The past few weeks at Full Moon Cottage have seemed markedly different from those of the past year, primarily in the flow and direction of energy.
Like most humans, we were part of a rather tight clustered community in 2020: staying home, sharing online, guarding our health, and focused on making it through one day and then the next. Now, the circle has broken wide and beloveds are radiating out into the world, reuniting with lives and loves from whom they’d been too-long sequestered. Participating in activities outside of their home. Traveling. Meeting. Moving among strangers in faraway places.
A friend is flying to Greece in a few days to meet and hold her new granddaughter. They’ve had weekly online “visits” for over a year, but her excitement to physically connect with her darling granddaughter and children after all these long months of waiting is understandably palpable. I think I’m almost as excited as she is: I can’t wait to hear her updates, and can only imagine the overflow of joy rocketing through our world when all such meetings are realized. There is no substitute for embracing those we love.
Three friends have made arrangements to visit with us this summer as well; how wonderful to know the old well-worn paths have not grown over in these times of long absence, and how surprisingly merry my heart feels anticipating the arrivals of our guests. I think some part of me doubted these visits would happen so soon and safely. Plagues and pandemics have not historically been so swiftly contained. I am deeply grateful for every person’s gifts that contributed to the vaccines’ development and availability, and continue to hope everyone on the planet will have access to them as well. We have to accomplish this justly; we have to love better.
Other beloveds’ stories have also deviated from the main theme of Covid-19 confinement these past weeks, but in sadder ways. My dear cousin endured the death of her husband and has only just begun the huge transformation of traveling through grief and the possible healing that such a parting invites. Their marriage of 48 years certainly speaks to a profound entwining of lives…Oh, the ache of such a loss.
Another precious friend, an extraordinarily talented composer, is adjusting to the cruelty of ALS and the determined devastation it’s wreaking on his body, but his spirit remains incandescent. It’s as though, as his physical abilities are diminishing, his always-stunning light and great heart are shining more brightly and fiercely than any disease could ever dim. All the gifts he has given to so many lives, all the ways he has blessed the world–that holy energy has regathered and multiplied, immense in its power to remind us of truths we’d forgotten, and to teach us new lessons that are deepening and changing us as much and more than the unrealized compositions we’ll never hear. In a way, this final composition is the rarest and most beautiful gift he could offer and we could receive: his love distilled, concentrated and offered freely, a music he has chosen to compose during this time, his active response to this crucial (crucial: cross-shaped; at a crossroads) moment in his life: Creating a music that sings in his choices to live through his dying. A song we can hear, and see, and feel: Take and eat music. There is only Love music. Always with you music. In our sorrow, he lifts us, astonished. Can you tell I love him? Many do, because his life’s work has been to show us how we’re lovable and how that Love grows when we feed it to the world. As he always has and is doing. I ask you to hold him and his family in your hearts and in how you pray.
And here at Full Moon? Writing, gardening, hiking, playing, routine body tune-up’s with doctors and dentists we’d not seen in a year and a half, going on adventures together…cautiously edging out and away from the shore of home.
We’ve had a time of it with the gardens: weeding, mulching, transplanting and filling holes and re-mulching…covering for frost and watering during drought. This week, we received some glorious rain. The river is still very low, but the gardens are refreshed. We both love our time with our green and growing beloveds…one day, I expect we’ll grow roots and leaves of our own. Go out to the gardens and stay forever. I’ll be the plant holding a pen and notebook.
Blooms have begun erupting a few weeks ahead of old schedules. The houseplants traveled out for a week, but tonight’s frost warnings have led us to bring them in again…I think they’re a bit disappointed. I’d told them they were on vacation in Bimini, and now, I imagine, they’re wise to me. But they’re safe and cozy, and can return to the deck next week.
Yesterday, the windows closed and the heat was turned on again: life in the time of climate change. So a few days’ break from the gardens means time to get going on the kitchen and dining room painting, now that the living room is (finally) finished. We ordered a new sofa and were told it “might” arrive in seven months. We’ll probably forget all about it and then have a lovely surprise just when we need one. Becoming a bit forgetful as we age has benefits.
Our 4-leggeds are sweet and well, and we are blessed, and know it. With Phillip, it’s always the best of times.
Life sails on. And–if we choose–we take what we learn and allow it to radiate outward, wheels of light spinning Love, feeding the world.
Sail on, dear ones, in gentle peace.
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