The Perigree moon called me last night.
As her magnificence rose over eastern treetops, I gathered a blanket and some hot tea …
hoping to curl up a bit in the spot where Querencia, my earthen artist cottage, will soon be born.
The light was surreal. Like a room filled with burning candles- holding the intensity of darkness and light at the same time.
I don’t know how long I sat there.
I watched her move across the sky until she perched over our thinking rock on the hill.
It is amazing what you can see in full moonlight, once your eyes adjust and your mind quiets.
I could make out the restlessness of birds in treetops, peace in the sillouettes of contented lambs, new life at the base of dry, brown fields.
I could feel the grace of a day and night in perfect balance, neither one longer or brighter than the other.
Perhaps it was gratitude. Perhaps the clarity of a night illuminated.
But something made me remember a journal entry I wrote years ago. When I was beginning to realize how much of my spirit had been locked away over time… in the name of “maturity”, social convention, and convenience.
I remember that transformative time in mid-life , when I began questioning what parts of my persona no longer served my health and true happiness. Remembering what I had known as a child- that one must kick up some dust and spill some paint in order to express this life within us fully… even if it makes others uncomfortable.
It both breaks and lifts my heart to read it again.
I’d like to share it because I imagine it speaks for many of us….
tromping in swampy fields planting cider apple trees, propped on the ground against the lamb barn scratching their chins, biting into a dusty carrot straight from the garden… covered in mud, hair in my eyes, smile on my face.