Standing in Vrikshasana the moon shines brightly upon my face. I anchor myself on its light, watching it hang in an inky darkness at the corner of my right eye. Its light dims the light of Saturn and Neptune visible on the southern horizon. It’s 4:30am and the Earth where I live is silent.
I feel a timelessness between myself and the moon, as my breath moves steadily in and out. I could be a monk readying for his vespers to pour forth from him in song in 16th century France. Possibly I am Zheng San Feng creating his first movements in Tai Chi on a grass mat in 15th century China. Or I am a Qi Gong Master preparing herself to teach a class in 1950’s New York City, standing gazing at the face of this same moon.
The ancient arts of the body have a way of making us feel ageless when we engage them. Thousands of masters have gone before me teaching, learning, shaping a simple move I step into now. I feel the cat brush my leg, but his affections must wait I whisper back to him. In this moment, I am committed to the moon and no other.
The mystery of this hour draws me from my bed day after day. A feeling of a gift only I am partaking. Possessive lover am I, the moon belongs to me, no matter how wide her light is cast. Moonlight before dawn holds the answers to a thousand unexpressed questions. They rest on my lips yet are never spoken, but the answers enter me on a single shaft of light. Exquisitely, my heart opens.
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