There are one million different things to tell you about. My father’s camouflaged pajama pants, the pink-flush color my cousin Pat’s face turns when he is happy and his eyes are lit by music and alcohol. The cut of my cousin Collin’s jaw, a primary angle that only models and men in the second and third year of their twenties maintain.
There are others, countless. The softness of my grandmother’s skin. It is so tender it feels moist as the dew of a new day against the back of my hand. Branches bare against the wide, nude sky, how much this east coast nakedness winds my spirit so full that its toils of life become nothingness and spring backwards on itself, on the knowingness of life all over again. The back roads, between Erika’s house and Deb’s, where once I grew up, where a million leafless breaths whisper ghosts names and bare to life seeds that will bloom once more come spring.
Justin’s eyes glowed in the street steam of St. Michaels, plates of shucked Choptank oysters a dollar a pop flowing beyond the heaps of his two hands. Walsh danced at Cross Street for the first time, the Baltimore undercurrent alive in the cement, in the rain mist, in the thirty degrees coldness of our hands. My cousin Erin, my uncle Tim.
Eddie who gave me Emerson leather-bound, Erika who called having visited with him this morning, alive together, timeless, how Psyche speaks.
It is the full moon of December and what this means is a flash light, a round spotlight in to the darkest round dark of who you are. I was awake for near three hours last night, the Solstice–or longest night of the year–approaches this weekend. And I, first night of my personal moon last night, come to me as the moon herself reflects back the light of the sun.
At the darkest point of the year we humans reflect likewise, too: the darkest depths of our unconscious or psyche draw near. The moon illumines these parts for us right now. This is a time when anxiety and tensions, even without the hustle of the season, are up, are closest to our surface. A time when it is uncomfortable to be still.
There is great peace in this knowing. There is great medicine in surrender to this simple, natural, and cyclical fact.
Embrace your fears, embrace what tensions stir just below. All is as it should….
These are the truths of your soul, where you still are meant to grow. Let go of resistance and just be who and where you are at. Give thanks, be gentle with your self, rest, rest, rest. Give thanks, give thanks, burn candles and and remember your light, which shines ever on, deep within.