Wishing Well

How is it that you are not here? You are the one I seek comfort from and the one I want to hold me as I grieve the loss of my aunt, the one we both loved so much. Hell, I want you to hold me while I grieve your absence, too. How odd is that? You two are together, and I am here wishing it were different. It is the wishing that takes me under, into the vast pit of darkness. Yet, last night, I stood in the dark under the full moon wishing away and talking to you both.

When I was a little girl and my mother wanted me to go to sleep, she would remind me that the Sandman was coming with a bag of dream dust. If I wasn’t asleep, I would not get my dreams. In my mind, the Sandman looked a lot like the mailman except his bag did not contain letters but magic dust that invoked dreams. Evidence of his visits were the bits of sand that I found in the corners of my eyes in the morning. 

I also believed in the Man in the Moon who watched over me and kept me safe. I even prayed that prayer: I see the Moon, and the Moon sees me. God bless the Moon, and God bless me. But for some reason, God and the Moon were one and the same in my child’s mind.

I found the Man in the Moon’s face in the full moon last night as I stood in the flood of moonlight. There are traditions that embrace the ritual of placing water or gemstones under the moonlight to bless and recharge them. As I stood there, I hoped that bathing in the moonbeams would bless and recharge me, too. I wished for dreams of Edmond visiting me. I woke up with the magic dust in my eyes, but he wasn’t there last night. Perhaps, he will show up another way.

Man in the Moon, can you hear me? Do you still see me and bless me like the prayer? I hope so. I wish Edmond were here, and I wish my Aunt Teri was here too. I wish we didn’t have to lose the ones we love. I wish this pain in my heart didn’t hurt so much. And, if none of that is wish-possible, I wish we could have visits with those who are no longer here. I wish there was a special door that we could enter to spend time in some in-between space with those who are no longer earthbound.

I am so attached. My longing for these earthly experiences with him is impossible to ignore. I miss his voice, his words, and how he used to call to me. He used so many terms of endearment. Among my favorites are when he called me Beautiful or Beautiful Woman or My Love. I can still hear him internally sometimes. He hardly ever used my name when he called to me. So, when he did, somehow my name—such a common name—was elevated. I felt so important to him when he spoke my name. His voice washed over me and called my complete attention.    

I wish you well, all the time, E. I wish goodness and peacefulness for you, and that you are doing purposeful things that bring you great joy. I wish those things for myself too, and I wish the impossible. I wish you were here, right next to me again in flesh and blood. I can’t help it. My wishes are prayers, so I know that their exactness is not necessarily what I am granted. Sometimes, my wishes are demanding, and I am sorry about that but it is the pain of such enormous losses that causes me to insist so boldly. Underneath my demands and insistence is heartache. I wish I could hear you say my name, or call me Beautiful again, not just in my head but out loud. I miss you. I love you. 

I wish. I pray in wishes. Wishing as a child is different than wishing as an adult, I think. When we wish as adults we have to be a little more open, like the innate openness of a child. We have to participate in our prayer and wish, not expect it to be handed to us because we deserve it. We might (deserve it), and we might not. That isn’t how wishing works or how prayers are granted. Sometimes we have to see a wide horizon of possibilities that answer our desire. We have to be open to receiving. We might have to open our own hearts and share them with others, maybe even share the burdens our hearts carry, breaking other hearts open, too, before we can meet our wish. 

Once, when I was a divorced mother of three young children, I wished for a place and community that was simpler, with less have-tos, a place that would hold us, keep us safe, and with possibilities. I did not know the name of the place or exactly where it was, but it found us. We still live and grow here in the possibilities and are held here safely and even comfortably. I do have to hold that boundary in keeping things simple. In fact, we are still in the same house that I bought in 2006. We did not have any window coverings for the first couple of years. In the middle of the night, the moon used to wake me up when it was big and bright.

Another time, in this place of home and before William and Ellie were born, I was sitting on the banks of the river while my three children played in the water. I was letting Summer, who was only four years old at the time, drift out on a float connected to a rope I was holding. When the rope went taught, I reeled her back toward shore. As I sat there in the afternoon sun letting her go and pulling her back to me, I silently wished I had thought to bring a cold beer for myself. Not soon after I made that wish, a man, who had been floating in the sun for many hours along side his cooler, stepped up the bank toward me and offered me a cold beer. I accepted. It was pretty awesome to make that wish exactly and have it granted so accurately and timely. 

But still, we do have to participate in fulfilling our own wishes. I had to say yes, and move my family to a new town and receive the beverage offered. And, I am sure to share from my cooler, refrigerator, or bag of tricks with friends and strangers as an act of gratitude for all that has come my way in times of need. We also have to be open to the various incarnations and iterations of a given wish. Wishes are delicate things. What we receive may not look like what we have pictured in our mind. Trusting in what shows up is the wide horizon, the blurry outcome that we do not yet know exactly until we are standing in it.    

We have so many traditions and rituals for wishing: blowing out birthday candles or an eyelash, breaking wishbones, driving over traintracks, or throwing a coin in a pond or well. Some people even wish on the New Moon.

The various phases of the moon are reflections and times for reflection. Traditionally, the moons phases have been a guide for knowing when it is time to hunt or gather. The September Full Moon, the Harvest Moon, has served as an extension of light for farmers to finish harvesting their crops. The Full Moon is also one for relaxing and rejuvenating—which was not exactly what I was feeling in my moon bath last night. The New Moon is the wishing moon, the time to make intentions that will manifest and take shape over the next weeks or months. Interestingly, The Dark Moon, the balsamic phase during the waning crescent phase just before a New Moon, is a time for contemplating, getting quiet to listen to that internal part of ourselves, and being in the present moment. 

The Man in the Moon waxes and wanes through the phases, too. Even when his face goes entirely dark, he is still there watching over me. I dream, not always of Edmond, but sometimes I see him there with me, next to me, or holding my hand. Maybe he is like the Man in the Moon, watching over me and with me even when I cannot see him or hear him. Maybe his presence is so close that I might only know he was there at all if his essence were to disappear entirely. I do not wish for that.

Standing outside looking up at the big, beautiful, bright moon I realize my smallness, my earthbound-ness. From where I stand, it is dry and empty, a well of darkness. It is night, and I am on the bottom of a deep, dark well looking up, wishing for a way out. Perhaps I am the well itself. The moon casts its light upon me. In its fullness and skyness, it is free, untethered. It welcomes my wishes upon one of the widest horizons. From this vantage point, it is an inside-out well where all the resources are at the top. Still, though, things are heavy here. Gravity works against my sky-wishes. Tossing a coin upward toward the wishing well above would be futile. So, instead, I breathe my wishes into the air, blowing them toward the winds and currents that will carry them to the Man in the Moon who sees me, who blesses me.