Coy Boy: the late rising Wolf Moon

So, you think you can stand me up?
I was there at 10.  I was freezing, I might add.
Do you really think you can treat me this way, Mr. Wolf Moon?

What was that? I stood you up all month?
You expect something more in effort...say meeting you when you are actually rising?

Well, perhaps you make a valid point.  What time would that be exactly?

Are you freaking kidding me?  You are rising at 12:36 am?  

Uh Uh.  No. I'm not doing it. I'm not getting up at 3:30 am so I can see your shiny moon ass rise over my neighbor's house. Nope. Nope. Nope.

What?  I can see you at 6:30 am or 7:30 am?

Oh. I can do that.  You mean I can see you while I drink some morning coffee?  

Well yes, I agree. Just because it is daylight doesn't mean you aren't as beautiful.

So, we've made up then?  Aw. really? the next full moon is Valentine's Day?  How sweet!!  

I'll save a candy heart for you "Call Me" or better yet, "Let's Kiss".  
I so very much need your kiss.

Hey Dude; the late waning Wolf Moon

Hey! There you are. I finally found you.  On my way to an appointment, late as usual, racing up a snow covered street and WHAM! There you are, the moon, large and bright in the lower sky over Randall's house. I'm actually not sure that is his name, as he and I have never met; but he looks like a Randall as he mows his lawn or trims his cherry tree.  We wave. Our "intimacy". 

So, yeah, back to you Mr. Wolf Moon, sir...
There you were, in vivid Moon glory and I thought you were waxing for a sec... but then I was sure your were waning.  Either way, you were gibbous, pregnant and full of moon surface.  

Then I wasn't sure you were the Wolf Moon at all and panic struck that I have strayed so far from my rites and rituals.  I am unborn- a kind of 'born again' in reverse-  something has pulled nature from me and I feel unfamiliar to its rhythms.  I am the lost.  

But not so fast, Mr. Wolf, don't write me off just yet.  The fact that I noticed you at all must mean that I am not beyond redemption.  So, how about a date, later, after dark? when the neighbor children are asleep? Let's say 10 ish?  I'll meet you where I have always, in my best birthday dress.  You and I can stare at each other a bit and then perhaps I might coax you to envelope me, caress my darkness with your light?  Just a little flirt to remind us that we both still exist...
a kiss of light to re-awake my soul.

Warranty Expiring

I missed the New Moon. I missed the Full Moon.  To make it more clear how out of touch I have been, I didn't even know I missed these events until the Buddhist told me so.  Oops! My bad.

I'm preoccupied with a truth...
I am running out of time. 
Not death...No, not that final.  
But I am talking about aging, or more to the point, a very specific female type of aging. I'm referring to menopause.

My body seems to be on one mission right now and it has taken me by surprise.  I am consumed by a need to have one great last fling, an overtly sexual flirtation, a clandestine encounter of naughtiness. I love my partner, the Buddhist. He is a good, solid partner providing what I need in all forays.  And he pleases. 

But my body has some other idea.  The clock is ticking to some end, and my body is craving validation of its virility.  It whispers "Last Call" and like a late night drinker, I desire an elixir to stave the crave. 

I sense that the me that I have known is quieting ever so slightly daily.  Do I hold out hope of resisting?  Do I pretend that I will not change?  As we are mostly chemicals, and mine are definitely shifting, I can't see that change won't occur.  So, my body also screams "HURRY" in the growing quiet and while I am loyal and true; I'm also antsy. Fidgety.

My internal odometer is about to shift out of the warranty period and I finally understand what moves a  fifty year old man to discard their wife and take up with a young filly.  It is what I seek too-

Youth. 

And since I can't have it, I'll accept a costume to hide my truth.  Blonde highlights, a little lipstick, a touch of foundation, a smile, a flirt...
But nothing will stop this body from the warranty end.  

The Light Returns: The Winter Solstice

Tonight marks the longest night of the year; henceforth, all nights will gradually shorten, letting light overrule darkness.  It is a joyous night of celebration; echoes of the pagan feasts of this night leaking into Christmas traditions. Yule logs, live trees brought indoors, the exchange of gifts- these aren't Christian inventions but older...much older.

The joy of light. The promise of the surrender of the night.  Our ancient kin understood the symbology and the reality: Spring to come, food to be grown, harvest to be enjoyed.  And the Christian architects understood the symbology too; light overcoming darkness.  Christ overcoming sin.  Hark! the Herald Angels Sing!

It is easy to be happy on a night like this. It is easy to find optimism.  But this is only half the story; half the year.  The key is to find joy in the darkness too.  To understand that happiness must be balanced with pain and sorrow to have it retain meaning.

When we ache, it is hard to remember that there is still promise of Joy. Optimism retreats. We cannot see that it is cyclical. A phase.  A season. Time heals.  AND light returns.

That is the promise of the Solstice...The Light returns. The Shadows are banished.

And so, celebrate my friends!  Not just this night, but on the darker nights that undermine our souls.  The Light will return.  In this life or beyond it.  The Light will return!!

Thank you, gracious readers, for your company this past year.
With joy I honor your essence! May blessings be yours.

