When I look outside,
Beyond my window,
Across the alley,
Above the neighbor’s garage —
I see darkness reaching
Beyond my imagination,
Flecked with non-darkness like possibilities scattered
Across a lifetime.

Above stars and earthly haze,
My attention attaches to a single silver sphere,
Perfect in its stillness,
Wordlessly expressive,
A wisdom always
Nearby,
Nearly realized,
Nearly born —
All the possibilities of the universe
In one luminous bubble,
My own Child Self,
Eternally safe in amniotic space.

When I look inside,
Beyond my memories,
Across my dreams,
Above my fears……
I see the moon.

In 1995, I wrote a poem about the moon. I loved its constancy. Every night, it always showed up. Whether clear or hazy, I knew where in the sky to look for it. Even as it changed its shape, its outward appearance, as most things will do, its essence never really changed. If it wasn’t full, I was content thinking that it was taking a much deserved exhale, or was in the process of becoming full again. The moon always seems to help me believe in possibilities. It is always perfect and always in the process of becoming.

And again, fifteen years after I wrote my ode to the moon, I feel the same. I am filled with a quiet delight when I am driving east into the city from the suburbs, on a fall evening, when the air is crisp and I am becoming aware that the night’s darkness is arriving earlier and earlier. I might be very tired from the day, but I am re-energized when I spy the moon rise.

I saw it last night. I went out to dinner with my friend Holly. We had just parked the car and started walking down Broadway to a small Ethiopian storefront restaurant. I announced that the moon was supposed to be full that evening. We both stared up and looked at a swatch of sky and waited for the moon to become visible for us. As if on cue, a cluster of clouds seemed to split apart and the silvery white disc came into focus as if at the end of a tunnel.

I saw the moon last night; full and silent and unashamed, rising above the city skyline…and I felt happy.

Being reminded of possibility and perfection is no small thing.