The Pink Moon – in full, flagrant, fuck-it-all form – wreaked its typical havoc as it rose and fell this week. Sometimes its power and pull can’t be completely understood or divined until after the fact, when hindsight and somber analytical contemplation put things into focus at last. Life is like that – when it feels unbearably confusing, and all you can do is stumble rather confusedly forward, I shall keep going, sure of its eventual revelation, certain that whatever path I’m on will resolve itself into the right one.
And so I channel and harvest the power of this Pink Moon, its mighty magnificence, its troublesome toil, and I pull that energy into my own journey. We are such different people than we were but one year ago, and in my own case I’m rather proud of where I’ve ended up. Even when the moon momentarily seems to muck things up, I remain unswerved.
Best of all, the moon no longer frightens me.
I am not afraid.
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