I can really relate to the full moon most months. Sometimes it is mostly physical, tingles and agitation in my arms and legs. Sometimes it is the intensity of dreams. Last night was one of the dream nights. It’s been awhile since I have had one so vivid, so clear. After such dreams I lay in bed in the predawn dark, still solidly feeling the weightlessness of being on the other side of the veil, lucid enough to know I want to write this dream down, but peaceful enough to just stay where I am to absorb every second of feeling so good. I think of the essay I was reading before I went to sleep, about finding freedom in love. I’m losing the exact details of the dream now. In its place, a story forms. I call it full moon parable.
“It was the day of the full moon. The family was together inside their vacation home. Everyone was there except one brother who had exiled himself years ago. The reasons were no longer visible. He just wasn’t there and a collective sadness had settled into the heart of each member of the family, Mother, Father, Brother, and Sister. But they all still came together each year at the same time to celebrate what community was still there, to honor the actual real time they could commit to being together in this sacred place in their hearts.
That day of the full moon the exiled brother appeared at the back door, uninvited, unseen by all in the house. He wanted to sneak in. He stood there for a long time. He raised his hand and hesitated, slowly reaching for the door knob. He pulled gently. As the door cracked open, a swirl of soft mist surrounded him and he froze. From within this mist, the face of Mother appeared, soft and beautiful to him, as he always remembered her. She began to tell him a story. He saw her lips moving, felt the words enter his consciousness, but heard nothing. He noticed that with each passing sentence he couldn’t hear, he shrank a little. He noticed that he was now looking at the door knob right in front of him, instead of looking down at where he was holding it. Her lips kept moving and he kept shrinking until he was looking through the crack under the door. He was on the verge of disappearing completely.
It was then that he opened fully, exposed to the rawness of his own heart in this place he so desired to be. Mother’s face had remained expressionless throughout the telling. Mother knows best. Isn’t that what she always said? Isn’t that what he always fought against, refused to believe? She was offering him a choice, to choose love, as she always had. What did she know of being a boy, of being a man? Except he was no longer a man. He was no longer big enough to carry the jealousy and loss he had been carrying for so long. He was only big enough for one thing now. He had to choose. Choosing from here had the power to change the truth.
The light around her had became so bright, brighter than he thought eyes could hold. He was just a single cell now, his whole life in this moment. Sound swished open and he heard her clear voice deliver the end of the story. She said, “…because if you don’t tell your brother you love him, you will be lonely for the rest of your life.”