Lucubration
The moon is full, the night calm, so I sit outside. Spring is well and truly in the air. For the Lakota Sioux Native Americans it is Magáksicaagli Wí: The Moon When the Ducks Come Back. The ubiquity of birds is more distinguished and heartfelt in this period, there is a real growing appeal in their song and chatter. Despite the damp of much needed rain these last few days, it is not really that cold, yet I pull a blanket off the sofa and wrap it around my shoulders to secure the cosiness.
My cosmic conversations with Mr.Moon have been many. He is my earliest thought from when I was only three years old - laying on my back on the grass slope of my back garden after a tumble from my rigorous toy tractor driving. Looking up I met with him and saw his face for the first time; not at night, but in a late summer afternoon with a clear sky, like he was getting to work early and calmly setting himself up for his nightshift after chatting with his colleague, Sun. Tonight he isn't very talkative, because he ends up sitting and listening to me.
As the world hunkers down to sleep, I am left in its blackness to wrestle with my words. I don't know if the cosmic frequency we are tuned into - where I don't even have to physically speak - is clear this evening, if I make any sense to Mr.Moon, if he can decipher my cogitation.
It has never felt natural to me to be an early bird, yet in the last ten years or so I have managed to appreciate the rise of the morning, much moreso when I am travelling to more tropical or faraway places where the flow of life starts with the sunrise and I can be up and active by 7am without the need of any alarm and a working day to endeavour. However the night owl has always hooted loudly in me, and it is usually when my creative spirit can soar under Mr.Moon's gaze. In the stillness, a mere feeling of isolation and silence fuels my writing arm and my weapon words of choice. I can authenticate. Though I am very much a social being. I need the dance of life and beats reign free like wild horses in me. I will never deny anyone a dance with me in my imaginarium, there are so many styles on the same floor, but there is always a prominent beat. Right now there are disco stars above.
It turns out there is a word for this laborious study or thought, usually late in to the night: Lucubration. I like this word, how it sounds, I say it under my breath. It resonates with me, so I had to write about it before I sleep. With my words I lucubrate.
Darkness falls,
We think, we see,
When in the light.
In the truth, we know,
It's in the night.
When darkness falls,
Revealing stars,
We understand just who we are.
Read more like this:
Comments