In praise of moonlight

For the past month, I’ve been living by the ocean. The salty air and the proximity to the great and mysterious womb of the earth fill me with a vibrant, ineffable joy - the shy kind that disappears if you focus on it too much. It must be held with a soft touch, lest it slip between the grip of my fingers. I am learning to sensitive myself to the pleasant hum of praise buzzing in my bones as I take in the beauty around me.

A few nights ago I watched in awe as the light of the waxing moon cast its silver glow on the gently undulating waves of the ocean, glittering brightly. I was reminded that in the Turkish language, there is actually a word, yakamoz, meaning moonlight shimmering on water. I am enchanted by that subtle attunement to the beautiful and numinous. This morning, I found a poem by Rumi:

Moonlight floods the whole sky from horizon to horizon; how much it can fill your room depends on its windows.

So I ask, how much moonlight are you letting into the room of your being? Are there any walls you could knock down to create more windows? Can you let the soft glow of joy caress your heart without trying to fossilize the feeling? Can you feel the hum of praise in your bones?

One aspect of my death contemplation work revolves around the reality that THIS… IS… IT. That’s not a statement about what happens after death (I have no idea!) so much as a wake up call that this present moment is what life feels like and we have the opportunity to enjoy it in all its ephemeral, heartbreaking beauty