blue moon (mini) musings

I used to be really strict with myself about how I practiced my spirituality – focusing on the extent rather than the intent.

Like, if I hadn’t done my meditations in the morning, at dawn, with a fresh candle burning and crows cawing & morning birds chirping, then I felt I had failed my spiritual hygiene of the day. If my practice wasn’t up to my standards of perfection, then it didn’t count. If I didn’t witness every full moon rising while posted atop a mountain’s peak, reiki blissed out, dressed in flowing fabrics and flanked by butterflies, then I had failed an entire moon cycle.

I think the reason why we humans strive to have a spiritual experience is because it’s where we came from – before embodiment. It feels like home.

And honestly, I feel like a spiritual experience, in this day and age, transcends a lot of what we typically have pinned as spirituality. This blue moon, I watched rise from the parking lot of a Jack & the Box while I searched for someplace safe to pee. Just off the I-5, the scent of the Pacific blowing eastwards, my urgent full bladder despite MissRona closed public restrooms, & suddenly – struck by the moon. Suddenly, frozen on asphalt – watching Earth’s satellite rise over an Irish pub across the street. Moonstruck. Amidst the most mundane.

While giving equal reverence to ritual & rites, I feel like there’s something to be said about spontaneous spirituality – the kind that strikes you in the most mundane of moments & finds you laughing at the absurdity of how deeply immersed we are in humanhood. In finding a toilet off the 5 freeway. In watching the moon rise during a roadtrip southbound, back home. In finding a serendipitous toilet in a state beach parking lot, watching twilight glimmer off the ocean’s edge & sunset’s residue still searing orange across the horizon.

I feel like it’s not to escape humanhood that we seek spiritual outlets – but to fully encapsulate it. To remember, regain, and resurface from the slumber of incarnation.