Near the middle of the month in January of 2019 there was a super blood wolf moon. A super moon is one that appears larger because the it’s in the perigee of its orbit around earth, it’s actually closer. And, a blood moon is a moon in total eclipse that turns a rusty red color.
Those two things happened on the same night. A close-to-home moon went into total eclipse.
Plus, because it was a January full moon, it’s nicknamed a wolf moon from olden times when ancient families were taunted by the nighttime howling of hungry wolves on the frozen perimeter of their village.
Such a confluence of lunar events is rare, and was shared among several million souls. It happened in slow motion, close to midnight, and was visible to the entire Western Hemisphere.
One of the players in this drama is light that is, of course, eternally present. Even though we are turned away from the sun once every twenty-four hours, it’s there again before we know it.
But, less conspicuous, is the shadow that is also always present there beyond our earth.
Hold this image in mind: Until the sun burns out, at every second, even when the moon doesn’t prove it, earth has a shadow, a tubular shaft of darkness extending deep into space. It goes almost a million miles (3.7 times the distance from earth to the moon) seeking validation from some celestial object. Like the moon, saying, “See, I told you there was a shadow out here someplace.”
Then, after a million miles our planet’s umbra sort of fades away in an outer space night that’s darker than a shadow.
All the super blood wolf moon stuff, of course, cast me into a contemplative spirit.
Found myself thinking about truth, that which is real and cannot be threatened, and how it’s also often inconspicuous, how it extends infinitely and captures all of creation in its radiating path.
It doesn’t play out in a million miles, or a million years. But truth also waits in the void to be discovered and validated by experience. Sort of casts an infinitely broad and long field of light until some insight, glows silver bright and full like the moon, and howls like a wolf in the middle of the room.
My blended brand of religion doesn’t include petitionary prayer. I agree that God knows what I need before I ask, so there’s no need for me to incessantly tug His shirt sleeve for attention so I can remind him to remember what I forgot I need.
That idea of going into a closet to pray resonates deeply with me. So, from some quiet spot I ask five questions: How should I see this? What should I do? Where should I go? What should I say, and to whom should I speak? That covers everything I need.
And God, being God and outside of time, fully aware of my needs, has already put answers to all my questions out there for me. I only have to move into their path.
Long shadows at night,
pouring blood on a full moon.
Wolves cry in answer.