of the Earth. This is not about the supremacy of one over the other, but about remembering that both are necessary, both are sacred, both are expressions of the same totality.

The power of women is not to dominate. The strength of men is not to subjugate. Both exist to love, protect, create, sustain, and care for this common home.

Tearing the veil of Maya means daring to question everything: the light we follow, the rhythms we obey, the beliefs we inherited without examination. It means looking beyond illusion and remembering that we are children of the Sun and the Earth, fire and clay, impulse and form.

We are complete when we recognize difference and embrace it as unity.

The future does not belong to those who obey reflections.

It belongs to those who walk together, reconciled and awake, creating with consciousness the world they truly want to inhabit.

No more borrowed light. No more inherited shadows. We are flame and root, and together we remember what we have always been.