The french doors which open onto the veranda have been open all night, and the sound of the breakers on the blackstone promenade where alternately lulling us to sleep and calling us out of it. Either the waves or the rain, which greeted us on our arrival in Pondicherry and has come in sheets and drizzles since then — last night at least two good downpours swept west off the ocean and past us toward Tiru and Bangalore.
True to form, I woke around 4 am, and allowed my mind to wander. Were I travelling with a companion, perhaps I would have pulled myself close to her and slept again, or not slept; but in either case drifted away from the silence and the emptiness of predawn to sleep or companionship. Instead, though, the wash of the waves, the silence of the streets, the darkness called me up and out of bed, to sit and watch the softness of my breath as it drew in and out. The rushing about of yesterday’s transition has quieted, the aggressive attention of the street children and beggars softened, and our dinner — a single cup of chai — still held off my hunger. I went to the wicker chairs on the veranda and watched the world turn toward the sun.
We began our journey on the new moon, the empty moon. Now it is filling as we fill with our travel — appropriate, and more than simply a poetic thought. How many city-dwellers and denizens of the New Industrial World believe that the Moon is a pretty bauble hung in the sky for lovers, songwriters and coyotes to admire? A heavenly night-light that sneaks into our room at night, should we let it?
It shows to what extent our connection to the physical world has been severed. Look at the tides — the entire planet is tugged and kneaded by the presence of this heavenly body, the female cycles of many creatures on the planet can move in synch with its phases, its light (or lack thereof) changes behaviors of every living thing — ask your local ER or maternity ward if they notice a difference in activity when the moon is full… Really, how rich this planet is and this life is, when you turn off the noise for a while or, if that isn’t possible, retreat from the noise for a while, a week each year, a day each month, an hour each day… or five minutes every hour?
As I sat waiting for the day, the silver eye of the moon preceded it, opening slowly over the course of these days, until it is wide as the night, wide with light, a few days from now.
Well. If you are affected by its presence or not… I was. And rolled out my yoga mat at 5:30, wonderfully opening the day and the body, there in the open doorway, there overlooking the pulse and withdrawal of the Indian Ocean, there before the opening eye of Selene, in a stillness I myself created.
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