Dear Moon

Dear Moon

 

Do you see the fire? We lit the mahaghony so high with flame the alarms went off and the babies all cried.  We lit is big for you, Moon, to be warm against your light.  We wrote words on paper and filled them with sage and rolled them liked magic scrolls and threw them in the fire and said what is done is done and what is next is now. 

 

My paper said I am done waiting. My life is already here.  

 

The papers burned and the smoke rose to you and kissed you on the check.  Moon, did you feel the soft slip of our releases and dreams against the velvet of your skin, the touching of two worlds, the rhythms that you keep?

 

Why do people tell scaries stories of the moon she asked me.  Like the moon brings out the ghosts and the bad people and the wolves.  But I like the moon and the wolves and the ghosts keep us safe.  The moon makes the darkness not so dark and the moon makes me have funny dreams.

 

Light are way moon. Light our way.  Make the dark not so dark.  

 

Moon I want to roll up and become you.

 

Wrap myself around you. 

 

Know what it's feel like to not be here but to be there, with you, to be at home on you. 

 

Who has walked on you? And if they have, my prayer is that they walked lightly, that they knew what their feet were touching, that they were profoundly change forever. That they came back understanding more about infinity and knowing nothing about it, too. 

 

There is a saddness under your fullness tonight and for the life of me I cannot understand the feeling. But it’s good because it has been so long since I felt anything so simple.  Plain, uncomplicated saddness is like a relief, a gift.  Saddness without any infliction or reason or fight.  Saddness because sometimes life is just sad.  It’s kinda nice to be just sad.  No attachements at all. Saddness like an awakening. Saddness like a salve.  Saddness like the ocean pulling back.

 

It has been so long since I have felt you tug at me from the inside out.  Making me ask for what I want.  Nobody asks me what I want because I think there is a fear for the answer. 

 

I fear it too. 

 

The thing is, Moon, I have no fucking clue what I want.

 

I want to make sure my heart stays soft.   Even when it’s cracked in half and it feels like it’s been run over, make it stay soft.  Make it stay open.  Make it always be pliable and givable and writable and breathable.  My heart can get pounded every day by life but if it stays soft, I will be okay. 

 

Make my heart stay soft. Make it be like art. Make it be madly in love with itself.


When I walk into the dark forest, make me go crazy, get me lost, get me cold and alone. Get me devoured by wild creatures.  Give me fear and wander.  But keep my heart soft. 

 

Soft like my womb. 

 

Dear Moon.  Dear Moon.  Dear Moon. 

 

What is this in my womb?

 

Is it my mother and how she was strapped down, shaven, asked to be an animal that could not move or speak or breathe on that longest day without light, the day I was born? 

 

Was is the ones that lived there that never got the chance to breathe under your night, never got to my arms, never got to hear my voice from the outside?

 

Or is it the emptiness.  The carved out space where pure love once lived and grew beneath my heart and slide out into my arms? And the lonliness of their imprints, the longing of for their limbs, the craving for their heartbeat, knowing they will never be back in there, pressing against you pressing against me?

 

Or is it just because I am old. And tired. And alive. And ready. And could care less about being beautiful or liked anymore.  Could care less about who is here and who isn’t.  Could care less if it matters or it doesn't matter because it all matters to me. Maybe my womb is just getting bigger, taking up more space, owning the world like you own the sky. Maybe my womb is just creating a language, birthing a new voice. 

 

Dear Moon, you know what else I want? To be more of that. UP there. Tired and alive. Not giving a shit.  And taking up space.  I want to be more me, more like me, more and more me.  Because I like me. I really do. I love me. You do too. 

 

So, thank you. 

 

Kiss the rocks we left out for you tonight.  When we touch them tomorrow, let our arms tingle.

 

Make magic with the jar of water we placed under you.

 

Dream us into another world for right now. We all could use a good astral travel.

 

And wake us just as you have done you magic work. 

 

You do such good work, lovely, beautiful, powerful, sulty moon of all moons. 

 

Bless you. Bless me. Bless all of us.