in silence i am on this full lotus sitting the new moon rises
Once upon a long, long time ago when I was stretching and working out a lot, I discovered almost by accident that I could sit in the full lotus pose. Up until then I had managed a half lotus pose without too much difficulty, but that pretzel of a full lotus pose had always eluded me. And to be honest, I didn’t particularly have my heart set on sitting full lotus. Yoga was a form of cross-training for dance, not spiritual nor meditation practice, for me. But, have you ever sat in full-lotus?!
In full lotus, I instantly realized why it was the meditator’s pose of choice. I was stable, rooted, and still. Silence came naturally, like breathing, and all the world was unperturbed. From this rock-like seat, everything else was light. Eureka! I felt like shouting out loud! This is why the yogis work so hard for years twisting and turning, bending and coaxing their bodies into a pretzel—they can finally sit still!🤣
The value of stillness and silence deepens over time and with age, particularly when we struggle. And now, all these years later, my body craves full lotus. Not by accident, but with acute awareness. My heart is now set on its world of light, and of grace. Maybe it is not too late to rise anew, like the moon.
What are you? They ask. A pink flower, i declare. And darkness dancing into light waves of seashore. Jaguar’s soft skin, and heartbeat.
(tanka 5-7-5-7-7)
My cat passed away on March 28th, and on April 5th her ashes were returned to me in a small wooden urn engraved with unfurling flowers. When the man from the pet cremation company whose daughter’s name is Kimiko, close to but not Himiko, came to pick up my cat, I was told that her ashes would be returned sometime Monday through Friday, probably in the morning. Wednesday evening while still at work, I received a phone call from the man who, in his own words, was returning all the fur-babies back to their people. Albeit in ashes. Yes, I can be home later at night to receive my fur-baby’s ashes, I told him.
Cycling back to the house, I saw the bright and likely full moon, and thought to myself that it was just like Himichan to come back to me on a full moon. And she did. Back home I checked the internet and confirmed that yes indeed, it was a full moon night—and not just any full moon night either. It was the pink full moon!
My first name is written with the kanji満 (michiru), but when it is combined with the kanji for moon月 like this 満月 it is read all together as “mangetsu” meaning, full moon. I have always loved the moon, particularly the full moon. The night before I was born, my mother heard Beethoven’s moonlight sonata playing even though the music was not actually playing anywhere. The first haiku in Japanese that I ever wrote describes the full moon whispering over the sea in spring.
Even so, I had never heard of the pink moon before! According to timeanddate.com, April’s full moon is called the “pink moon” due to the abundance of pink wildflowers blooming in spring! And it’s true, there are pink flowers blossoming everywhere. And I think about my fur-baby Himichan every time I see them.
When I was a little girl, I adamantly disliked the color pink for its association with girlishness. Therefore, strawberry ice cream was not my favorite flavor; and part of my decision to give up ballet for gymnastics was my distaste for pink tights and leotards. Very sensible, I know. But many years later as an adult, I reclaimed pink. The rebellion was over. On the contrary, embracing pink became the revolution; I like strawberry ice cream and I wear pink. The poem at the top of this page, written several years ago, is a womanifesto of sorts. I am pink—with edge. I am pinx.
That night, that night of the pink full moon, that night my Himichan’s ashes were returned to me. I cried. Bittersweet. Too much magic and much too beautiful. My heart flooded with gratitude and pink moonlight. I crave jaguar’s soft skin, and heartbeat.
I love you, Himichan, to the moon and back.
