Wednesday, September 1, 2010


I started a post yesterday afternoon in between making supper before going to rehearsal and phone calls and being in town and running errands and doing laundry and taking venison out of the freezer to defrost and, and, and...

And it was about being so tired.
So tired.

It included things like, "I am tired of assholes and their opinions. I am tired of my own assholiness and my own opinions."
And that I was tired of doing dishes and laundry and taking my walk and cleaning up dog pee and hurting and mostly, I was tired of being tired.

Ah lah.
I still am. Tired of all of those things.


I got good sleep last night. And then I woke up this morning and although I could cram one million things into this day again, and I may end up doing that, for this moment, it is all okay. That light you see above is coming through the oaks in my back yard. Light made visible, light made real, the speed of light socked into my heart like a supersonic train, like an injection of pure good.

Well, light.
Go towards it.

Sometimes we have a need to huddle in the darkness and despair. It's okay. But then we have to crawl out again, we have to, and if we're lucky, we find those beams of light, those rays of dancing electrons, illuminating and making holy whatever they land on.

And if we take a moment, we can find them, even in our own backyard.

It is best, I think, to look for them when in the early morning or in the late afternoon when the sun (giver of light) is rising or falling in the sky and the air is magic with the way that light falls. During the hours of strongest light, when we are busiest and life is too full, everything is lit and so there is an overwhelming amount of it and we don't see it, it just is. There. Every where. So what? Light. Heat. Busyness. All leading to exhaustion.

No. It's those moments in the day when it is either just beginning to announce its presence or licking the land with its last sweet golden drops that we are stopped dead in our tracks by the singular beauty of it. Coming out of darkness or about to enter it again- that is when the light is most pure, most welcome, most lovely.

That is when we must force ourselves to be quiet, finally, and see it. Really see it. Look for it. Think about it. Cast off our exhaustion or our tossing dreams of night time to be still and find it. The birds announce it, morning and evening, both wild and domesticated.
We should too.

And this morning, I am greeting it, I am taking note of it. I am slowing down enough to search the yard for it, to take its picture, to write about it here.
To say that this life is tiring but at least twice a day, light dances in a way which is nothing short of magic and that if we all took the time to watch that dance, even to dance with it, to ignore those voices (they are clamoring in my ears even now) which say, "Get on with it, there is this to do, there is that, hurry, hurry, hurry!" we would all be better off.

That's all.
Dance in the light if you can.
That's all.


  1. indeed.

    and I have some reading here to catch up on...
    that busy and light noticing always a challenge.

    have a wonder filled day. and maybe a nap .

  2. This is all so beautiful ~ your photos, your words, your heart.

    And assholiness??? What a great word!

    Hope your day unfolds just as gloriously as your morning:)

  3. Thanks for sharing the light.

    I always find the fall light so lovely. The fact that I notice it so readily is attributable to Mrs. William Faulkner, who is long dead and gone now, but God bless her.

    Mrs. F. once commented to her husband how lovely the diffused light in August was, and of course, her husband, being the resourceful type and likely generally a drunken pain in Mrs. Faulkner's ass, promptly did what all good artists do and stole that shit and entitled one of his books, "The Light in August."

    I always think of poor sweet old Mrs. Faulkner this time of year, when the light is special and indescribably lovely.

    God bless Mrs. Faulkner. God bless us all.

    I love you, and your yard is a damn dream of the very best sort.

  4. that is all and everything lovely ms. moon.

    there is a new sponsor on my blog- i haven't done a post yet on her- called Hazel Village, and she has the little mouse face on her ad. she makes stuffed toys and she has an Owen Mouse :)))

  5. I think we're living parallel lives.

  6. What pours out of your mind and your heart is so exquisitely are obviously a vessel of God.

  7. deb- Thank-you. No nap but that's okay. I feel good.

    Lulumarie- Owen is coming so I think it will.

    Stephanie- I'm pretty sure I'm right about light, at least.

    Ms. Bastard-Beloved- I had never heard that story and it is a great one. Can you imagine being married to Faulkner? Ha!
    Love you.

    Maggie May- I will check it out!

    Elizabeth- I wouldn't doubt it.

    Lo- Aren't we all though? All of us.

  8. Amen to this. To soaking in the light.

  9. "I am tired of assholes and their opinions. I am tired of my own assholiness and my own opinions."

    Oh goodness I've been feeling that a lot recently, Ms. Moon.
    Slowing down definitely helps... thank you for that reminder...

  10. I am done with jerks. Everywhere I look--jerks, jerks, jerks.

    But then...the moon was still in the sky this morning, and my dear one said, "The moon follows me because it's my friend."

    I thought of you. I also enjoy the moon and her light.

  11. And your light glows Ms. Moon...Your garden is so magical and your words hit me (in such good ways!) to where I pause...take note, and yes grateful to have found your blog..... :)

  12. Yeah yeah yeah. Says the woman who got no sleep at all. :-)

  13. beautiful photos. Just beautiful.

    Hope you get to perking up.

  14. oh, sweetness.
    i'm reading this at work and i just got all teary.
    you do that, your writing, your wonder, and ways of seeing.
    thank you.

  15. I am in the light today. Yesterday, the light hurt too much. Wonderful photos of the golden hours.

  16. i hope your day was utterly light filled.

  17. Oh, the beauty of that first photo. Is what I imagine heaven to be.

  18. Jo- And letting it bathe your woes away.

    Corinne- We could probably all do with less coffee, more breathing.
    Speaking for myself, at least.

    Nancy C- The moon's light is liquid silver and is a beauty all to itself.

    Ellen- And I to have found YOURS.

    Mwa- You're allowed. You just had a baby.

    Ms. Fleur- I'm okay. I really am.

    Bethany- I thought of you while writing this.

    Syd- Too much light is a bad thing.

    Rebecca- It was!

    Angie- And I get to live here! In heaven!

  19. So, I just had to come back and read your "light" post. And I'm so glad I did.

    "Coming out of darkness or about to enter it again- that is when the light is most pure, most welcome, most lovely."

    This is profoundly lovely in its deep truth. Thank you. I am here, this week.

    And I will try to dance in the light.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.