When I was a young girl in the 70’s, between the ages of 7-13, my family and I would often drive two hours from San Diego to Los Angeles to visit my grandparents. The ride up was mostly dreary highway, but sometimes we would all sing songs which I greatly enjoyed. These were some of the happier moments in an otherwise difficult childhood. For the most part there wasn’t a lot of affection or joy in our home, nor was I encouraged to express myself in any way, especially emotionally. My parents did the best they could, as I am sure they endured the same. Thankfully I was able to end this painful legacy when I had my own family. Through the joy of raising my children with all the beauty and love I had missed, I was able to heal and grow from my past. This has been my greatest success.
When I think of my little self in the back seat, face pressed against the window, it feels bittersweet to remember how alone I felt, sitting there with my 3 siblings, and parents in the front. It was usually early evening when we drove home. My father would play the radio, and we would listen to all the current music, which I still love to this day. One of my favorite songs was about a pony named Wild Fire, by Michael Martin Murphy. With the opening notes, I would immediately relax into a peaceful trance, lost in wondrous dreams of riding my own magical horse. I think the part of me that is so connected with spirit and the mystical was awakened during these times.
Staring out the window, I would see my face reflected back to me. I would gaze deeply into my eyes, fading in and out with the passing of car lights, and wonder at the connection I was feeling. It was as if I recognized my soul.
In between the music and my shadowy reflection, I would search the darkening night until I saw my loyal friend the moon. It was a ritual for me to then say softly to myself, “I see the moon, the moon sees me. God bless the moon, and God bless me.” I would watch this brilliant light in the sky for as long as I could, marveling at how close it seemed, and how devoted it was to follow me home.
Late this afternoon, I took my familiar 3 mile neighborhood walk around the lake. Always I look forward to this time of contemplation and renewal. Usually it is spent in gratitude, and just being in the moment, but often feelings of heartache, my constant companion, will rise up in the rhythm of my footsteps for me to embrace. Sometimes what’s under the surface needs to break free. I am no stranger to loss, nor, unfortunately is anyone in this world. I think it’s part of our being human. Adrift in my growing anguish I glanced up into the sky, and there looking down at me, shining radiant over the trees, my dearest forever friend, bright and devoted, following me wherever I go. I smiled, and wiped the tears from my eyes. I remember now, I am never really alone. The Moon and I will always be.
“I see the moon, the moon sees me. God bless the moon, and God bless me.”
In Peace, Raven
“The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.” ― Tahereh Mafi