It’s 1:30 a.m. You are listening to Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon”.
Was it four hours ago you lay your tired head upon soft pillow waiting for sleep to lull you into your deepest night? Four hours of watching images dance before your inner eyes. Four hours of your very own harvest moon lighting up the crevices of your soul. Stars of thoughts gleaming; feelings soaring and diving like owls between shadows of branches against the curtains of your eyelids.
You see so clearly the young boy dressed in 1920’s attire bouncing his red ball against the sidewalk. Up, down and the image shifts. Ladies in long dresses walk arm in arm and you want to peer deeper into your hypnagogic images but they move on, indifferent to the viewer. There! A ship waits in a glass bottle. But now it’s gone. And another image crests. And another. You watch your own inner movie with no plot. It plays on and on.
You hear inner thoughts which seem to come from far away. “Archipelago eyes” you heard clearly about two hours ago and you repeated it to yourself at least four times because it sounded so intriguing. But no meaning attaches itself. Phrases arrive, full-blown and complete, and touch down like unidentified flying objects on the recesses of your moon-crater brain. They lift off again into the meaninglessness from which they birthed.
You remind yourself that Spirit rules the night. You are full-fledged exhausted but the inner world never ceases. It continues on: images, thoughts, random phrases.
You rise upwards from the pillow, tossing off blankets, turning on the kitchen light. You brew chamomile tea and sip it. Joy fills your heart. You realize you are made of joy, that joy comprises everything you thought you were. The world of outside and inside blurs. You suddenly see that the outside is the inside; the inside is the outside. It feels different from you ever knew. But that, too, fades in five seconds. You stare, amazed, at your hands and bring them up to stroke your cheeks. You meditate, breathing so deep your tailbone flutters. Your out-breath soars up and out your crown chakra. You think of yesterday. You find yourself walking back to bed and smile, knowing sleep is near.
Sleep smiles back but does not comply. You listen to your husband’s steady breathing. You begin writing a blog in your head. You long to hear Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon”. Your thoughts call him “Neil Armstrong”. You realize you are living with one foot on earth and the other on the moon.
One step for Neil; one step for…But now it’s getting late and the moon is rising high. We know where the music’s playing; let’s go out and feel the night.
You want to see Neil dance again on the dust craters of the moon of our night. You want to see the owls reflected in your singing eyes. You want to go to bed and sleep until the sun crests the tree branches. Yet you bow instead to that which is rising high within the celebration of this sacred night, the stars flying down into your knowing of divinity, what can never be broken, what can never fall asleep, that which slowly blinks its yellow eye toward dawn.