I love lunar eclipses, the dark of the moon, the new moon, the winter solstice, all these times of letting go, erasure, darkness and rebirth. How gently we float upon the deep sea of sky, of transformation.
So often transformation means the cracking of the rigid shells we form. I think of the beautiful Japanese practice of mending cracks with gold, kintsugi, and how the threads are the color of the harvest moon.
Veins of gold glow where we’ve broken.
Caught kata of revelation, dance
of ancient flaws, damage and repair.
It is gold that pours
where the bowl of skin cracks:
inside, a sea of light.