Doubting Not

Oh, doubt not her fullness. Nor your own.

Goldilocks and the Full Moon

I felt like Goldilocks. This spot too hard. This spot too soft. Could not capture the moon's fullness. Then to pause and see leaves that are unseen at night framing the moon's illumination. Darkness framing light. Light giving shape to darkness. Like Goldilocks, I giggled... this spot is just right. Changing not where I stand but what I see.

The Constant Darkened Light

I sat in my little chair looking to the sky, hoping to see the meteors. The neighborhood was totally quiet while all others were sleeping. It was, after all, just after 2 a.m. I stared and stared and not a one.  Soon my eyes wandered and I noticed an almost perfect circle of stars around the moon. A mandala of black drawing your eyes to the center where the luminous glow beckoned you to enter.  Lingering in the mandala, contentment made a gentle bookmark. The true beauty and wonder is not in the fleeting moment of meteors passing by, but in the faithful constancy of the moon and stars, always present, always there, no matter if you bother to look or seek, their light always waits to bathe you in soft.

After an hour or so I packed up my little chair, coffee time was calling.  Pausing I lifted my hand to block the brightness of the street light.  For one who cannot see to drive in the dark, street lights are surely a gift.  The blocking of my hand made the night sky even darker, and there, ever so quickly, a meteor danced across the sky.  My heart gently created a bookmark - sometimes you need the dark to see the light.

"Inside every human chest is a  hand, but it has nothing to write with [until] Love moves further in...."  ~ Rumi

Reflecting promise

Some nights  you cannot explain. Somehow the clock loses the rhythm and unlike yourself, falls asleep, refusing to move. 


 The glow of the moon, against the blackened night sky, is made possible by the sun's light reflecting upon her darkness. Her reflecting light upon the darkened moon is all I can see, I cannot see the source.   I wait and sit with the night's dawn. I know I will never see this dawn again. The dance of the sun and moon is constant, but never the same. For all the thousands of years they have danced, not one is like the other. And yet, with different strokes painting the blush, their canvas, their presence and their promise remain steadfast in their sameness as they unfold the night. The promised light for waiting and trusting the source.