Sunday night was the supermoon eclipse. I watched the moon draw a translucent veil across her face until all that could be seen was the ruddy lunar ghost. Then, ever so slowly, the fullness of the moon slid out from behind the shadow, sliver by sliver, until her whole naked form shone bright and round in the velvety night. Even this morning, she hung as a silvery gossamer circle in the dawn sky. Beautiful.
Under that night sky, I thought about how -- even as I cross this landscape of middle age -- I am still drawn through cycles like the moon. Yearnings, silent and burning, flare and recede, alternately warming and cooling my heart. And just as the moon orbits through shadows, my longing sometimes hides in the comfort of darkness, and yet still wishes to be seen like that glowing lunar orb. Even though I struggle through some cycles, I am grateful for the ebb and flow; through them, I am connected to the rhythms of the universe.
I am a creature of blood and bone.
Wax and wane, rise and set.
See me, moon, as I see you,
And we shall travel together.
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