Harvest Moon

We talk about moon rituals, this new girl I met and I. We are walking by a lake.

She’s happy with the size of today’s moon, the Friday, and the 13th, all together only makes her happy and buoyant. She sees lovely people. She sees people as lovely. Imagine.

My moon ritual is pagan and painful and requires blood – I peel from my lower lip – and tears. My tears fall enlarging my eyes, making them luminous. Together, with my raw lips I look well-kissed or happily loved up. When I walk the streets later, they can’t take their eyes off me. I can’t really see them as the tears – even the ones I am holding at bay – block everything. Also, I don’t like people at all. So I don’t see them and their petty games and desires.

Is this the rest of a long night?
Is this the rest of the process?
Is this the rest of our lives?

She shudders delicately. Her skin, flawless and fair, glows. We laugh mirthlessly. She says, I fear we are all empty together and that’s how we will grow old. That’s so dark and macabre, no? She shudders again.

It’s truth I recognize.
But instead I say, life is in the moments.

Like a walk by a lake in the midst of a light shower. The water seeps into your hair, your eyes, your skin. You see ripples along the lake and patterns that are cyclic. You live in that moment. Nothing exists. Not even your breath. You are the same as the flowering plumerias bordering the lake, the same as the lake trying to be still, the birds singing…
You are that. That is you.

We are both very quiet. As one, we sit under a tree, seeking not shelter but sights. The ducks swim indifferently in the water but they are huddled together. The earth smells and we forget the pollution and traffic outside.

The new girl I met shimmers with hope and love for a world that smells mildly of a recycling sanitary unit. She allows me to feel.

The cyclical patterns remind me: What goes around comes around.
I cling to this banality of belief.

Goodness and grace must triumph.
We are all fine.
We are all loved, loving, lovable, lovely.
We will all grow old in our togetherness, happy, and full of contentment.

In the autumn of my despair, these homilies are what I want to harvest before reason and realism and winter sets in.

A harvest moon ritual starter- pack includes:

  1. A new friend
  2. A shared walk in nature. Water is, naturally, a given.
  3. A living-in-the-moment rainfall toolkit.
  4. A letting go of baggage, negativity, and criticism conversation.
  5. A page (No animals were harmed in the making of this paper; their dung may have been used) to set down intentions you want to harvest.

To order yours, get your world destroyed.

About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
This entry was posted in Blue Funk, Idle Thoughts, Intoxication Induced. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s