Falling Stars Know My Name

For many of my years now, nighttime has been for play. For dancing, for joking, for friends, for frolicking, for movies and dinner and parties. And for sleeping. Occasionally for fire. Very rarely, it is for fear and feeling small. (There is always the tricky 8 o'clock hour to be passed; somehow there is a door to depression waiting for between 8 and 9pm. (The Meridian Organ Clock points out that this bit of time is meant to be the height of activity for the precordium/heart/protection meridian, so This All may be part of the Opening Project.))

And then there's the moon. My body does know it's important to be under the moon. But that's a whole story in herself.

So, barring bonfires, owling, insomniac prowling, Halloween and the moon, it's been a long time since I put myself out in the night because of the night. For nearly as long, I've wanted to backpack myself to the Perseid meteor shower. To leave daytime to everyone else for a while, and give myself to some giant sky, the dark, and stars falling.

I always imagined hiking into the orange desert for it's unequivocable edges and purple sky. But it's August (maybe for the Leonids!). And I only have a few days. And I want grass beneath me. And N Dakota is exactly far enough, and dark enough. It's sky stretches forever and it's land is green. It's cities don't pollute the night sky with pale stains. And anyways, the summer's stress has finally crested. And my adrenals are exhausted. And my heart is stretched over many miles. And my camping equipment is perfect. And I've just mensed and danced my demons out.

And there is a bus leaving Tuesday.