The moon blooms bright on an October night.
***
Tonight, the moon
interrupts my stream of chattering thoughts. Resplendent in soft yellow, a circle
of perfection, she rises like a dignified queen above the skyline of trees and
homes. My busy mind falls silent, bowing in astounded awe to her graceful ascent
into the deepening night sky.
“Oh!” I exclaim into
the emptiness of the car, “Look at the moon!”
And the moon
seems to unwaveringly look back at me. A gaze embracing the entirety of my
being; a gaze reminding me of my first love, and how his eyes could hold me in
gentle full acceptance and fill me up with ease.
This lunar glance
strikes like the lightening recognition of meeting a soul mate, propelling me
back into my body, where I release the restless stirrings of the mind and
relish the comforting weight of gravity. And I breathe out, a cascading sweep
of emptying out and opening up to be bathed in the stunning light of the moon.
My lunar love affair
begins here, and the inspired words from poets and writers sharing this sacred
admiration arise in brightened understanding.
I see the moon in
a whole new light. The personal emotional pain from the past few months has matured
my heart: I no longer fear the dark; I no longer race toward the sun away from
pain. This summer I fell and curled up on the bottom of my being. I struggled.
I openly struggled to friends and family, and weathered severe emotional
storms.
The ones who
braved my depression are like the moon tonight. They are my moon tribe, who
exuded and extended love and unconditional support when I journeyed through my
darkest night. This tribe saw my light when I was clouded in despair, and kept
the faith while I floundered, consistent and constant in listening and holding
me in safety and acceptance.
My moon tribe
didn’t flee from my pain. They encircled me with tenderness as I ebbed and
flowed into the different shapes the cycle of grief takes. My moon tribe
expressed love through letters, phone calls, homemade dinners, the sending of
poems and soothing quotes.
The tribe is
comprised of creative spirits, daring romantics and enchanted adventurers, and
though we look up at the night sky from different patches of cityscapes and
rolling hills, like the nights when the lunar goddess reigns invisible to the
human eye, I still feel the energetic presence tightly weaving and connecting
us as we text, talk, turn upward to gaze at stars and wink at the moon.
My tribe continues
to expand and includes Victoria Erickson, a poet inspiring me to be awake and
amazed at the surrounding wonder of life. She teaches me to look up at the
moon, to bask in its beauty, to be bathed in its soft shine. She and the wildly
gifted writers I meet in a writing workshop out west are my tribe who witness and
applaud a creative unleash catalyzing a new phase of my being.
Like the moon
tonight, I am acquainted with my own soft radiance because of the familiarity
now with darkness. The moon is an alchemist, teaching me to transmute and
transcend the pain into golden depths of wisdom and compassion. Lessons from
the dark weave into the fabric of my being, not dimming my shine, but informing
me on how to be an even more effervescent human being.
A mere mortal in
love with the moon, I watch in astonishment. Blankets of stars rush around her
as she gradually climbs higher onto her destined throne. As she makes her
voyage, she sheds the yellow-hue and blooms into a luminous glow of white
pearl. The ink-black night cocoons around her, only enhancing her innate shine.
