COBWEBS AND DUST

Woke this morning at 4 with the huge yang moon shining in my window, and I was a little cold. My bedroom thermometer showed 64 F, a bit on on the chilly side for Hawaii. Of course it never occurs to me to turn off the fan or shut the windows, I like the fresh air too much. The Wizard is not here to keep me warm, having been called to monkishly sit in vigil for a beloved colleague who will be cremated later today, it would seem quite auspiciously. The astronomers say this is the first and biggest moon of the new year (Gregorian 2009) or by the lunar calendar, it's the last and biggest of the Year of the Earth Rat. Regrettably, I missed gazing at the last big 2008 one, owing to dense and persistent cloud cover from the rainy and stormy weather that was our Christmas. I was sorry I'd missed it, but counting the cycles differently, I haven't missed anything. That's the nice thing about two calendars, always a second chance at everything. (Maybe that's why I have two blogs.)

I'd also awakened early yesterday out of necessity for a dreary business conference call to the east coast; I participated with coffee on my lanai while watching the moon set over the mountains. Next time, THEY get to phone in in the middle of the night! Why is it, on a weekday it is painful to get up so early, but now on Saturday I am up all abuzz and rarin' to go.

This morning as I wandered about the house in the moonlight waiting for my coffee water to boil, I was thinking about the funeral and noticing the cobwebs and dust I really must clear in the next two weeks to make way for the coming of the Ox. The old Gordon Lightfoot song, "Cobwebs and Dust" came to my mind, a tune I might like to make people listen to at my own funeral; it's a sentimental country waltz about shaking off the accumulated dust and saying goodbye to your island, floating through the sky, sorry to leave you , but leave you I must. (Here's the best lyrics link I can find ; the song is from the album "If you Could Read My Mind.") So I listened to it on my iPOD while gazing at the moon, my Taoist contribution to the vigil.

Last evening, not yet thinking about the moon, I was in the Barnes and Noble at Ala Moana Shopping Center, poking around in their small but respectable collection of Taoist books. I waited until a man with a little boy finished going through the shelf; they left empty-handed. Then I squatted on the floor (it was the bottom shelf) looking through Eva Wong and Thomas Cleary and Alan Watts titles. I made a selection and the man reappeared with a clerk. "Looking for something Taoist?" I asked. "Yes," he said, as the clerk handed him the title he was looking for. We started to talk; I told him I had been to Wudang, and he asked which book was my favorite (well, the Tao Te Ching) and if there was a community of practitioners here. (If there is one, I haven't found it; Taoists tend to be low-profile loners, a bit isolated.) "Which book would you recommend for me," he asked, so of course I picked out Deng Ming-Dao's 365 Tao, neglecting to tell him it would be a great tool to start the new year, either one of them. Also neglected to suggest the "Empty Vessel" journal; there was a pile of back issues in the magazine section. And finally, neglected to find out who the heck he was beyond a 4th-grade teacher in Waikiki. On the way home, I lamented my failure to provide more guidance and conversation, then concluded he will find his own way; he already seems to be on a path. I have faith the moon will guide him, even as it soon starts to wane as the cycle continues. He said he hears the Year of the Ox will be one of change: well, isn't it always? Friends will arrive, friends will disappear; big old lobsters will be released and small ones will be eaten, the Dow will go up and down, wars will start and stop, politicians will do what they do, sports teams will win and lose, folks will be born and folks will die, the moon will wax and wane, the sun will keep rising and setting (I have this confidence). And the cobwebs and dust will pile up and be swept away (or maybe not, at my house). Change, but no real progress, except maybe personally. Then, at some point we get to bid it all goodbye, reluctantly, while someone sits in prayer by our body or thinks of us while listening to music in the light of the moon as we start our calculations by yet another calendar, as if there are calendars in eternity (which I'm pretty sure there aren't).

The gigantic glowing pearl is still well above the western horizon, there is a rooster crowing, and Fifi and the Yellow Emperor are busy bringing me their faux mice, the results of their futile domestic crepuscular hunting. That long thin dawn is comin' on again. (Another great Lightfoot tune.) Life goes on. All you can do is watch it go by.