The Moon

The moon asked me to lose myself
as she, too, found herself 
eclipsed in the night.

"All of me," I wondered.
Fears of "but what about..."
raced through my mind.
Not my past! Not my identity!
Not my grief!
And I took another surrendering
breath from the blackness.

Without streetlamps or nearby homes
the moon offers tender reminders
of her presence in my woods.

She had been oh-so-bright, 
glowing silver upon the trees.
But now the dark swallowed
all of us.
I found strange comfort in seeing
only blackness with eyes wide open.
There was nothing to adjust to.

"You are releasing all of you," she whispered.
I reached into the void to grasp the
hands of my late husband, of my mother.
Another wave of her eclipse pulled
everything of me farther out 
as I softened into the witnessing me.
A me that was allowing freedom
from a belief in self.

Edges of light assured me that the moon
was still there - that I was still there - as
I walked to the window to check on existence.

As I nestled beneath my covers, 
I felt the safety of warmth and hiding.
But I wanted to seek more.

With a hand placed on my identity, I asked,
"Then what is arising new for me?"
There must be fairness, after all.

I watched as my heart unfolded
from darkness.
"Weakness," I assumed, tinges of
unworthiness ever ready to strike.
The movement and grace of the
heart-dance washed through my 
whole being - the one laying unprotected
in the dark, the one with an outstretched
hand into her past.

"No vision?," I thought, wishing to
use my powers of imagination to create.
"Don't I get to have a say?"

And the moon continued to wash me 
with the softness of my own 
​surrendered heart.