The moon was beautiful last night, and glorious this morning.
Full and beaming turned to gold soft light in the early hours and not for the first time in my life, I felt small. The moon is always on time, constant and present as it has been for years before me. It will continue on after I’m gone and that is humbling. I’m not sure why it struck me this morning, but it did.
I’m one of many, consequential only to those that know me, those I touch.
When I was younger, it seemed my life, my challenges and accomplishments, were epic. The moon was simply scenery. It was the backdrop for my story, my nights spent camping, cradling or worrying. The moon lit my first kiss, my first gondola ride, my first heartbreak. My life was center stage and the moon was great lighting.
How silly I was, and how patient the moon has been.
I get it now. I’m her audience, one of the endless sets of eyes, an ooh or an ahh gasped in wonder. The moon doesn’t watch me, wait for me, light my story. She is more and I am simply passing time under her umbrella of light.
I’m not saying my actions aren’t important or that I don’t have to behave, but it’s clear to me that things are not as big of a deal as I originally thought. I could climb every mountain, keep my kitchen clean, make my bed, and raise a president, a chief justice, and a Pulitzer Prize winner. All of that would be great, but not much of what I do in this life matters on a moon size level.
This, oddly enough, is freeing.
Since she is handling things like the tides and life stuff, since she always shows up on time and takes care of the big parts, I’m free. I can sit about, waste time, wonder and smile stupid in some dark auditorium somewhere. I am allowed to be human because of her night sky, because she lets me dance in the glow.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Goodnight Moon.