The Flooded River; the Full Cold Moon

The flooded river moves muddy and fast; I struggle to not be swept downstream as those around me do as well.  The river is crowded, overflowing with human bodies and we all fight and cling to any foot hold, any twig, anything solid and rooted.  We are tired but still swimming, giving it all our might, all of our heart. What choice do we have?  We do not want to be swept downstream...

As we bump and dislodge each other, we lose focus of the truth so painfully evident to any outside observer: We do not need to stay in the river.  

WHAT? leave the river?  But that is where all the action is! That is where the ego is stroked. That is where my friends and family are. Isn't that "life"?

No. It is an illusion. A trap created by our need to be important, special, unique, praised...blah, blah, blah...
We fight each other for space, using judgements to gain illusory footholds.  

Although we are really born to this muddy water; Providence, Effort and Practice can elevate us to the stable bank.  We must each latch onto the truths that have always been in the raging water with us.  Truths such as equality. Truths such as our unavoidable deaths.  The truths of how we crave and how we cling.  My Buddhist would call these dukkha, but I'm inclined to refer to it more as the BS we've been taught is reality.  

Many of us turn from the truths, wishing to remain in the muddy raging water where success is defined tangibly and failure is punished.  In the river, we are "somebody"; on the banks we are no one.  

I have been on the bank before; but the edges erode easily and the bank dwellers must be ever so careful of their grounding.  Once thrown back into the river, it is easy to lose the truth.  There is pleasure in being "good";  pride in being "clever".  The mud blinds and the bodies around us twist and poke.  Survival becomes its on force and we move downstream, further from nirvana, as we pretend we are happy.  

It is Hell.

Grace be given, we climb again to the banks, wonder why we couldn't see the reality of our situation before and watch with compassion as our brother and sisters flail.  Why not help them?  Because truth can not be taught, it must be seen. And as more people leave the river, arriving on the banks, the water will calm and truth will be more evident. Without the raging bodies, the river will settle and even the most earnest of egos will see their illusions torn away.

I write this blog for me as a warning.  I know the river too well...
The bank is more unfamiliar.  But we have all felt the firm footing in moments of peace. In moments where another's joy is more important than our own.

If I have any Christmas spirit to spread, it is this invitation:
Leave the river.  The hustle and bustle of the Season flood it further.  Come, my friends, join me on this stable bank.  There is space for everyone.

A Flurry of Fun!

Over Thanksgiving, my daughter, husband and I ventured into the college town near us for some holiday meandering and window shopping.  One store drew my daughter in, and of course, hubby and I followed.  The store in question was a wonderland of Christmas hoopla; I immediately eyed a garland of intricate paper snowflakes.  Beneath it was a 'kit' to purchase to make your own spectacular garland.

A Flurry of Fun! read the caption on the $16.95 kit.  Hmmmm. I pondered.  Hubby has not been so pleased with my recent spending, perhaps I could save money and get a beautiful snowflake garland?  My daughter confirmed my impulse by stating she was thinking of getting the same kit because the garland was so pretty.   Aha!  The garland had twenty-some hipster potential!  And it was affordable.  I snatched one to my breast as if hordes were beating a path to it.

I could barely contain my glee as I purchased the kit.  I knew my husband's schedule and was aware of a window of time. Perfect!  I would put on some carols, get a glass of wine and build an amazing snowflake vine.  Jingle bells....

It started out on a good note.  I punched my snowflakes out of the pre-scored paper.  I sang along to Johnny Mathas and Nat King Cole.  Then good vibe screeched to a halt.  Apparently, I needed 'glue dots'.  Everything you need to build a garland excluded glue.  

I wondered if we had any glue.  Looked around. Nope.  Not even in the kitchen drawer.

Aha! I had two sided tape upstairs!  Hurray! Snowflake opulence was back on schedule.

Or so I thought.  I made three snowflakes wrong wondering why it didn't look like the lovely kit graphic.  Fourth snowflake was good, but the carols had to go.  After finding better lighting and reading glasses, I managed six decent snowflakes.  But I was done.  My head hurt and they were not looking magical and intricate.  No. My first thought was that these frozen crystals were born in radioactive water. Lumpy. Weird. Ugly.

A flurry of fun?  Ummmm. No.

But another glass of wine seems like a mighty fine idea....


  

Waiting; The New Cold Moon

I wait for what I will never have
unsure of how to even call it near

the echos of Thanksgiving retreat
split time between melancholy and laundry
searching for what might engage
eyes spy Christmas lights, boughs of green
harbingers of the advent scene
they lift me for a moment
but they are wound in a carol 
promise of friends and good cheer 

(a vision that has yet to ever appear)

still, I trust in tradition to guide me through
and open my wallet to shiny and new
'perfect' gifts to buy me love
the cash registers sing 
and offer a ring
so angel's get their wings

and I sit almost alone
if you can call a hot holiday beverage a friend
amid a throng of almost alone strangers
fondling their own warm friends
bags piled near our feet
all hopeful that this year 
we can actually buy
what we need

so, I wait for what I will never have
but I do know its name...

Unconditional Love