Good Night, Moon

“I like to think the moon is there…
even if I am not looking at it.”
~ Einstein

I had a talk with God the other day.

It didn’t go well.

Probably because we broke up years ago and I spent the entire conversation reminding him of my disbelief every seven words. It was a disaster. The nuns back in Catholic school would have crossed themselves, prayed for my soul and then giggled behind my back at the pathetic irony of it. I knew it wouldn’t work. I knew it wouldn’t help. I knew it wasn’t the right entity to chat with…

Tonight, I remembered the rules. Remembered what makes an old gypsy tick.

Leaving four sleeping kids and a snoring Hippie all tucked away in their beds, I sneaked downstairs, grabbed my smokes and a hoodie, and stepped outside. I knew there wouldn’t be natural water nearby (the pool didn’t count). I knew it would be too dark to pick at the gravel on the side of the road and pretend they were real rocks.

But I knew the moon would be there.

It had been shining through the slats in the blinds upstairs, whispering to my insomnia like a secret lover. Reminding me what its embrace was like, how well it listened, how easily it soaked up tears. And I answered its call.

I’ve been all over the grid lately. Circuit overload, if you will. Pick an emotion… I’ve had it. They’ve all been competing for time and space and privacy with my chi. I’m out of balance. I hate being out of balance. I am the great multi-tasker, damn it. I can do it all. Because I’ve always told myself I can. My mother could, therefore I can—heroes are worthless if you don’t try to emulate them, right? But I’ve been off. My chi is all out of shape and my brain is being pulled a million different directions. I couldn’t talk it out because I couldn’t untwist it enough to even understand what needed to be said. I know I have three story lines fighting for pecking order and a petulant muse that will not be ignored. I have friends that need me. Things that are bothering me—some I can control, most I cannot. Totem poles of life and love and longing being chiseled and redesigned on a regular basis. Overload. And I unleashed it all in a rambling mess, paying no heed to the connections that may or may not exist between points—real or imagined.

The moon and I had the talk that was never intended for God’s ears. It listened quietly, never wavering, never blinking. It didn’t interrupt. It never laid blame or got defensive. It didn’t judge. It just was.

And it helped. It calmed the woman and bandaged the twelve-year-old. Because the gypsy knew it could. It would. Because it’s always been there, even when I’m not looking. It’s tangible (sorry God, Catholic school was fun but the science geek wins this time) and it’s the same moon that the first gypsy in my bloodline talked to on a calm night, long ago, filled with crickets and night birds… and overload. It’s the ultimate keeper of secrets. The shoulder that never gets tired of being cried on. A shining beacon of light when it seems dark. And the healer of broken gypsies. When there is no water for your toes, or rocks for your fingers to pick through, the moon will be there. Always.

It’s well past midnight now. It’s Thursday and I’m supposed to have written some pithy question to throw out at all of you for the weekly Garage Talk post. Instead, I will say thank you to something beautiful, just for existing (for the second time this week), go crawl back into bed and fall asleep to the sound of my best friend’s heartbeat, while the moon sings her lullaby through the slats. And in the morning, I’ll post this…

Originally I had “sans question” as the end of that last sentence. But on the coattails of a good night’s sleep, how about we toss this instead: When you’re out of whack, where do YOU go to fix your chi? What do you turn to? Is there a place or a thing that you can unload onto or just be at that will help it all untangle? Not a person—that’s cheating. Pick an inanimate band-aid and tell me why it helps. Why it heals.

0 Responses to Good Night, Moon

  • paula says:

    Two things help me unwind.
    1.) My books , I dust them , organize them, just spend time.

    2.) My kitchen. People think I’m so nice sending out cookies to everyone. I’m not that nice, sometimes baking helps works out stress and I can’t possibly eat all those cookies or cakes or whatever it is I might bake.
    I don’t know why it works, it just does.
    I hope that you are feeling back inline soon, you know Mark & I are far away but always willing to listen.

  • Kevin Lucia says:

    Two things:

    1. mowing. I love mowing. Organized. Orderly. Circular, because then the clippings get thrown right back onto the garden to compost.

    2. reading. Even when I’m happy, I’d go crazy – literally – if I couldn’t begin end my day lost in a story.

    3. running has been the new thing. Run until I can’t anymore. That helps.

  • Kevin Lucia says:

    OOps. Three things, I guess…

  • AJ Brown says:

    When I was younger, back before my legs decided they didn’t like running as much as they used to, I played football to get the aggression out. It led to a couple of my buddies getting hit hard when I tackled them, but by the end of the game, I felt better, felt relaxed, felt like the world was right again. It didn’t matter if I was angry or sad or just out of sorts, football always helped.

    Now, when I’m a bit discombobulated I walk and look at the world—I mean really look at it. I take in the buildings and the people and what is going on around me on a much more intense level than when I am in good spirits, so to speak. My favorite place to walk is a Cherokee Trail not far from where I live. It’s nearly three miles of nature and nature and I are fast friends. Sometimes I’ll talk, kind of like you and the moon. Other times I just listen to what nature has to say. By the time I’m done with the walk I usually feel better and my mind is functioning correctly—and then I write… and it feels good…

  • Matthew Blazi says:

    I go down to my den and use that to relax me when its all gone haywire. Being down there is calm, nobody comes down there with me unless I ask them to, they know that is my area. When down there I a lot of times just sit and look at the pictures on the wall or go through the stuff i’ve collected over the years and lose myself for an hour or 2.

    Also sometimes the moon and stars align and I get a saturday night to myself. The house is empty except for me and I can get back and focus on whats going on and not have constant noise or interuptions.

  • Mary SanGiovanni says:

    The stars. They are family.

    For the same reason as the moon, more or less.

  • Meteornotes says:

    The Ocean – sitting and watching it always relaxes and focuses me

    Cooking – Making food, especially something somewhat complicated, gets me lost in the process. I just wish I had someone to cook for…

  • wolfnoma says:

    I find my peace and balance in riding my mountain bike and taking a long walk with a tasty cigar. Both activities help me get my thoughts sorted out, my emotions in check and my balance back. It never matters the time of day or the weather. Just the act of being able to get out of my life and away from the distractions that scream at me daily as well as compete like 4 year old kids over a game of “Sorry” puts it all at bay and in perspective of the great and amazing world of nature.

    When I return from my sabatacles the responsibility, problems and daily weight of lifes torture are there to greet me with a smile and a kick to the groin but the pain is fleeting and the pressure lighter than it would have been had I not disapeared for a bit to garner my strength, peace, logic and sanity.

    As a quick sidenote, I have been known under certain extreme stress to put words down on paper as well as in digital form. Rarely do those words go out to anyone but I have found a certain solace in being able to go back and read what I was going through in those times of insane emotional overload. I sit in awe at the maniac that is in me and what he deals with. Those words will always have meaning to me and they have a tendency to help me relive all of what I was going through but now with the distance that time provides. The scar tissue throbs at the pain that still lingers underneath it but now it is not unbearable. I scratch my head, I laugh and I cry. I move on, just like you and the rest of the Human Race only hopefully, now, a bit wiser.

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