Both Sides of the Moon: Musings on Mangoes, Comfort, Nakedness, and Finding Our Way Home

I remember the day I learned that mangoes are a sensual fruit.  I was a teenager, and my best girlfriend and I sat on either side of a pulldown cupholder arm rest on a big, overstuffed black leather couch.  We laughed beneath a skylight of blue as the juice dripped down our arms.  It was then that I knew.  Mangoes are not for the faint of heart.  They are as wild and passionate as the one who drinks their nectar in.  They are sweet pleasure in their ripe juiciness.  Yes, I have heard that you should eat mangoes naked, and I do believe this is true.  I still haven't done it, but I'm certain I will.  There is a Wildness to Life that yearns to be touched.  Not a one of us hasn't felt that yearning at some moment of life.   Tell me you haven't wanted to taste what Life has to offer and I will not believe you.

I have found that curling up knees-to-chin on a couch of mismatched blankets is a wonderful comfort.  I like to hear the dogs barking outside sometimes.  It reminds me that I am cozy here in this home, so lucky to have my place to curl up and feel safe.  I am not alone.  I love to see the clothes on the line, and as they move I can almost feel the subtle breeze on my face as if I was for a moment a feather-light white shirt, translucent with sunlight-glow shining through.  They remind me of the simple joys of life at home.  The orange glow of a lamp, the sound of a tea kettle singing, the shower is going, there are books on the shelf.  Little cups stacked up.  A sweater hangs out of an open dresser drawer.  We all need comfort.  We all yearn for home.

The air is warm.  I squint as I look out upon the lake, sun-ripples dancing, waving toward me like shards of gold.  A gentle breeze.  I stretch and breathe.  I remove my dusty socks and feel the sharp rocks under my sore feet.  I walk towards the water, hesitantly, but wide-aware.  Inside I am free.  Inside I run like a child into the water.  Several moments pass as I stare out across the blue.  I come to the edge, where the water laps the shore calling me out gently into the freedom.  The afternoon sun is like that happiness that wraps around you like the evening of a summer child. Crickets chirp through a memory of barbecue smoke.  Time stretched long like afternoon shadows.  Sunlight made real.

A silt-cloud of mud fills the clear water as I swirl my socks around to wash them.  I squeeze them out and hang them on a shoreline tree.  Beyond ankle-deep now I can feel each cold and slippery rock underfoot.

 I am deep in the wilderness, prepared with all my heroine heart to get into that water and swim naked.  Gosh darn it, I am determined. I have come so far and waited so long for this divine moment. I invite my Love to join me, thinking I will find some sort of Courage or Liberation or Deeper Love if he swims with me, but I find myself alone and left my clothes on a low bush nearby.

Apprehensive, and sure that someone in the wilderness could most certainly see me from across the lake--how dare she be beautiful and naked in the forest, afterall--I stand for a moment and take in my wild liberty, realizing that frankly, it doesn't even matter if there is.  I slip away into the water, the coolness like sacred silk cloths over my skin. I am reverent of the deep silence below. I feel my body spin like a dervish, spiraling and still all at once.  I savor that perfect still smoothness on the surface of the water--a feeling suspended in time- as I break through and emerge into the light. Cool drops of freshness drip down my face and make high vibrations on the water as they fall from my hair swept wet behind my ears.  I am clean and clear.  I am Wholeness and Brilliant Wild Beauty for no one but my Self.

I wash my clothes with much care and hang them in the trees, then dash shyly to grab my wonderful woolen underlayers.  I savor their sun-warmed softness.  I retreat to that place of cherished comfort once again.  I lay and watch the sway of the pines, hear the low music of the frogs and the rhythmic water lapping the shore, my eyes focused gently on patches of sun as they move on the mesh of my open-air tent.  I find home.

There is a Calling to Wildness and the Open-Hearted Freedom-Bliss of Life.  There is a longing and an echo that can be heard as we become quiet.  Much like the mid-night song of a wailing loon on a secret lake, it haunts us and draws us deeper within the dark and mysterious brilliant night sky-scape of our inner reaches.

There is a retreat once again to the Softness of Spirit within, holding us eternally in a warm and nurturing embrace.  We curl up into it like a tiny child, our hearts cradled like a precious treasure.

It is a mango of sensuous passion, a quilted couch of quiet peace, a wilderness shoreline of adventure, a warm home under the trees.

Wild and Precious, Gentle and Fierce are we.  Quiet and Thundering, Trembling and Brave are we.  We are as Sacred and ever-changing as the Day and Night and Seasons all around us.  We are the Seasons.  We are the Starlit Night.

The sun rises, inviting the petals of a flower to Open.  The rain pushes petals to the Earth.  The mandala is woven.  It circles around. Life is both sides of the moon.

We Welcome Wild and the Comfortable, both...

~Abigail Grace Stohs