A Song by the Moon

Aging and Letting Go:

A Song by the Moon

It's the final nights of winter, the season I once loathed, but cold air feels creamy since there's now a sun raging through my core.

I'm gradually losing moon cycles, and as I've begun to find new rhythms, my heart's beat has become unfamiliar.

(They say it's the loss of estrogen; I say it's the trust of new beginnings.

Why grieve loss when maturation has made me realize that we are all many moons?)

From my bed, moonlight creates a silver lining of snowflakes against skin. The flakes sting with pleasure, and the chilliness whispers,

"Don't be afraid of aches."

My skin turns blue and sings in return,

"Letting go of how I thought it was all supposed to be.

Letting go of perfectionism and lies passed to me.

In letting go, I stop missing the blessings right in front of me.

In letting go, beauty is no longer a separate entity.

Letting go teaches me the art of breath...of divinity...of song.

Letting go gives me a chance to breathe each day before they've become years lost."

As blue pulsating skin claims the sun in my chest, I smell the sweet, starry melody of Mystical Mother. She smiles as song fades; she is the one who birthed me by hollow trees, before there was heart, lungs and breath.

She birthed me and I have rebirthed.

This isn't knowledge that's mastered by mind.

It is pause.

It is deep, empathetic listening.

It is a chirping sun and playful sky.

It is blue, silver, and yellow draining into foggy green earth.

That's how I let go.

That's how we let go,

and the only way to go

is in.