…even though I can’t see you.

It was one of the high-intensity full moons this summer and I really wanted to see it. I’d been watching it’s waning and tracking the phases on my Moon Calendar app.

This full moon promised revolution, breaking free to new ground and clarity on how to get there. I wanted it all.

My usual walking route gives me several places to glimpse its rising, and ends with the perfect vista point.

I’d taken walks the two prior evenings, feeling the power build. So the dog and I set out on the full moon night to find it.

On the walk out, I was scanning the horizon, looking for that glowing ring you can see before you even see the moon itself. It was dusk and it wasn’t up yet.

Nearing the hill that was my destination and final vantage point, I was starting to feel disappointed that there was no moon, no glow, no sign.

My anticipation and excitement were fading. I was like a kid waiting for Santa Claus, knowing I’d fall asleep before he came.

I stayed on the hill as long as the available light would allow. Still, no moon.

Starting for home, I was calculating what went wrong – What time had I gone the nights before? Gauging from the remaining light, what time was it now? Maybe I hadn’t accounted for the shifting of the moonrise time. Maybe it was all a trick and it wasn’t the full moon night after all.

Heading through the last stretch where I would be able to see it rise, I heard someone say something. I looked down at the dog – she assured me it wasn’t her.

I looked back at the horizon and heard it again.

“I know you’re there, even though I can’t see you.”

It was a wiser, more patient part of myself speaking aloud. I was talking to the moon, but also to the larger forces that we are asked to believe in even though we can’t see them.

I know you’re there….even though I can’t see you.

It was reassuring. It was hopeful. I talked to that moon the rest of the way home. And even though I couldn’t see it, I know it heard me.

Two things struck me about this night. First, that I have faith again, after it was so shattered. For months on end, I did not know if my faith in life would return. Yet here I was, stating my trust in that which was beyond my ability to see.

Second, that my moon walk didn’t have to have a happy ending to be beautiful. Not everything is fixable, not all stories end as we want them to.

I did not see the moon that night. It didn’t rise like a Hollywood moment just before I walked up our drive. And that was ok.

As much as it has been tested, I know that I am a strong, resilient spirit. A big part of that comes from my Yoga practice. It comes from knowing that I am supported unconditionally. It comes from being surrounded by community.

You, too, have your story…the ways Yoga has saved you, given you strength, been a shelter in the storm.

Sometimes it’s helpful to reflect on that. Not to measure or conclude, but to acknowledge — yes, this is a positive thing in my life; yes, I am different today than I was a year ago; yes, my commitment and consistency serve me well.

And once in a while, our own faith in life can surprise us.

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