“I love you to the moon and back” it says on the small disk hanging below. This too, came to me with its own magic and synchronicity. 🖤🌕🌸🐾💞
In the summer of 2004, it must have been sometime in July, I went to the local farmers market and happened upon a man who had a cardboard box with two little kittens inside. One was the cutest girl-kitty, black and white with green eyes, and the other was the cutest boy-kitty, all grey with a little white spot on his chest. They were sister and brother, and moments later, my kitties. At home with my new little family, I thought about their names and was wondering, Kimiko? Himiko? What was the name of the ancient priestess-leader in Japan?? Himiko, not Kimiko. Okay. So she became my kitty Himiko. Fast forward over eighteen and a half years later, and I call a pet cremation company after muttering to myself a million times, “You can do this, you can do this.” A man answers the phone and after a brief inquiry about pricing, procedure, etc. he asks me for my cat’s name. “Himiko” I reply, starting to cry. And then since it’s a Japanese name and I’m in the US, I start to spell it out for him but he stops me mid-sentence saying, “I know exactly how to spell Himiko—that’s my daughter’s name!” I start to explain that it’s Himiko, not Kimiko, being certain that his daughter would not be named Himiko, but the conversation moved on. The next day when he came to pick up my Himiko, I asked him about his daughter and he clarified that indeed, her name is Kimiko, not Himiko.
Queen HimikoNew Year’s Sunrisemy heartHer favorite heater.Chasing BirdsAt least one of us is doing yoga!Best Christmas present ever, fish tacos! cicada’s demisemy baby
Kyoto circa 2013Himichan magic. 15th Birthday.BFFOur favorite selfie.Partners in kawaii. Her favorite pillow. One of our final days together.She passed bathed in sunlight.
I share this story not only for its remarkable synchronicity, but also for how it exemplifies Himiko-chan’s magic. Her whole life was like that. She truly lived up to her name in both royalty and spirit. Himichan (her nickname) was friendly, feisty, intelligent, inquisitive, polite, caring and loving. She was my kitty-baby, my best friend, my travel companion, my heart, my kitty-soulmate. She was one tough kitty-cat and my shero—the one I still aspire to be when I grown up. 🖤🐾 “Death ends a life, but it does not end the relationship.” Himichan will be in my heart forever and with me in spirit always.
Since March 4th, I’ve been focusing on my senior kitty who’s been with me forever (close to 19 years), and is now in need of intensive care. So we are taking a catnap together—from everything. From everything that is, except each other and sitting in the garden sunshine with chirping birds and the breeze.
I only know myself as her human.
Something will transpire, sometime and somehow, and some foreign future self unknown to me now, will resume weekly posts. In the meantime, perhaps I will share some old photos or stories of us… or perhaps just the silence.
Thank you for reading and I will be in touch again. 🐾🖤
Photo: spiral galaxy NGC 1232, from European Southern Observatory
somewhere, some forty seven layers down into the center of earth and somewhere, another forty seven layers into the center of the universe we walk
hand in hand we walk beneath the seabed and along smoldering crevices these ancient lungs breathing long rivers of fire in the darkness
we walk on and on all along these meandering trails through tall fields of sunlight and pink wildflowers we step into streams of cold crystal water smooth around our ankles and cupped hands
and on top of these snow-covered mountain peaks we walk where the soaring blue sky is pierced with song, and with long silver threads of one thousand swans who like us, fly home
through layer after layer on and on and into the jet black ink of night, we walk holding hands here in this deep space brimming with bejeweled skies we’re swirling and spiraling and dancing we spin we, spin and we spin our house of love
my Love is more than even the wildest wild rose an unrestrained, and captivating beauty—the rarest flower tumbling up into the sky, and freer than the swiftest starling but still, this singular flower is rooted firmly, deeply, ever inextricably in this soil in thisrich and moist and black soil, rootedever so deeplyinside this deep deep love flowering
Have you felt that too? Not singing, but being sung by the world? Body as sounding board for the swirling elements of air, water, light, and, soft soil? Like mist, song emerging from the slow steps and soft contours of a dance… each and every cell connected to wind and white feathers in flight? One day, while practicing fue (a kind of traditional Japanese flute) and singing by the Kamo River in Kyoto, I felt that… that sensation of being saturated by the mist and the light. By wind and by love.
The photograph above was taken then, when I felt that. It’s not a particularly striking nor clear picture, but somehow it captured some airborne shimmering light, sparkles, and an egret… Somehow it captures something like being saturated by the light and the mist… something like being a sounding board for the world.
can i burn ? candleflame—like in the dark when these wounds are much too much and the horizon has all but disappeared can i burn , please ? softly candelflame—like in the dark
Michiru Adrienne 