Last night was the Harvest Moon and they said it was going to be spectacular! I’m a big fan of full moons and I was really looking forward to it. I’ve been feeling a little blue lately – actually “really depressed” is how I’ve been describing it to anyone who would listen – and I thought that watching this particular moon might lift my spirits. Not only was it supposed to be especially large and colorful because of some astrophysical stuff having to do with the earth’s tilt and light refraction, but it’s also historically the time to celebrate the end of the growing season and enjoy the fruits of our labors. And since I’ve been growing and laboring pretty hard lately, it seemed like a celebration was definitely in order.
But I forgot. It’s not that I forgot it was happening. I’d been anticipating it all day, and in fact, shortly after sunset I decided to go outside and watch it come up from my little pool. I thought that floating there in the water, looking up at the Harvest Moon would be very healing and magical. As I lay there in the water, I could see the sky lighten in the east so I knew it had risen over the treetops and would soon be moving past my roof and into my field of view. I just knew it would be amazing and could almost feel its power.
But then I started thinking about some of the things that have happened lately, mostly having to do with some rather big blows to my sense of self and self-worth. I started fretting – okay, obsessing – about those, and then it happened. I simply forgot about the moon. I got out of the pool, rinsed off, went inside, closed the curtains, and went to bed with a book and eventually fell asleep to some pretty dark and disturbing dreams.
And today I’m seeing pictures and descriptions of the “incredible Harvest Moon” all over Facebook and in the media. But I didn’t see it. I missed it. Who knows if it would have made any difference in my state of mind or my dreams or my life? But even so, it makes me a little sad. Because I simply forgot to look at the moon.