Anchoring Down the Moon Beams Question, Mark?

I started this post about two months ago, and by started I mean I popped the title into an open document only to stare at a blank screen wondering why the inspiration that first struck me to write had disappeared. As I gathered the courage to open the document again this morning I was halfway hoping to find a few paragraphs of salvageable material awaiting a sculptors hand; alas, it was still blank. No clarity had swept in through my absence to propose an approach to the question I still hadn’t gathered enough to ask. And today, after typing a few words my computer crashed, then after rebooting and trying again, my boyfriend walked in the room and started talking. Blank stare, distracted glare, the moon with her ever elusive elegance doesn’t seem to enjoy being anchored. I honestly wonder if my attempts to do so are in vain.

The quandary I am struck by has to do with that which cycles: the rhythms of the heart looping through life until finding cessation in death; the ever revolving quadrants of elemental time; the metaphorical psycho-spiritual maps we weave and cast from a troubled source with the hope of ebbing back into a life more equipped; the patterns of influence, of impulse, that which brings us around to harmonious insight as well as that which triggers discordance; and the most recondite of all, wearing the woman I am, are the negotiations taking place between body, mind, and moon.

Most all my attempts to anchor down the questions which I could supposedly propose to the powers apparently emanating from the moons influence within me, leaves me with a tangential tangle of endless factors only further disorienting my would be clarity. You have been warned; this sailor is trying to secure a ship in the middle of a storm. First of all, grappling with what to ask, prevents me, most times, from asking at all. So, like any loyal sea lady would, I must throw hesitation to the wind and be ready to sink down with the anchor I toss. For there to be any hope of surfacing with a treasure of truth to mark what is actually going down with the moon beams question it seems as though I must leave sobriety on the decks and drink only of her essence.

How would you like me to mark the time? It’s the first question which came to mind. At this point I am already frustrated because I feel conflicted with the idea of conforming to a daily dialed recording of my moods, feelings, cravings, changes. It would feel as though I were the weather man looking back upon last years April 16th and saying “yes, yes, yes, the record high was 75, record low 37, be prepared for temperatures between 30 and 80, rain, sun, wind or storm.” How prepared would that make me for the sudden attacks of wavering weather my hormones rain down? If my menstrual cycle were continually synced with the moon, if I always started bleeding on the new moon or full for instance, perhaps I would have a way of symbolically likening the visual light capacity held by the earth in relation to the moon’s waxing, waning, crescent, and gibbous representations to perform a sort of comparative analysis between such self-devised ideas derived from the sheer appearance of the moon and my own physio-motional, psycho-spiritual relationships to the manipulated semi-conscious interpretations made linguistic liturgy for the grand light in question/reverence. *deep sigh* Do you see what these questions do to me? I turn wacko.

Seriously, what is it I am really concerned with here? I want to know if I can influence the influence the moon has over me. Am I nothing but her influence and performing only as the influenced? How is it I tend to bleed in a cyclical pattern similar to the moon? How is it that I cannot be influenced if the majority of my molecular body is made up of water and the moons gravitational pull measures the tides, is it ridiculous of me to single out the moon when it is in relation to the earth and the sun and who knows what else beyond that? Does astrology have my answers? Astronomy? Physical oceanography? Psychology? Biology? Literature? Myth? Art? Plants? Dreams? Spirituality?? Religion?!?! What determines the moons influence on each of these proposed approaches to knowledge and understanding? Or perhaps more directly, to what extent does fertility and menstruation effect all this in question? Even more specifically, how does it effect me and is there a way to ally with its forces instead of being caught in some of the seemingly adverse effects it has on my body and emotions?

There is no way to implicate a formulaic design for contribution in mass for those with a similar bent from which to follow in order to know the moons influence on the individual. How incredibly large are these questions? Perhaps that is why I am drowning in its wake, it is as though I am asking “why are we here?” Yet, I am not entirely convinced I care anymore to know why, I have put aside the insistence to know with the personal understanding of; to each their own ever changing reasons. Instead I wonder, okay…so it is, now, how to flow with it? How do I sync myself to its harmonies and/or atonement’s? How do I, instead of resist, complement divinity? And if I can, will it help the suffering, my own, and others around me? Am I somehow missing some big cosmic joke that has been meeting me inside once a month for decades just waiting for me to catch onto the method of its madness?

It is impossible to separate such inquires from the self that also is whatever it is, including that which is lunar, lunatic, cyclical, ever changing in its lucidity and never changing course. Is she only an echoing model ebbing our impulses to the beat of her drum? Whose to say it is not she questioning us? penetrating us? determining us?

That which influences, that which is influenced, that which bleeds, that which creates, that which destroys, and on and on and on ad infinitum. Drowning, drowning, drowning… dead. Oh wait, I was just reborn! Look I am swimming now, so pretty, so sweet, so grateful, oops got some water in my mouth, oops swallowed some more, now I am choking choking choking… dead. oh wait, I was resurrected! Now I am dancing….