I woke up at 3:30 a.m. this morning. There was a spotlight shining in my face, as if someone outside my bedroom window had a police search beacon trained on me. It winked through the tree branches, splashing me in the eyes with its beam.
Confused, a little thirsty and probably needing to pee yet again, I reached for my glasses and put them on to get a clearer look at what was happening. It was the moon. A brilliant, bright full moon, penetrating the thick leaves (something our satellite dish cannot do) and leaving a white strip of light on my sheets.
I stood at the window, directly in the path of the light, yet it seemed not to touch me. Only when I lay back down on the bed, exposing my bare, fertile belly, were the rays there again. So I let Duncan bask and bathe in the moonlight, casting shadows over my curves, as I gave thanks to Spirit for the life inside me.
I always like to celebrate the solstice. Full moons, too. But lately I’m asleep before it’s completely dark and I wasn’t really up for a solstice celebration Tuesday night. But it seems the moon found me.
They were peaceful moments with the moon, silent and sacred as Mr. Squirmy moved around, as if he could sense the energy seeping in through my skin. And I felt as if I was being restored, empowered, strengthened for the journey ahead.
And then that Quizno’s commercial song played in my head, “We love the moon, it is so very high…” and I drifted off to sleep.