I thought I’d stop by, a second time, today, and wave. Much like what I’ve been doing, at night, sitting with the moon, as it rises.
The moon and earth has been so beautiful, I thought it deserved a post all it's own.
This past Sunday, I trekked across the field alone, watching the sun set, till I reached the canal.
I waited.
I was a little confused, thinking my sister would be there before me. As we had talked about swimming 45mins ago, or so, through my window.
But we surmised that we had to be clever, and navigate around mouths, and hungry souls, that might snag us, and move us, and keep us in a whirlpool, instead of where we wanted to flow.
So I slipped out the back, and no one noticed.
I waited, as I watched the sun set, beautiful, golden, magic.
"Where are you?" I pinged my sister---in my mind.
The sunset was so beautiful, I just sat, and watched, waiting.
Not long after.
I saw her bike zipping down the path, with her dog, Honey.
"Where were you?"
She shrugged.
Everybody was trying to get me moving, and I got snagged, and they sent me on a mission to chase a goat.
I laughed. "They were calling my name, too. Trying to get me to do the same thing. But I didn't think it was a big deal. So I did what you would do, and slipped out the back. And I'm glad I did."
We both giggled.
Glad to be outside. We both dipped into the canal, and watched the sun set, as we floated
down it, sometimes swimming against the currant to stretch our muscles,
sometimes floating with it, just watching the beautiful rim of golden clouds.
As soon as we neared the place were we get out, I saw the orange-yellow moon peak its head over the mountains.
I pointed to the moon, and called for my sister to watch it, as she had her ears in the water.
When I caught her attention, she stood up in the water, and raised her hands, and started jumping, and singing, wonderful hallelujahs.
We both just watched a video talking about the energy of this specific super moon, and how it was a moon that ended an 18 year cycle.
We both got out out of the canal, and spoke our truths under the rising moon. "Stolen power, and energy is returned to its source. Truth, and love are rising, and remembering their goodness. Yes." These were some of our words we spoke, and cast our spells of truth, feeling our kinship with spirit, asking Spirit to be the one in control, directing where we should go.
Yes.
We both watched the moon float, higher, and higher.
It floating in the sky. Us that had just been floating in water.
Huge, and beautiful, a wonderful beautiful, orb.
We both felt as if we were in the right place.
Everyone where they wanted to be.
Us, in nature, floating where we felt more free.
Watching the moon, wet, and cold, and earthy, and alive.
We both gabbed our towels, and said we'd meet on the chicken coup roof, as she was on her bike, and I had walked.
So there, we reconvened, and spoke of the times, and of the ending of cycles, and of the beginning of them, as if we were gypsies, women who were remembering ourselves, wanting nothing more than to expand in our own rhythms, and to be as close to the earth, and sky as the moon.
To set the tides, and to bring things to light that need to be better seen.
To be that which creates cycles, and seasons, not the one ones being spun, or
pulled, or moved by anything else but Spirit.
Movers ourselves, and lights, and shakers, willing to be alone, and together.
Wanting only to sing our soul song.
When we went inside, I decided it was too hot in the house, and stale.
I've been watching a lot of videos about grounding, and how it's good for your spirit, and body. So I decided to move all my pillows, and covers, and took my memory foam mattress outside, and made a little bed on my lawn, and watched the moon, and the stars, and the clouds.
It was a beautiful evening.
I slept on the lawn the night before, because the heat has skyrocketed, and the house has been so hot, I was glad for the cool ground.
I was glad to sleeping outside again.
The moon was beautiful. The crickets hummed. The clouds looked ethereal, lit up with the light of the moon, painting them in silver, and misty grays.
I saw a shooting star.
The trains passed by, loud, and clacky, all through the night, they kept humming through too, though not as relaxing sounding as the crickets.
Night birds, singing.
My memory foam mattress ended up deflating, and It felt good bad. The ground felt friendly, and healing. I surmised that my teenaged self was much more creaky of bone, than my self of now.
Though, I must say that second night of sleeping on the ground I had a much harder time falling asleep. I kept watching the moon, and it kept watching me, and then there were the stars, and the clouds.
