And who has seen the moon, who has not seen
Her rise from out the chamber of the deep,
Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber
Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw
Confession of delight upon the wave,
Littering the waves with her own superscription
Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards us
Spread out and known at last, and we are sure
That beauty is a thing beyond the grave,
That perfect, bright experience never falls
To nothingness, and time will dim the moon
Sooner than our full consummation here
In this odd life will tarnish or pass away.
~D.H. Lawrence “Moonrise”
A seventy-year supermoon reassured me this morning, before it settled, vanishing into a bed of low clouds.
~a beacon does shine in the dark, luminous~
I could not sleep last night, tossing in turmoil at how inadequate I feel to the juggling task I face daily. I fear dropping even one ball amid dozens that must stay in the air.
Yet this lambent ball, this holy sphere of the night, remains aloft, floating, to rise again and again to light our darkness. No dropped ball here nor will there ever be.
It isn’t just up to me. I must remember.
~a thank you to Lindsey for her gift of this beautiful word, and how it lit up my day