Got up at 4am to meditate under the Blood Moon and the full moon eclipse. The only place I could see the moon clearly was from the exact place we laid Pepper after he died while we dug his grave in the garden. The same little stone ledge we brought the other dogs out to, one at a time, to say goodbye. We wrapped him in a white sheet and he laid there, in peace, for the first time since he took his last breath.
I brought my crystals outside. Rolled out Andreas mat; the one I clenched so tightly during one of many flights from Costa Rica this year. My fists turned white and I couldn’t feel my fingers from the moment we got on the plane. We had packed up her house and amongst all the things I had in my suitcase that weren’t really mine, this yoga mat was the one thing I truly couldn’t comprehend.
This morning I rolled her mat out and sat down where I know she sat many times before. I lit palo santo and practiced yoga under the stars for so long I lost track of time. Eventually the lunar eclipse took over and there was only a sliver left of the full moon. The clouds came out and this sunrise full of color started happening behind me. Slowly, I lost sight of the moon completely. And then I cried. A lot.
Finally I woke the dogs up and took them for a long walk on the north shore. The sky turned a light shade of pink and gusts of salty wind came in from the sea, enveloping us in a strange, golden mist. For a moment, we were all alone. Time stopped. I sat down on a cliff and watched the sun burst through the horizon and rise from the ocean, turning the night into day.
Suffering great loss, we stumble through the darkness for a long time. At some point we find ourselves. At some point, after what seems like an eternity of pain and grief, we just do. It’s like the universe all of a sudden has had enough of our pain and helps us turn it into something else. We realize that nothing is ever lost. Just because the sun is out and I can’t see her doesn’t mean the moon is not there. She has been there all along, just as bright and full and vibrantly alive. Her diminished sized lies in my perception of the sky, not in her. Nothing is lost.