There are so many things in the night that keep you alert.
But when I did sleep, it was right as the sun rose, and I dreamed about magic apricots seeds that I was gathering to plant.
My third night sleeping out, I had a bad headache, but I felt the ground calling me, like a mother. It felt healing, and almost like a warm embrace. I can't really explain it, though I felt as if my heart, and the earths heart felt a kinship.
And I felt myself a little sad, feeling and wondering if I had been sleeping inside all these years, connected to things that weren't really me, thinking the outside, was a threat.
All these years, nature, and man, feel apart.
When we could be so much more harmonious.
Perhaps we could learn much by sleeping with nature. Maybe we'd know who we were. Maybe the earth would reveal her secrets, maybe she would teach us her wisdom.
Maybe she could heal our bodies.
Maybe she knows how many lifetimes we have lived. How many times we have been buried. Maybe she knows how many times our hearts have stopped, and started.
But maybe we are the ones that don't know.
Maybe we don't know her at all. Maybe no hearts, awake, have laid, and slept with her ground as a pillow.
Maybe nature will not be your friend, until you know you are nature.
Until nature knows you, and you see yourself in it.
I wanted to sleep outside again, last night, but my head was aching too badly. But my sister followed suit, and she slept out instead of me.
And first thing when I woke up, she popped into my room, and said, with wide eyes that she slept outside.
I asked her what she thought.
She said that it was spiritual. Sleeping on the ground.
I nodded. Glad she too, felt it.
We both told our experience, glad that someone else felt the magic too. We both felt some switch was flipped. And we both felt a kinship to the earth that we haven't felt before.
Connected to life, and to the spiritual realms beneath the ground. The earthy alchemy of the dirt.
The moon-tide rising.
The ground hugging her.
Electric.
Beautiful.
Wakeful sleep.
We both haven't remembered a time that we actually felt this way about sleeping outside, maybe since small children.
Though, the strange thing is, once you spend time sleeping on the ground, once you go inside, the inside feels foreign, and you feel odd, like you don't fit in to your box, like you thought you did.
So sleeping outside is not perfectly comfortable.
For it makes you feel uncomfortable in ways you didn't know.
But you have to try it yourself.
Alone.
And it feels a little uncomfortable at first with no tent.
And you don't sleep like you do in your house.
It is not a numbing sleep.
It is a waking sleep.
And with only a little mattress to keep you away from the ground, you feel the essence of the earth, and yourself.
And then there's that feeling of the dark. And once you settle into it, you start sensing things, and things start sensing you.
And the moon rises, and its light settles on your forehead.
And we both look.
And we both, wonder.
And we both silently watch, and appreciate the looking, and the watching.
Setting tides without and fanfare in our own silent, moon ways.
Bringing to light seasons.
And dreams, and visions.
And things both beneath, and above.
Full moon magic.
Present.
A witness of one another.
Everything else besides our seeing, is darkness.
Shadow.
A bird calls in the darkness.
An owl hoots.
A Coyote's song cuts through the night.
Clouds lit up by moonshine.
A star dripping across the sky.
Seeing and being, and dreaming, and pausing.
Gifts of the night.
Stillness.
And if you sleep on the ground, on the grass, more often than not, an alertness overtakes you.
You look for some sort of foe, as you can hear everything. But you can see, only sense.
And you stay awake until you can no longer keep your eyes open.
And you see that the only thing you were scared of was your own lack of vision.
And when you started to be one with the ground, and allowed the night to teach you.
You were finally able to sleep.
So.
I stop in.
And say hi.
Tides are rising.
Everyone is rising.
Heat is rising.
Water is rising.
Souls.
Consciousness.
Dreams.
Blossoming to the surface, and in the moonshine.
We see only moonlight.
Whatever is right below her.
And what she covers in her light.
Is secondhand sunlight.
The moon likes second-hand things.
Makes them into dreams.
And maybe she likes my second-hand sunlight, as I watch and sleep underneath her, remembering her lover, the sun.
And the sun will see the moon reflected in me as I spend time under its heat.
And we'll all remember, that we are children of the light.
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