The moon is in the room; everything I need is here. So why do I . . .

. . . fear the loss of what I have? Death has not yet come for me. And who “Death”? How can it come for “me” when I am a collection of atoms that will continue on , even when I am no longer conscious, nor properly “assembled”? Am I conscious now? Who is the “me” that my assembled atoms strive so hard to protect?

If I lose all my lovely possessions, will I also lose their stories as I lost the people who owned and/or created them?

Wednesday night I saw the full moon caught in the branches of a tree on Christopher Street. I called to a shop girl who came running out of the store to see it; but neither of us could set it free. So we absorbed its light and gave thanks we had seen it, when so many others had not. No one can take that moon from me.

So why the fear?

*  *  *

I remember the full moon my mother and I mistook for headlights coming through our woods behind our tiny cabin. We were just getting out of our car: the night was pitch-black and we were terrified! How could anyone drive through those thick woods from a road that was a mile behind our dark little house? It was impossible! And spooky! Then we realized it was the moon, and we were both relieved — and not a little embarrassed.

*  *  *

I actually know men who have walked on the moon and left their footprints there. They are even more in awe of its beauty than I am — if that’s possible! (Imagine someone walking on your “birth sign”!)

*  *  *

If I were to quickly and voluntarily lose all my beloved possessions, what freedom I would have!

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