Sun in Cancer
A luxury I am grateful for is the large window beside my bed, positioned perfectly so I can look at the moon every night, whatever the weather. Clear skies, rain, mist, smog; sometimes the moon is bright and whole, sometimes I cannot tell where it ends and the clouds begin. It is the same moon Romeo swore his love by, the one that hung over Jonathan Harker during his imprisonment in Dracula’s castle.
And it is the same moon I look at after finishing an ordinary corporate shift.
All my troubles seem so small when a celestial body waits for me every night. It asks nothing of me. It does not need me to be productive, to explain myself, or even to be okay. It just appears, as it has for eons. The world is far larger than whatever happened that day.
I love that I can start over. I love that I do not have to hold on to the past, to old memories, or to attachments that no longer belong in my life. Attachment to things and to their outcomes creates suffering, and I do not wish to suffer. It is my life, after all. I am responsible for how I live it. Why would I willingly allow myself to be disturbed by the ghosts of my past? They are dead for a reason, but I am not. If there is a heaven or a hell, I will meet them there. For now, though, why should I torment myself over what has already ended? The future is so bright, and it is so close.
What a privilege it is to be able to say that I can begin again.
There is a truth I live by: love exists because I exist. As long as I am alive, love will live within me. How limited it is to believe that you could never find love again, that you would lose the ability to love, or that no one else on earth could understand the love you want to give and receive. Are you so vain as to believe that only one person could ever love you?
I am grateful that I can love. I am grateful that I can be vulnerable. After every heartbreak, my heart remains just as tender as it was before. Why should my love die with the person who failed to keep it alive between us? How absurd...
