Wednesday, March 7, 2012

The Worm Moon

Do not listen to what anybody tells you, and many will tell you, that the full moon is tomorrow.  It is tonight, if you live anywhere in America.  I won't bother explaining why this is again, but trust me, the moon that rises tonight will be fuller than the one that rises tomorrow night.  Every calendar you look at will show it being on the 8th, and it is, but shortly after midnight on the west coast (1:40am), and about 4:40 am on the east coast.  The full moon rises tonight.

"It doesn't matter who you are or what you are. The world is a jumble for everyone." -Selavy

Yes, these words rang true to me this morning, more so than any of the others.  I have been in a panicked state since we made the offer on the condo.  Fears have been rising up on me and taking me by surprise. They have grouped together into a unison of anxiety.  I am not myself.  When I woke up early this morning, long before the dawn, I sat in bed and considered why this would happen.  I'm just not sure, but it happened the last time we made an offer on a place. Something about the level of the commitment, the enormity of the purchase, brings on fears, collects them so that they begin to work in concert against me.  Then, of course, I bicker with Rachel, wanting to blame her for it all.  But in the morning self-honesty and assessment takes over and gains a better handle on the situation than what the night reasoning offers.

The boy, Rhys, is as beautiful as ever.  When he hears my voice his eyes will follow me around the room as much as he can.  When he sees me he will smile with recognition. When I look at him directly in his eyes his face opens with unpracticed excitement and joy.  A child's smile is not like an adults at all.  It appears on the face with an overwhelming inability to stop it.  It is really something special to watch happen, impossible not to share in it.  It is untrained, an uncontrollable expression of joy when it blooms fully.  He will lift his upper lip and his eyes brighten. He's just beginning to make noises to accompany these early smiles, adorable little outbursts of happiness.  

His newly formed smiles act upon us as a little compass needle, directing us towards him. The world certainly is a jumble for everyone. It's both terrifying and comforting to have something suddenly give such purpose, demand it in fact, with very little room for deviation in course.   It is one thing to know that you are drifting, without direction, it's another altogether to be forced to acknowledge what effect that drifting might have.  It is a mixed set of emotions, for sure.   As I write this I can hear him crying in the other room, possibly many minutes away from his next smile.