inspired
to journal
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Moon Day It's Monday morning. I'm whiny, tired, bloated. There's much work to do - sewing, writing, gardening, bead orders and phone calls. I want to do none of it. I do a little writing, too tired for sewing. Email is easy. I throw in a load of laundry and take down the one I left on the clothesline overnight. I meditate at the clothesline, slowly releasing the towels from the grasp of the clothespins. I fold a kitchen towel and hold it close. I stand still, blankly staring at the grass. I come back to the present when the dog chases a flying grasshopper. I drop the towel on top of folded lavender flannel sheets in the basket. I stand still again and stare some more. The phone rings, and I run inside. It's Gretchen. Her mom has passed away. We expected it, not so soon, but it's sad anyway. This doesn't help my mood. I let it be a good reason to cry. I check my email and find myself in a discussion with a woman about writing. I'm feeling defensive and could get argumentative, but I don't want to be here all morning stating my case. I'm too tired to make sense anyway. I drop it and go back outside to hang wet laundry. Domestic chores seem appropriate for a day like this, they are so mindless. Again I feel meditative at the clothesline, lingering at each towel corner, making sure they are hanging straight, but not really paying attention to them. My thoughts are elsewhere. Anywhere. My mind needs to flow. I feel a pang of guilt about not getting any "work" done. The words of a Native American woman ring in my ears now - "Don't go to work on your moon." I wholeheartedly agree. It's not time to give yourself up, but to be more in tune with yourself than at any other time. The guilt disappears. I call my man. I'm feeling especially sensual today. I tell him I miss him, need him, want him. I hold back the tears, but he hears in my voice how sensitive I'm feeling. He softens the edge with his tenderness and loving words. He understands. Back outside to soak up the warm mid-day sun. I lay on a south-facing concrete slab that will become a real patio someday. It warms my back, and I take off my socks to let it warm my chilly feet. I cover my eyes with my forearm and start to cry. I let it go, all of it. All of whatever I dredged up this month. Here it is, releasing itself on this warm, dry September day. I am blessed with this monthly cleansing. I've submerged myself into the reflective half of my cycle. The last several days, with high emotions, I've dug to my core and touched the unknown. The deepest part of me has been brought to the surface by the most powerful of dredgers. I don't frighten it away. I welcome it, cherish it, honor it, and pay attention to it. I let this process guide me. There are dishes to do. I linger at the sink, which is next to the open kitchen door. The sun drenches me, smothers me in the warmth I need to flow. More mindless domestic chores for a lazy moon day. *
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