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Full Moon Meditation
I contemplate the world.
In my garden of dewdrops I think, pontificating on the world and all it's splendor. The breeze tousles my hair, bringing to mind the transient. Leaves rustle, snow blows, newly formed lotus blossoms poke their heads up from the mud.
I am the Goddess incarnate.
With a trembling mind, I take it all in. The air is sweet. The light rays penetrate the softly falling rain into the darkest recesses of my conscious, where I take solace in the simple fact that I am alive.
I open my eyes to gaze on the pregnant moon, my mind crying aloud with delight. I weep in wonder, I laugh with grandeur theatrics of this constantly paradoxal existence. Faeries flit through the greenery, voices like the bells from which they were born. Responding to my laughter, frogs twitter in their moonlit pond. Inky waters lap at my feet, the delicate nerve ending of my bare toes trilling with pleasure.
Life is the sphere of white reflected in the black waters.
A deep breath. The chill air cools the heat inside of me, and I am stone. I am of marble, as steady as the earth. I change. Iridescent wings frame my body as I flit, I fly above the world, swooping low, part of the storm and waves and sand and trees. My soul takes flight, spotting the half buried skull of a wolf in the dark soil. I touch upon the inevitably of death, my light feet pattering on the bleached skull as I gather the loss in my hands. I take to the air once more, the burden slipping from my fingers like water to fall on the world below.
There is rejoicing here.
I am the wind and the voice in the trees; I am the ring around the moon and the light glancing off the black waters. I return to my dewdrop garden, face flushed with the joy of existence.
And I am alive.
