On the full moon.

Today is the full moon. I know because I downloaded an app on my phone, so when my coworkers are irritable and I am weepy I know why. The alternative is thinking we’re collectively going crazy.

Some cultures believe the veil between the physical world and the spiritual one is thinner during the full moon. Maybe we are irritated because we have to make lattes and write business reports when eternity is brushing against our skin, making us raw. Maybe we are weepy because we have no words for the weight against our souls.

I have been in a throwaway mood lately. Everything is heavy on me. I texted Brian the other day in a fit. We have to get rid of all the furniture, I said. The couch, the loveseat, the bed, the dresser. I’ll set up an eisel in the corner by the window and paint.

But where will people sit? he said.

On the floor. Or in the kitchen. Who cares?

We didn’t throw out the furniture, but I put my energy into deep-cleaning the kitchen. Now it looks beautiful and clean and cottage-y, and there are lilacs on the table. I went out yesterday in my pajamas in the rain to cut them. It seemed very reasonable at the time.

God and I have been in a tug-of-war lately, punctuated by dreams I don’t understand and sometimes don’t remember. I feel that this isn’t really fair play on his part.

This morning as soon as I woke up I went to my dresser in the dark and pulled out a bracelet woven by a girl in Cambodia. She is making bracelets and silk scarves to escape the sex trade. My sister and I buy her beautiful things and pray for her, and today my first waking thought was that it was very important to wear this bracelet.

I don’t know why I did this. The only dream I remember having is fighting and failing to control a big bay horse who seemed to find my efforts amusing. A man in my dream said maybe I should get a better bridle. I told him maybe he should shut his fucking face. I was very irritated in my dream.

(You’re not nearly as funny and clever as you think you are, God. I know that was you.)


Today my Facebook feed is full of #BringBackOurGirls, the protests of rape victims in the US, and this post, by Sarah Bessey, about sitting with sadness.

Normally, on days like this, I turn on every light in the house. I wrap my heart in warrior’s armor and fiercely count the ways we’ve won against the patriarchal world, lest I fall into despair and then apathy.

But today I threw open all the windows and left the lights off. It’s cold compared to the eighty-degree weather we’ve been having, so I curl my feet under me. God and I sit in the lilac-scented dark in companionable silence, the way we couldn’t a few years ago.

Maybe today God is grieving. Maybe he’s wearing is own woven bracelet in remembrance and wanted some company.



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