“There’s biscuit on your nose.”
My younger sister’s liquid green eyes direct my hands to where the golden crumbs hide.
Whisked away, she nods in approval. She settles back in a checkered chair. The comfy chair spins in a circle, and she sways from side-to-side as she sips a mocha and relaxes into life.
I awe at her embodied ease, at her ability to receive the moment and be in the moment with patience, grace, a strong kindness.
I often joke that my younger sister has been my older sister or a parental figure in former lives, and in this incarnation, I decide to pay her back by coming to earth as the eldest, but I’m uncertain as to how this karma is playing out. She continues to lead, inspire, guide.
This morning upon waking, she lounges in pillows, and stretches her arms to casually declare, “I love my life.”
Again, a spark of awe.
I’ve been in my tidy morning routine of meditation and yoga, and yet, my mindful practices march like a to-do; they lack the glistening devotional luster that shines from her spontaneous outburst of heartfelt appreciation.
This loving attitude shows in my sister’s true enjoyment of life.
She traverses her fair share of difficulties, heartbreaks and challenges, and still maintains a depth of sweetness and a mischievous sparkle of playfulness. Her effervescence is nourished and emboldened by actively acknowledging the lows and fearlessly leaning into the highs. Life experience has taught her the importance of chilling into that checkered arm chair, savoring that sip of a mocha, and making an impromptu boomerang of her spinning and giggling, and looking utterly chic as she does so.
Life loves her back. It’s a collaborative relationship I witness, and like a bright-eyed younger sister eager to emulate, learn from.
The same day that biscuit kisses my nose, we take to the road and she hosts as car DJ. We cruise to Lord Huron’s nostalgic, western-luring tunes and merge onto an interstate that leads us toward a mid-afternoon, waxing moon.
“It’s as if we’re driving to the moon.”
We marvel at her grand blooming, and sudden heart-expansive gratitude embraces every element of this scene: to cradle this special time with my sister, to practice my confident interstate driving skills, to have a voice that sings to “Lonesome Dreams.”
To be breathing in an air that carries the poetic call of Amanda Gorman: “To be brave enough to see the light, brave enough to be it.”
The waxing moon winks in wisdom, waves me forward to join in and participate in the mess and glory of this life, and to notice and radically receive the sweetness, the joys, the biscuits.
The half-full moon is a glass half-full.
The half-full moon is my sister’s life-loving approach reflected in the phase of the moon.
To spotlight the goodness that is here. And if it seems far out of reach, soften into a compassionate hug of breath and be right there, close to the breath, close to self, close to the pulse of sheer aliveness. Let this experience of being alive, of being a fully fledged feeling human being be the gentle guidance of the half-full moon.
The waxing moon reminds me of my power of choice – I can choose to see the glass as half-empty, give into constricting thought-beliefs, and stay limited in unchecked judgments and past-informed perceptions. Or I can choose to flow consciousness into the shadowy, gritty narratives that keep me fearful and offer compassion, offer honeyed light, and determine to expand, to let go of the past or the idea of a certain past, to create another path of thinking, feeling, being.
The waxing moon brings my Self home into my body, illuminates the mundane routines to transform them into devotional practices.
When I wash my face, as I splash fresh water and cleanse, I tell my complexion, my eyebrows, my eyes, my nose that I love you.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Exactly as you are.
Before I make the phone call, have any interaction out in the whirl of the world, I slow into a conscious pause, a steady breath. I anchor myself in my heart-bright humanity so any veils of separation dissolve and I can speak to the people around me with connection as the communicative guide. I hear the light in their voice. I see the light in their eyes.
I spoon indulgent bites of a dressed up, gourmet twinkie and celebrate the decadent deliciousness by shimmying in the high-top seat.
Stay ignited in luminosity even and especially when there’s the hovering darkness of night. To circle the shadow and the light is to be full, to be whole.
And when I cannot catch the sight of the waxing moon, I turn to the shine of my sister as the teacher. She’ll lovingly let me know if I have biscuit leftovers on my nose and those crumbles will be delicious reminders to experience the goodness of this life.