The moon is full, the smell of lilacs and skunk linger in the warm air, it is still and quiet or maybe not so much quiet as it is ordinary. There are college kids having parties and driving loud vehicles around the neighborhood, revving motorcycles spin in the endless loop, growing louder and louder and softer and softer and the sound grows again. In a few short days the big college town will become the sleepy summer town that I have grown to love. Although the existential angst is like a tattoo on my beating heart and my sloshing brain, my mood has brightened as I have been able to enjoy the warming weather, and long walks. My mind not so much empty as I would seek in meditation, but my thoughts are easy, and I do not dwell much, but there is a spaciousness to them, they open up and the questions seem smaller, the solutions simpler. It is the walking that throws open the doors and sweeps out the cobwebs, I feel like Mrs. Havisham some days with my grey dress and my moldy cake.
It all comes down to thinking there is actually some grand and great meaning to all of this, or that there is some answer to the why. The thing is, I realize as the skunk and lilac is replaced by dryer sheets, that there may not be, I mean a grand and great meaning, an answer, or a solution. And even if there is one, letting go of it is the only way to find peace and serenity. If you keep waiting for the answers to come to you, it will cut off your breathe, leave you panting and moaning and questing endlessly for an ounce of fresh flesh, meanwhile you are but a rotting corpse of what you could be. The smell of woodsmoke wafts across and intermingles with the skunk. Perhaps the answer is just this.
I decide to write, though I have held my words for many days, because I felt a need to swaddle myself, but writing feels way better than the cocoon. All stalkers be damned. Stalk away. Have your fun. You will not crush my spirit. I emerged long ago and found I was a most beautiful moth.
The moon is full.