Noche y Día

Noche y Día

 

Has anyone seen the moon? I seem to have lost her. I haven’t seen her in weeks! Is there anything like the view of the moon over the ocean, especially when full? Something about the silvery glow of the moon just sets my heart a-flutter. The sun has its worshippers, but for me, the moon is “the one”.  She is roguish and playful: flitting in and out of view, changing shapes, making faces at me. Such a coquette! She allows me to look at her, not blinding me like the sun, yet she is elusive nevertheless.

My sources tell me that the moon was full two weeks ago, but I never saw her.  I figured she was rising too late and up mostly during the day, but she even still hasn’t shown her face. I have less than one month left in paradise, and the moon decides to take leave of my vista? I feel cheated! Still, we should not fret about things over which we have no control. The beautiful, fickle moon certainly falls into that category for me.

All kidding aside, though I started this passage three days ago, I STILL haven’t seen the moon! We leave the island three weeks from tomorrow, and a few days later we fly back to the states. I am certain the moon will make an appearance any day now, and that a big part of this ‘problem’ is a matter of timing. I haven’t been out late enough, or up early enough. My sentiments about the moon are a form of nostalgia, as I begin to ready myself for a new transition. I find myself thoughtful, reflective about the losses inherent in both going and staying.

I always carry within me a blend of joy and sorrow. Those moments of pure unadulterated bliss are few and far between, but the high points are meant to be fleeting. I have come to believe that the “pursuit of happiness” is overrated, because happiness is not permanent state that one achieves. What we should strive for is a degree of inner peace that stays us through the changes of life.

My melancholy side is about loss. Even as I witness the beauty of paradise, I feel a twinge of sadness. For the fragility of our planet, for the day when I will no longer be able to witness the miracle. For those who cannot share this joy, due to poverty, illness, abuse, hatred or war. That my brother has left this earth and I can never again share such a moment with him.  I cannot help but hold those thoughts side by side with my experience of beauty. It is the same with geographic location. When I am here, I have moments of yearning for loved ones elsewhere. But the thought of saying goodbye to our friends here is also bittersweet.

I know with certainty that the answer is to be in the present moment as much as possible. I practice that. But I believe it is in my nature to be aware of opposites. Here and there, joy and sorrow, life and death. Having the moon and losing the moon!

When we first got here, I painted a painting which I named Noche y Día: Night and Day. My sister-in-law, Chris, asked me what my inspiration was for this painting. At the time, I didn’t have words to express what inspired me. It was just something that came from within. But now, as the time of departure approaches and my contemplation deepens, it becomes obvious. Noche y Día is a self-portrait. I carry day and night within my heart every day. And every night.©