Full Moon and Dear Deer

Some folks plant by the moon—or they fish by the moon, or cut hair by the moon. Things started during the new moon, or the beginning of a cycle, should be fully actualized by the full moon. That's when the energy moves begins to move back toward darkness, or the balsamic moon, no moon. Some compare the balsamic moon to the seed resting beneath the soil, just waiting for a little light and moisture and heat to sprout and then the cycle begins again.

Tomorrow is the full moon. As far as my garden goes, I think there is no evidence that what I have been doing corresponds to the moon cycle. One thing I did do because the rules say to it, is weeded around the spinach. And yes, the dear deer came and helped herself. See what I'm saying here? If I'd left the pigweed, I would have fooled that deer. No going back now, once a weed is picked, vamoose, gone. And so is the spinach. While I weeded there was a large discussion about artichokes, which you can see are doing very well. So are the blackberries--it's all the water we've had this year. Lush or luscious. Good for jelly this fall. And pies.

People bring lots of pies when someone dies. It's kind of them. There is always plenty to eat. And then later, say today, which is the anniversary of my nephew's death, there is no pie, and no one saying, how are you doing? Life goes on, and it does. I once read that Freud said anyone can get over the loss of a loved one. But then he lost his daughter. Then he changed his mind. He said, we never get over the loss of a loved one. When I was two, my father went away. I never saw him again. I believe Freud is right, that pain is alive in me and wakes on occasion, calling out for people not to go. It's interesting that this full moon is Cancer/Capricorn (my ex) and also the opposition in my chart that represents my sense of home and my sense of authority. I'm feeling the meaning of both of those qualities heightened in myself today.

In the garden, there is freedom. Maybe the largest sense of freedom—all these plants doing their own thing. They sprout or don't'. They bolt or don't. It's up to them. Well, and my care. Or if it is like the doctor who wrote One-Straw Revolution, maybe it isn't up to us. Maybe all of this is designed by a larger force. All of this growth or no growth, construed by a big hand who knows more than all of us do, individually and collectively.

I'm lying in bed writing this and a cool breeze Is blowing across my skin. It feels delicious. It wasn't a good night for me last night, as my divorce is close and there are still details to work out, and really I still love my ex. That makes it the hardest thing of all. I must either keep my heart open, or close it down and be cold. Which in the long run will serve me the most. Keeping it open, I think, despite the pain it is causing me. Then the grief will completely move through me and be gone. Then perhaps I can think of Freud as wrong, we can get over a loss.

I have a confession. I still haven't planted the beets. I can't believe it is so far into the summer and my garden is so puny. Fertilizer. I will take care of it eventually. Right now I will indulge my heart—for the good of my future. Having no divorce leftovers will be good, because eventually I will love and be loved by a partner again. Hopeful. Maybe I'll eat artichoke hearts today.

Ciao!