Monday, 22 February 2016

Luna






"I did die, I've been on the moon. And I know you died, because you were there too. Are you an angel?"

"I'm not dead baby bear. I promise I'm not dead".

"You are an angel. You died."

"I'm not dead baby, I'm really real. I'm not dead."

Conversation with my love, December 23rd 2015.

I'm still not dead.

It is the second full moon since the night She took you. Our Mother and Queen. She swept you away into her icy embrace and took all of the warmth from the world that night. And I miss you. I'll miss you as long as I live.

You once told me that you wished you could somehow hold the moon in your hand. That She would somehow shrink into a form small enough to possess fully. A bit like Orion's bell in 'Men in Black'. So I bought you a piece of moonstone and sent it to you in the house by the sea. I believe it is the same piece of moonstone that sits on my altar tonight.

We always loved the moon. And the sea. Our magnetic attraction to both. I remember that night in Tywyn. It was another full moon night and a storm was picking up. We walked the beach together, playing chicken with the waves, running out of dry sand to walk on. Not entirely confident that we could make it to the steps before the waves overtook us. And neither of us can swim. We were always just a little reckless.

I miss you. My adventure buddy. There is no-one else I would want to share the moonlight with. No one else who listens when I read to them, really listens. No one else to sing with me. And no-one ever could. But I'll sing our songs.

I am learning to better understand the rhythm of things. I spent the waxing moon building community here in Liverpool. Trying as many support groups, craft groups and classes as possible. Being open to experience. Kindling flames. And now on the full moon I am assessing what the last two weeks have thought me. I have one activity each weekday which I love, and for the moment that is more than enough. Time to focus on my self-care. Let go.

I have concluded that the weekends are sacred. I need the full two days to catch up on my rest and to recharge. Constant interaction with humans is so incredibly draining. I love it, but I can't do it everyday. I know this, I know myself and my needs. Waning moon. Exhale. Let go.

I am getting stronger, more truly myself each day. I am learning to protect my own personal space and time. Learning to say no.

I am constantly exhausted. Insomnia is awful these days. I can only seem to sleep when I need to wake up. I'm told it will get better. I believe it is entirely due to my anxiety. Stress triggers have been hitting me hard and fast since you went away. My PTSD is flaring up. But I'm a fighter. I got this.

I still love the moon, even though She stole you away that night. I think of you up there when I see Her face, and it feels peaceful.

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