Last night, sick as a dog, it occurred to me that it was a full moon. Well, in reality the full moon had been this past weekend, but in my books, she was still pretty damn full. I felt restless, unable to fall asleep, and figured that could be part of the problem. So, I bundled up and stepped outside on to my front porch. The moon was right above me, peering at me through the branches of our maple tree. She was beautiful last night. The sky was mainly clear, it wasn’t too cold, and she was shining bright.
I grounded myself, rooting myself into the ground beneath the stonework. I opened up my hands to her and said Hello. Drawing down the moon, I felt a very gentle calmness. A silvery ripple, maybe a very light laugh, or perhaps an exhale. I expected the winter moon to feel wise, and much older…however this moon felt different. Sweet. Like a medieval maiden. Pure, sweet, and shy. She didn’t feel old to me…at least not weathered. Interesting.
I sat there with her for a little bit, sent her a hug and wished her a good night. I came back inside and curled up in bed, with the light of the moon pouring into the window. She was so very bright. It was a great comfort to me. When I woke from disturbing dreams, I felt her calm me, and even now, I don’t remember the dream at all.