Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy
cathy_edgett

Good Morning!



The day is exquisite.  It is almost hard to breathe wide enough to take it all in and I'm working on it, working on tapping my lungs and widening my rib cage.

Sometimes I feel my inner ribs almost bruised as breath like a baby in the womb kicks for more understanding of inhalation, intake and space. 


Did you see the full moon last night?  Ah!  Awe!!

Ellen sends me this in celebration of the moon.

Han Shan


Sitting alone in peace before these cliffs
the full moon is heaven's beacon
the ten thousand things are all reflections
the moon originally has no light
wide open the spirit of itself is pure
hold fast to the void realize its subtle mystery
look at the moon like this
this moon that is the heart's pivot

 


The moon that is the heart's pivot. 

A friend became involved in an internet stalking and inadvertently I was pulled into a black hole of erratic and irrational thought.  I wanted to "save" this tangled web of emotion that misunderstood and stalked.  What ego and hubris on my part.  

I am this morning so clear on the power of our words, the impact, and how tossing out threats like stones is as painful to others as throwing bombs and I am also clear, once again, on the lesson of release on my part.  If I try to mold the world to my ideal by saying,  "I  know what is best for you.  Let me help you.  Give me your burden," then I ignore the pack that is my own.  

There are many poems written to the moon.  It receives poetry and the light of the sun and it is set up in a cycle that means we never see its back side, its shadow.  May my turning, my looking at myself, show all my sides to you. 



Chet Raymo writes in The Soul of the Night:

"Every object near a star wears a cone of night. Near every star there is a ring of cone-shaped shadows that point into space like a crown of thorns. The sun's family of nights includes the shadows of nine planets, several dozen moons, and an army of asteroids. Every particle of dust in the space of the solar system casts its own tiny pyramid of darkness. The sun bristles with nights like a sea urchin prickly with shadowy spines.

Each cone of night is the Paraclete that brings the gift of deep space and deep time. On the planet's daylight side the atmosphere scatters sunlight into an obscuring planet of blue, the Earth's "blue Mundane shell," William Blake called it, "a hard coating of matter that separates us from Eternity."  But when we turn with the spinning Earth into night's dark cone, we glimpse the universe. Years ago I read a science fiction story about a planet in a system with four suns. Only once in 2000 years did all four suns set at the same time and the sky go dark. When that singular event came to pass, the people of the planet saw night for the first time and were overwhelmed by its majesty.

The pyramid of night is Earth's narrow chink in its blue armor.  Blake says, "If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern." The blue air closes us up.  Only through the crack of night do we glimpse the Infinite.  Only through the crack of night can we seek out our sun-faced Buddhas. Through that cone-shaped chink in the Earth's blue mundane shell we court Infinity the way Pyramus courted Thisbe."


And that is another story, but for today, on this weekend that celebrates the spaceship that carried us here, let us open even further our fingers, ribs, and desire to stroke even more the expansiveness of this world we share. 



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