“There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.” Matsuo Basho
FULL MOON IN ME
Last night the tide of uncertainty and the displacement that comes from the regular push and pull of life’s little dramas suddenly rose up in me in a tremulous wave. The Mister and I had just settled in the back room to work on a new song. He looked at my face and did not have to ask. He put down the guitar. We got our shoes back on. At Fifth Avenue The Mister turned as if being called. I followed his gaze to the full moon above us. We made our way to Central Park. Walking along the darkened bridle path below the reservoir the night sky was pinpointed with stars we rarely see in our electrified urban landscape. We continued below the reservoir and across to the west side through the area known as The Pinetum, breathing in the fresh scent of evergreen. The children’s swings stood empty, reminding me that so much of the drama I carry around is still about protecting the child in me, that the little dramas take over for brief periods when it is too difficult to dwell on bigger things. The moon was now in front of us. The little dramas that had been weighing on me took off like bats from a cave. I watched them until they became indistinguishable from the leaves still clinging to branches. We started back home along the reservoir, stopping for the wary raccoon, trading knowing glances when a runner in a t-shirt with the Eiffel Tower glides past us, taking in the never disappointing skyline of Manhattan to the south. A full moon stirs deeply the well of emotion and can be both upsetting and calming. The trick is to follow its lead.