You were in my house last night, ephemeral tendrils of light seeping through my window and curling around my body as I slept. I didn't see you, but I could feel you sweeping away debris from my mind and old skins from my body one gentle caress at a time.
You bathed and cleansed old wounds and shed light on the darker corners of my mind, allowing me to release burdens I didn't know I was carrying. You held me in your arms as I dreamed deeply of things long past and those to come, of the here and now, and of the realms that only exist when I close my eyes.
After a week of letting go of old selves, of things, old ways of thinking, I return to my dream realms to finish the task of unburdening myself from people I will and never should be. You, supermoon, help me with this, with your larger than life wisdom casting hope, rebirth, gentle understanding into the shadows of my home, myself.
You, dear moon, reinforce the necessity of gentleness in my life, of the feminine virtues so often undervalued in this world of loud and busy. No, you say, that is not your road. You tell me that I am a daughter of the moon, of the stars and midnight, of the quiet hours of reflection, the mistress of secrets revealed only in the hush of late hours and moonlight.
Today is the day I feel this transformation most, as I shake off sleep and turn those quiet hours of healing into a gentle industry and forward movement. The metamorphosis happens now when last night it was enough to dream my dreams and let your light wash over me.
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