Moon Writing

sun and stars

I am writing each morning with a group of humans, led by Inez, an astrologer and mystic with whom I’ve consulted off and on for several years. Her class is called Daily Moon, A Writing and Astrology Expedition. She gives us a prompt, based on the moon’s position or a tarot card, and some significant words, sets a timer for 10 minutes, and we write. Afterward, we share. The people who attend are each extraordinary. They know all sorts of astrology and other arcane subjects, while I know nothing, I guess, of these, but something in me is attracted to signs, to things in the sky and the soul, and I can write. I must write. The group meets for an hour, but I leave at the half hour as I have a schedule — get Sophie ready for the caregiver, get my own self to my job. I thus have very little time in the morning, but I’m carving it out. The time. I’ve been faithfully doing what Suzie Banks Baum calls “daily creative practice” for over 200 straight days. I’m now incorporating the Daily Moon into this routine, along with a bit of watercolor. It’s deepened me and brings me pleasure.

This morning, I slipped out of the Zoom room at the half hour, waving, but just before I clicked off, Inez said, “See ya, honey,” and I froze. Still. The screen went black, the humans gone, and I stood there in my dining room, alone, the sun a slant, a shaft, a beam. The only person who’s ever called me honey is my mother, and she’s dead. She died on May the 1st. If loss is cosmic, tears are stars and my mother the moon.