I love the sun, but the moon makes me cry.

“What do you think of when you look at the moon?” he asks me.

My eyes land softly on the illuminating orb in the sky. Where do I start? I’ve been fascinated with her for some time.

The way she is always there, and yet always different. The way she speaks with the oceans. The mystery of how my body syncs up with her. And how that’s not only me experiencing this union, but so many women.

I’m convinced the moon shows her allegiance to women the most during a total lunar eclipse.

I remember half-way through my first Vipassana course, stepping out into the fresh evening air after our last meditation sit for the day. I rounded the corner to my cabin and was struck with utmost beauty and sacredness in the sky. It was the end of September and the moon was the colour of menstrual blood. A total lunar eclipse. In the midst of this silent meditation course, four of us women simply stood and witnessed this uncommon celestial experience. It was as if the moon was sending us a blessing. That night, I had my first lucid dream ever.

The moon has this way of calling women to gather. She is an elder, inviting us into all the wild and loud, the quiet and delicate parts of ourselves. She grants permission to show up as you are, in whatever phase you are in.

My last bleed started exactly as a lunar eclipse was happening. No surprise. I don’t try to understand why anymore.

“I think about how she is always changing,” I finally answer. And I smile, thinking about the impermanence in it all.

— Musings, “I love the sun, but the moon makes me cry”.