Sirenaders, here was my full moon night: I scrubbed and shined and vaccumed the whole house because no one likes a spotless hearth like a Taurus moon and because godfamily is rolling into town and why not make them as welcome as humanly possible? Then I’d thought I’d set the alarm for the automatic drip but set it to brew instead, which meant I had to pour a full carafe into a thermos and set up the coffeemker once again because God forbid I start tomorrow without freshfreshfresh coffee. Then I couldn’t find my boots anywhere and finally went outside to discover they were flung outside my car’s drivers seat door, which also had been flung open all day. “OKAY, full moon,” I said. “I get it. YOU BAR BUSINESS AS USUAL.” In one fluid motion, I stepped into my boots and car, and drove, high beams glaring, Coffee FM* blaring, down the winding, unlit road to the beach. To lean in rather than lean out. To do what I might never get to do again. To pay homage to the beaver moon’s stop-everything-and let-it-go-let-it-go bewitchery right alongside the tide it was changing. After an hour by the sea with the wide of expanse of sand all mineminemine, the heavens curving with our planet’s dome, the waves crashing, the moon showing off, I swear, really showing off, I gave it all up. Gave up my fear of moving forward, gave up my fear of homelessness, gave up what stands between me and financial stability, gave up my fear of leaving behind what and who no longer fits.
The road home was smoother.
I stayed awake long past my normal bedtime, drinking spiked hot cider and ogling the night sky with my trusty overfamiliar. Even after I padded to bed I kept being pulled awake, thinking I’d forgotten to turn off the lights. But it was just that fat full moon, smiling brighter than some suns, so I kept smiling in return and falling back asleep until the cycle began again. That’s what you get with a Taurus moon–comfort, indulgence, security–during the season of Scorpio–upheaval, intensity, the revelation of the previously hidden. To quote Virginia Bell, it’s “cozy in the chaos.”
*no joke, that’s the local radio station’s name