The full, heavy moon is still invisible against the backdrop of day when I run into the ocean. It stings, the cold clinging to my skin, and my muscles grip.
\nI fight to renew, to refresh, to reload, to greet the day.
\nIn my spiritual tradition it is always morning.
\nEven as the light turns golden with afternoon and every parent-like voice in the chambers of my mind scolds for the late hour, I wake up.<\/p>\n
Two more giant steps and I jump into the sea to greet this life, chase off the ennui over an impending birthday and the feeling of aging.\u00a0 Tired of the daily rut, the familiar baptism in a cup of coffee and entertaining pictures, thoughts, words, I dive into the cresting wave and swim, one, two, three strong pulls, my hair like a mermaid’s, or like a kelp forest unnoticing. And I will practice my love.<\/p>\n I will greet life with life because<\/p>\n with the very last breath in this body, I would like to wish you<\/p>\n good morning.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The full, heavy moon is still invisible against the backdrop of day when I run into the ocean. It stings, the cold clinging to my skin, and my muscles grip. I fight to renew, to refresh, to reload, to greet the day. In my spiritual tradition it is always morning. Even as the light turns […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-105","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/105","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=105"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/105\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":107,"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/105\/revisions\/107"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=105"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=105"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.sterlingslyce.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=105"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nWhen I break the surface, I gasp in the air and scream.\u00a0 I scream over and over, because of the shock, and for the pure joy of it, celebrating the extremity.\u00a0 I whoop and jump and splash in the icy shallows.
\nThe air is deliciously warm against all my skin, a breeze, as though someone has opened an oven door nearby.
\nLater I watch as a fire is kindled, and grows, and there are fireworks in the distance.\u00a0 It all feels as though it is a rehearsal for something–a birthday, Independence, the end– at once fragile and complete.
\nI dance, not for him or for him, or to chase the hands of the clock.
\nI dance with laughter, with the shape of my voice,
\nwith geometry, and patterns of light and space, because I am.
\nTomorrow the sun shines again,<\/em>
\nbut not for as long,<\/em>
\nand I will drink coffee again
\nand the moon will once more<\/em>
\nclimb the sky, whispering for the tides to follow,<\/em>
\nbut it won’t be as near, nor its pull as strong. \u00a0<\/em>
\nAnd now I greet the morning with the smoke rising and embers fading into black.
\nThe stars are hidden behind the clouds and the moon has gone to labor in secret.
\nI think perhaps we age
\nonly if we refuse to change, resist being made new again
\nwith the morning light, or the moonlight
\nor your light, or ours.<\/p>\n