Easter Moon

Yesterday I walked in the sunshine from the Parabola office to the East Village Meat Market, to get my heavy bags of Polish sausage and ham, the Easter Meats. I took off my sweater and put on my sunglasses and spoke with my mother on the phone. I experienced a ritualistic feeling as I stood in the crowded shop talking to the young butcher, sacrifice to celebrate the resurrection of spring-life on the day of the first full moon after the Vernal Equinox. I carried the heavy meats through the streets smiling.

A sunbeam fell across me during Yoga and I felt myself filled with a power greater than myself, the breath flowing through me and moving me with a boundless strength that belonged to all life but inhabited me to accept my invitation.

After midnight I read the Tarot, using the Aquarian pack with all those art-nouveau lines, the quarterly reading that had not yet felt appropriate until this completion of the moon’s waxing. I drew Judgment and The Moon, the cards, as always when the focus in pure, accurate and unsettling in their affirmation of what one knows already.

This powerful moon has been keeping me awake nights, laying in my bed and waiting for it to appear as the disk of light behind my curtain, feeling it pull me across the sky.
Twice yesterday I dreamt again of lost love, the ghost that lingers. I’d said to Nicole, If you really were in love I’m not so sure it can be replaced with another feeling– if love is the strongest thing…

I woke slow and read W.S. Merwin nestled in my quilt:

Utterance

Sitting over words
very late I have heard a kind of whispered sighing
not far
like a night wind in pines or like the sea in the dark
the echo of everything that has ever
been spoken
still spinning its one syllable
between the earth and silence