I wrote the following as I monitored the recent Full Blood Harvest Moon Eclipse, but then the piece itself got buried as I waited for a picture. So, I post this as the moon wanes and disappears for its habitual monthly rebirth, this time one requiring no costume change. I watched an allegedly not quite so “super” blood moon of this kind back in 1996, about which a short account can be found in my book, Blue Tranparent Face. This becomes the bookend to that piece, extenuating any mediocrity here.
Full Blood Harvest Super Moon
Big Light…peering cagey around the stage curtains, hiding its wound behind the hills.
Soft amber sphere seeming crisper and rounder for its strange bruise, the bite dissolving its left cheek, finally justifying that surprised expression—the silent gasp—that searches for our gaze each night. You’d look that way too if your big brother punched you.
…We don’t know the shadows we cast sometimes. But that’s the way it works here in the world of “solidity;” we all cast shadows. Nowhere can we stand in the sight and Light of God, and not throw a shadow on someone or something. Not by malice, but by existence, by the mass of our 21 grams of will.
So don’t apologize. The earth doesn’t.
Neither does the moon, when it dances across the sun, frightens the bejeezus out of primitive populations and spawns a hundred myths.
But today the moon plays small fry, bully’s foil on the playground, face compressed in a head-lock. “Ooooww,” a thousand upward-gazing witnesses project, in a hundred different languages, from the pool of collective memory. “Stop. You’re hurting me!”
Quietly, stoically, a new sphinx, his nose recedes.
And the squat crescent becomes a Cyclops…soon relinquishing sight, then face, altogether—and with it all pathos.
See how, as the dark gains ground and seems to win, and the hole in which our hero is buried seems to fill in, somehow the ember glows more luminously, an undying memory of what lives in our hearts in our darkest forgetting.
Until our little friend, who has been shrinking all this while, goes dark, well nearly: asymptotically. Life seems to blush and breath faintly on.
And as we hold vigil, the evening does not stop: hear the dogs bark; the breeze swells as the first leaves this season to turn the color of an eclipsed moon rattle on their branches. They might let go tonight, and but in their rustling gyrations, they keep our sleeping prince above awake, just enough.
Cars hiss along upon the highway, oblivious, as if it is just another night. And it is. For Sun, Moon and Earth, the players in our celestial drama, it is business as usual, except perhaps for Mother Earth feeling the tide swelling higher than usual along the waist of her ever-pregnant belly.
And the moon, does it feel a chill there in the shade? The sun, does it hurl a few extra beams her way to compensate?
We’ve seen this before. We know how it ends. The nice news-lady told us. But as we look up at the tawny drooping eyelid, a frog’s eye nearly erased, at our singed moon, something primal in us wonders. Something far newer in us wants to fast forward to the happy ending. The adult in us want to go take care of some chores. The child in us, the child of the universe, the child of innocence, the champion of the underdog, feels obliged to keep vigil.
I looked up from typing that sentence and the moon had disappeared. I had blinked, left our champion alone, and he had been taken away. So I typed that sentence, looked up and he was back. Ah! Clouds have entered the game. As in any true epic of a hero, we meet unexpected travellers at every turn. So Earth has called in the flying monkeys, for dramatic effect.
Today’s Course in Miracles lesson, aptly enough, was “I will not use the body’s eyes today.” If I did, I’d believe the moon gone and the Light vanquishable. But in my mind and heart, I still see the undying light, and I salute it as I go from the front porch to the back deck, where I will sleep a while, and wake to meet the light on the other side.