Then the days pass, and the full moon wanes, rising later and later each night.
During one of those nights last week, I couldn’t sleep. Outside the window the old moon shone, keeping me company through the dark hours. And bells inside of me rang as I realized the old moon has her glory, too. But it isn’t celebrated, it isn’t seen. We sleep, dreaming.
The old moon is the true queen of the night. She needs no adulation. I had the feeling of being held in the arms of something old, wise, and watchful. Something that could hold every part of me, whether deviled or winged, adventurer or mystic, lion or mouse.
What a comfort. What a liberation.
7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.
Join us on April 12 when author Kevan J. Atteberry shares what makes him ring, resonate, and feel alive.