There was a ceiling of fractured clouds, with the moon full behind them. Waxing Gibbous. You could tell because it had that same sort of glow as sun when it knocks on closed eyelids as you awake to morning light.
Awake. I want to be awake, and make no mistake - sometimes we find ourselves too long asleep. I’m not trying to be overly deep. But I sometimes find I’ve arrived somewhere and don’t remember how I got there. I missed digesting the details of the journey. And I don’t want to miss a thing.
The cloud ceiling beckoned my eyes upwards, beckoned me awake. It seemed to be telling me “I’m just like you! I’m just like you! Fractured but defined by light too.”
The moonlight was doing its best to bleed through all the fractures in the cloud ceiling’s armour, finding every chink, finding the wounds to bleed its light through.
"The wound is the place where the Light enters you." (Rumi)
We try so hard to cover all the ways we are broken, haphazard stitching, hurried glue jobs. But, try starring at the bleeding moonlight through all the cuts of clouds. You’ll wonder: why do we hide? What is so very shameful about being fractured, about having crooked seams? What is so very regretful about having places for the Light to enter in and shine out?
I’m not sure what I mean. But it seemed something to say, anyway.
Because I’m just trying to make sense of myself.
(I’m just trying to make sense.)