In my dreaming state, I sensed it
rising upon me. It roused me from my back, which I had bore down upon to sleep
that night in hopes it would ease the ascending pains which had started like
bitter secrets in my groin and mounted with growing certainty, clawing fingers,
between my thighs. The discomfort settled at the base of the belly and curled
itself like kundalini that wretched and healing serpant warrior, to the most
tender and sacred space of my waking self. It quieted as I began to sleep,
belly up to vanquish the anguish. And then, I was roused from my back. The moon is a wondrous and secret
thing. It had, unbeknownst to all of us involved so falsely conscious in our
waking lives, moaned and creaked and grew. As it waxed above us it laughed like
little bells at the top of our heads, for it could see our faces were set upon
the ground. I, along with a thousand others, had missed the arrival of the
harvest moon. But I did not miss its presence.
As
I was brought of out my weakened slumber, I finally lifted my face. I had been
embraced in auburn. To my amazement my window was melting in gold. A russet
warmth wrapped itself around me. Tiny bells aureated me. She was glowing, the
natural satellite of our tiny earth. Listlessly she has in her flight arrived at
my window and was radiating upon me.
Alas
as she had waxed, so had I. I had been filled with life’s ancient life giving
secret, the fruits of pain and pleasure. I had met my fullest point at the end
of the summer and so the Harvest Moon met me. We, together, had reached a
turning point of vantage. Her soothing lunar light embraced me, and together we
began to wane.
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