The Blood Moon of October
rounds herself out
a pregnancy full term.
Come the morning, she will have crested
tipped over the edge
into the magic minutes of completeness
before beginning the shedding of so much
on her journey into the dark space of
The Blood Moon is known by other names
Falling Leaf Moon
But I know what she is to me
and I cannot pretend it away
for the comfort of a softer name.
This is the ancient time of slaughtering.
And underneath death
is a tender pink self
unsure of her steps.
Everything is brighter, more sensitized
and so new as to be a bit terrifying.
We step into this new space
without being expert in the terrain
but moving raw, new feet
through its outer boundaries nonetheless.
Because we must.
The tender self
unskilled in the ways of grace
is stunned to find herself
in the role of novice once more.
In the old skin
so recently ripped from her body
she flowed and danced and twirled with
We have never forgotten
that this disturbing awkwardness
is where we started.
We just hoped we would never have to
And now comes the rub.
We will never stop returning.
Within each shedding
of current being
is the requirement
of beginning again.
All the same rules apply:
Speak, test, try, risk, observe, fall
receive, try again, learn more, balance
almost fall again, try again, move forward.
We spend so much of our energy
working up to the letting go
to the death and release
that we are ill-prepared
for tender baby steps inside new feet.
Perhaps this is best.
There can be wisdom in tearing ahead
Perhaps if we remembered each time
that we would be starting over
again and again and again
we would choose stasis.
We might remain in the familiar alleyways
the already-trod-smooth paths
and never push into the next sacred spaces
that so eagerly await our arrival.
And they are eagerly awaiting our arrival,
Beloved. - Sarah La Rosa, Her Strange Angels