Feeling Moony

moonrise in Alaska from my deck

When I was a teenager, I discovered the poetry of a fellow Minnesotan, Robert Bly. This was before Iron John and his fame as translator of Pablo Naruda. His words touched me. I hauled his books of poetry to our cabin on Big Sandy and always had one tucked in my pack.  Imagine my surprise today when we began the K12 Earth Science lesson on moon phases and it begins with poetry from Robert Bly.

After writing poems all day,
I go off to see the moon in the pines.
Far in the woods I sit down against a pine.
The moon has her porches turned to face the light,
But the deep part of her house is in the darkness.

One of my earliest memories is seeing the moon over my Dad's shoulder as he carried me home to my bed after the store closed. "My moon!" Mother moon was full and extraordinarily close when my Dad was  called home on the shores of Lake Superior. He was born in a twin city, lived his whole life in twin cities, and died in a twin city. Our lives go through phases and sometimes we reflect more light than other times.

I do my Tai Chi in moonbeams - full, crescent, gibbos, and wuji.