by RM Allen, Feb. 2017
The dark horizon glows dusky pink as I walk barefoot across the soft sand. The full moon has just emerged out of the calm sea, shining bright gold against deep blue, beckoning me to approach. Mesmerized, I walk towards my sister the moon until I am ankle-deep in the warm water. Time slows. How many full moons have I…my mother…my grandmother… my ancient ancestors gazed upon? Time drops away.
Resting my hands in my pockets, my fingers curl absent-mindedly around the contents. In one pocket is a crumpled tissue, in the other, some coins. One a symbol of kindness and care, the other a symbol of wealth and power. Overhead I hear the rumble of yet another small jet coming from the south and flying up the coast. Since Palm Beach is about a 30 minute flight from here, my mind jumps to the assumption that the passengers are our new billionaire “public servants”. Kindness and care or wealth and power? I can’t tell yet, but I think the worst.
I stare at the moon some more, water playing at my ankles. My fingers slide across the contents of my pockets again. Care and power. Liberal and Conservative, Alt-Left and Alt-Right, what exactly motivates each? What exactly divides them? If anyone of them weep or are wounded, will I not share my kind tissue to wipe the tears or blood? If anyone of them are homeless or fleeing persecution, will I not share my powerful coins so that they may be safe once again? Care or power? It seems we have become disconnected and have been falsely told that we have only one choice. I want both.
The moon cares not if the Byzantine, Roman, or American empires are rising or falling, she keeps a scientific schedule.
I have been still for so long that it is fully dark and the birds no longer notice me. Ten tiny white sandpipers come running maniacally along the glistening edge of the inky waves, feeding when the wave draws back, then running on in a gang to catch the next wave’s gifts. They are at the waves’ behest. I watch them pass very close in front of me on their way up the beach. Many friends (and my inbox) say “resist”. I hear that. I want to resist the power overload, yet something in that word rankles me. My nature is to collaborate in the middle way. I want to “cohere”: to come together and stick together. I want to PERSIST. In the end “they” are us too. What is the common ground? What actions would be considered and durable?
We women are sisters of the moon: her cycles work on the cycles of our wombs. The moon beams shining wide across the ocean and me tonight were just hours before shining on women in the Middle East who were denied educational opportunities. Hours from now these beams will shine upon women in Japan who have extraordinary educational opportunities. When I wear my pink fleece hat, I wear it for me, for you and for those denied women in the Middle East too, whose wombs are at the mercy of a patriarchal power overload. Staring straight into the shining face of the moon, I silently call for all women in the world to cohere, invest in themselves, and strike that tricky balance between care and power.
The action of the waves has pulled the sand from under my feet. I am no longer standing firmly in the surf, so I reposition. That is life – things change and flexibility is needed to keep balanced. Adjusting my stance suddenly grounds me in reality and reminds me where I am: on vacation, taking a break from the cold, the routine, and the dismay/despair of patriarchal executive order power overload. Repositioning for the considered and durable work ahead.
Persist, my purr-sistas! Care and power must strike a balance now – because the moon cares not if average temperatures or human populations are rising or falling, she keeps a scientific schedule.
Namaste my sisters.