A few disparate events oddly coincided this past weekend, influencing my mood and ultimately inspiring this particular post.
The first occurred on Friday night, as my husband and I were driving home. It was a beautifully clear, though frigidly cold evening. As we are so rarely out at night these days, this event alone was singular. But then, as I looked off to my right, I gasped. There, in the dark eastern sky, hung what I believe was the biggest, brightest fullest moon I have ever seen. And I couldn’t take my eyes from it. As I stared, and drew my husband’s attention to this spectacular sight, I had the eerie feeling that it was trying to tell me something. “What”, I asked my husband, “was it saying?” Thinking senility was close at hand, he had no answer.
Returning home, I immediately journaled about that magnificent, magical, majestic, mysterious moon vision, still looking for the significance I knew was there. Seeking an answer, I googled that night’s moon and learned it is called a Wolf Moon. It is thought that January’s full Moon is called a Wolf Moon because wolves were more often heard howling more loudly at this time of year due to hunger brought on by the cold January nights. Interesting, I thought, though not relevant to my train of thought.
Saturday morning, still with that moon on my mind, the second turn of events took place, On my nightstand lay a copy of a magazine I’ve been meaning to get to and, thinking the time was right, I picked it up and began thumbing through it. And there, on the back cover, was a poem by Linda Ann Suddarth, entitled, of all things, (and honestly this is the truth!) Mother Moon. It read…
Shall I take up this conversation again?
A question from me
that rises to mother moon
Yet if I cannot believe her
Who can I believe?
She speaks of hope
In nightly perspective.
“Remember, I reflect,”
Doesn’t stop here
In whoever gazes
Who chooses to see
To hope, to reflect.
And now, I think…here in this short poem, lies the answer to the question I posed to Bob last night. That moon, having no light of its own, was, by its very nature reflecting…mirroring back to me and to all those who gaze and choose to see, as the poet ways, all the hopes of beauty and change we so tightly embrace during these uncertain days.
My thoughts, like those of so many of us over the past months have been consumed with hope for what lies ahead. We have been patiently waiting…wishing… hoping.…for guidance, for leadership, for a vaccine, a cure, for our turn to be vaccinated, for all America to come together, for the end of fear, for freedom from quarantine, for schools to re-open safely, for hugs from our family, for gatherings and celebrations to resume. Wishing…waiting…hoping. On Friday night, I now believe, that the Wolf Moon that caught my attention was echoing our collective dreams for all that may be – its brightness foreshadowing for us that all the darkness would soon be no more and that, if we remain patient, light promises to return.
This confluence of somewhat commonplace events – the moon sighting, the offhanded decision to pickup that particular magazine, and the discovery of this beautiful totally time – and situation- relevant poem, created for me an immensely spiritual experience. It reminded me that sometimes seemingly serendipitous happenings may hold for us important illustrative value, if we choose to see. May I always choose this possibility!