Wednesday's Bluedy Moos

Cold-hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colors from our sight
Red is gray and yellow white
And we decide which is right
And which is an illusion?
- Graeme Edge, "Late Lament"

A full moon over my right shoulder. I've been watching it now for about fifteen minutes. Clouds and the rising sun are readying themselves to swallow it. It is amazing to me how something so bright can be so quickly engulfed by the blue of dawn. Look, there. It's almost gone.

The words above are spoken at the conclusion of "Nights in White Satin" by The Moody Blues. I memorized them years ago and each time I see a full moon, they are spoken or whispered or thought. I'm not sure what they really mean. I was standing by my brother a few years ago as the cold-hearted orb lit the night sky. I spoke those words aloud. He said, "You would know those lines." I'm not sure what he meant.

Look, there. He will not go gently into that good night. He's struggling against the dawn. One last rage. From where I sit, the moon looks like a hole in the sky; a perfect white orb surrounded by the most beautiful cornflower blue. It has a halo like some medieval character in a painting. It's inviting, almost as if you looked through the hole, you could see into something else, somewhere else. I wonder where that'd be?

I wonder if looking through the moon-hole would reveal the land of our dreams? That place many of us go during the night hours? Maybe the moon is the hole that allows the dreams into this world? We dream them while the hole is there, the opening to dreamland, but once the hole is gone, so are the dreams. This is sounding a little like Eckhart Tolle, huh? Sorry. But still, if the dreams fly in, how do they decide where to land? Whose thoughts to inhabit? Do they look for open hearts and open minds, like the Methodists, or is anyone fair game?

I have a recurring dream. I had it again last night; yesterday, actually. Maybe the dream is a choice; I get to decide if it's real or if it's illusion. Maybe the dream is given in stark tones of gray and white and I have the ability to color it, shade it, give it perspective. Look, there. It's gone behind the mountains. I can see it no more. Goodbye, my friend. I will have to be intentional in not letting the bright sunlight dissipate my dream. The day comes with so much to do, so much expected of me. Busy, busy, busy as Rabbit says in Pooh. Sometimes, it is hard to remember your dreams. And even harder to hang on to them. Maybe there is a cruel aspect to the dreams that fly in the moon-hole at night; an indifference, if you will. The dreams come and say, "You choose. You have the freedom to choose. If you want it, take it. If not, fine; it is your choice. But know that the dreams only come full-grown a few nights a month."

Look, there. The sun also rises.