I’m on a quest to stay present. As in here and now. In this moment. It’s a new goal. When I’m successful, I appreciate the sound of the birds and crickets and the beauty of slow-moving clouds gliding across the twilight sky. Which I am actually doing right now. Some strange bird is crying or calling. I’m not sure which, but it sounds nice, a little snippet from nature. My husband is calling on the phone, which is annoying because I’m trying to appreciate the birds, crickets, and twilight. But that’s what “now” is. It just IS. A phone ringing in a darkening office, my husband’s voice on the phone asking me if I can see the moon yet from the deck. It’s a lunar eclipse tonight. A blood moon. No, I can’t see it yet. I’ve forgotten about the eclipse.
Today gave us the most spectacular sunset. Streaky clouds turned crimson like fiery fingers. I appreciated it and then stopped to snap a pic. I couldn’t resist trying to capture the moment. I look forward to summer sunsets on my deck with a glass of tart, crisp white wine in hand and usually a book on my lap. I hang up the phone and step back on the deck to find the fiery sky has turned to ash. Gray, smoldering clouds continue to streak across the sky. The crickets amp up the volume. Somehow they reach an agreeable rhythm. I’m not sure how they do it. They’re slightly out of sync, but consistently so.
The sky is darkening, and my citronella candles grow brighter. I hope they’re working. Neighbors up the hill are clapping and cheering. Not for the crickets, or the now deep-blue sky, or the moon that has not yet risen to become eclipsed. I think it’s a football game. But they’re far in the background, beyond the next door neighbors laughing and chatting in their backyard, beyond the sound of cars of the road, and beyond my sometimes-barking dog.
And yes, I’m staying in the moment. I’m taking it all in and savoring it. Okay, I’m typing too, but I’m unplugged and untethered, with my laptop out on the deck, under the slowly drifting clouds. This is my favorite time of night. The trees become back lacy silhouettes to the deep-blue sky. My citronella candles are now the brightest lights around. I continue to hope they’re working. I hold up my glass of white wine over a candle to see if any bugs flew in. That’s the only way to tell. Other than taking a mouthful. My dog has settled with a dog harumph. Her nemesis up the street must have finished his walk by our house and has gone home.
Okay, so now I just spent about 20 minutes staring up at the moon. It might have been a blood moon, but those of us down on Earth in my neighborhood couldn’t tell through the cloud cover. So I went inside. But instead of giving up, I checked back and, lo and behold, when I peeked outside, there was a shimmering sliver of moon. It slipped into obscurity and then winked back again. A hidden eclipsed moon. At the next commercial break (I know, try not to judge), I checked again, and this time it was on full view. Or partial view in this case. A bright moon with a bite taken out of its upper right corner. I called to my husband to come look as I fumbled out in the dark with my eyes shielded, shouting “Protect your rods and cones!” before he could turn on any lights (because rods and cones are the parts of your eye that you need for night vision, right?). Through the binoculars the moon looked like it was wearing a jaunty dark-gray beret. The clouds passed over, giving it life. It was fantastic. We watched the Earth’s shadow pass slowly over the face of the moon, and I couldn’t help wondering which part of “us” that shadow represented. The lower hemisphere, I guess.
I watched until the shadow was almost gone. One tiny bite left, and the moon would be back to its normal self, without a trace of us on it. Seeing our “face” pass over the moon and start to disappear, it occurred to me that being present is partly about being in tune with your inner self, paying attention to your thoughts, feelings, and most of all experiencing each fleeting moment of being in the world. And it’s also about being fully present to what's in front of you, crickets, blood moon, and all. All in all, it's a good start.
