The Moon Listens

WOW — We begin the new calendar year on a full moon — The Wolf Moon.

Wolves howl more during their breeding season in January and February. The iconic image of a wolf with head held high letting loose and a huge ivory moon in the background is a familiar one. Without getting all metaphysical here, maybe it’s a good time for us to face the moon and howl a bit. Or croon or converse with the moon. I believe that the moon listens. And sometimes, that’s all one needs. As I age, it’s less and less about making a new year resolution, (a firm decision to do or not do something or to solve a problem), and more and more about loosening, letting go, flowing or unfolding.

The late great poet and humanitarian John O’Donohue stated it so wonderfully:

“I would love to live life as a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.”

Howling at the full moon — just letting it rip — may surprise and satisfy that very part of us connected to the mystery and ancient thread of our evolving/our unfolding. Actually, how different is it really from a bunch of people gazing upward and screaming at a glistening orb atop a skyscraper in New York City on a cold night of the year? I always thought spending New Years Eve (and full day) in Times Square just another nutty City thing to do (insane, if I’m really being honest). However, maybe not so whacko after all. Maybe it’s just a modern version/expression of our wolf nature connected to that ancient thread. Happy Wolf Moon!

lentils at midnight for good luck a nod to my heritage

© ag ~ January 2018


The Newark Riots ~ 50 Years Later

This week marks the 50th anniversary of a very sad time – the Newark riots. I remember them well. There was a curfew, and when I looked out our apartment window – National Guardsmen rode by in a jeep with rifles leaning against their chests. I was nowhere near the terror-stricken interior but inhaled the tension. This was my home city, and I was 14 years old. I wrote these tanka poems in hindsight and they were published by Modern English Tanka Press in 2009, 40 years after the fact. Newark still suffers:
forty years
after the riots
three students slain
“no apparent cause”
again, this blistering heat
born to love
born to hunt
we do what we do…
all the songs all the poems
nothing changes this
coming in on
a soft summer breeze
tickling my necking
and dropping down low —
this sadness for what
warm nights
I undress by an open
window   wondering
what is freely given
               freely taken
© Andrea Grillo