Seasons of the moon
A sliver of light,
A fragment of white,
Tomorrow the moon will change
From the silhouette of tonight:
The moon is reflecting again and
again,
The seasons of the heart.
The night of the beginning is the
tiniest glimmer; the season of the diminutive: perhaps there are things we are
only brave enough to say once.
The next night, the moon is a
rectangle; it is far away and I can barely discern the soft slopes and the
knife tips. It is sensible and concrete, yet forever limited. And the season of
the heart is stable and safe, yet caged and finite in an infinite sky. Perhaps
there are things that cost us the best of who we are in exchange for a
semblance of security.
Half full now. Never complete,
lost, unseen. The half moon is neither dreaded nor anticipated: it just is. As
we just are. And we never want to
just be. Perhaps there are things
that halfness can teach us more than wholeness. Yet who desires to be
incomplete?
The moon is growing now, gaining
ground, its impact becoming manifest in the darkest sky it has ever seen. The
moon cannot see its own light; it is appalled by the darkness. Perhaps there
are times we must believe we have an influence, even when we do not perceive
it.
The moon is full tonight, a
radiant stream of brilliant light calmly serving the cold earth below it. It is
complete. Full. Having run its course, it has achieved what we can only ever
hope to gain. Pure, white light, blinded from the pain, glowing and passionate
and calm and peaceful, a glorious paradox gracing the forever eternity of
blackness.
Continue on then, weary soul, for
you will grow, you will gain ground, you will become all that you were created
to be.
You were full, every moment. The
delusion of light made you believe you were a sliver, yet you were full, you
were complete, you were finished, even then. Perhaps the light of honesty, of
truth, perhaps that is what burns away the illusion of less than, of unworthy,
of incomplete.
The seasons of the moon: perhaps
it teaches us that even in the beginning, we are full. We just have to be
exposed to more of the light.
And you, Jesus, You are the light.
Reflect more of your light, that the greatest light might be displayed upon us.
A sliver of light,
A fragment of white,
Tomorrow the moon will change
From the silhouette of tonight:
The moon is reflecting again and
again,
The seasons of the heart.
This is amazing my love.
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