The Moon is my Angel.

Someone is certainly watching over me.

The moon was winking at me this morning.

I held my phone aloft aiming at the sky above the charming street front lit gold and bit gothic in the early morning hours on Bainbridge Island. Water tinkled softly from the otter shaped fountain, the only other sound aside from the clickety-click of Freckles’ nails on the sidewalk and an occasional passing car whose passenger was probably on their way to work.

She—the moon—flickered between the clouds as I strived to snatch Her image. A bit cooperative, but not. Here but not. Present, playful, and mysterious as always.

I awoke the morning before in Montana as I usually do, but I laid my head down on a pillow that I brought from my own bed to the bed owned by a friend on Bainbridge Island in Washington.

I have made this trip for a memorial which I am sure to write more about later. It is for my dear anam cara who I call ‘The Moon’. My soul sister who passed suddenly and violently this past winter. I wrote of her death and the ritual that it evoked from me. I think of her frequently, especially when the moon is being ‘moony’. How else would one commemorate a being nicknamed “Moon”. It is a fitting effigy. She frequently swelled with feelings. She showed me how to feel, how to be with her when she was fully waxed or in various states of wane. I cared for her deeply. Loved her like a sister, but also a daughter. Maybe a lover in another life most certainly over and over as my soul’s true friend.

For now we will let Mina set and we will return to the moon and my most recent journey, one I have taken dozens if not a hundred times over the black top and high mountain passes that wind their way between the valley where I live and the western coast of the country.

It was about 3:30 am when I had enough of my own tossing and turning and decided to get up and finish gathering my things to put into the 2003 silver Dodge Intrepid I had borrowed from a dear friend, “That Man”, for the trip. My mind had been busy surfing layers of possibility most of the night: Had I made the right choice to take his car instead of my own? Something felt ‘off’, but then again all felt well enough and I kept ‘seeing’ myself in his car driving over one of the main landmarks of the trip, the Vantage bridge that crosses the Columbia river in Eastern Washington. It’s a breathtaking and familiar sight especially right along late afternoon when the sun kisses the valley golden and bronze, the breeze tickles the dusty sage brushes and the river glints at you. The scenic turnout is also one of my usual car breaks especially when transporting a pup.

Overthinking and second-guessing are patterns that I am actively ‘working’ to put behind me. I replace those ruminations with: “I trust in what I ‘feel’ and ‘know’.” My ‘knowing’ is deep, and my ‘feelings’ are usually accurate, though not linearally dependable. What was I ‘feeling’? Layers of distress and stress, but a deeper ‘thread’ of security and stability. Boy, oh, boy! Was that accurate?

While walking Freckles I looked up at the moon gazing benevolently down and lifted my phone to snap a pic as I so often do. “How odd. The moon rather looks like a portal this morning”. I thought to myself as I sent a couple of texts and prepared to get on my way. One response (from the car’s owner) “Be careful”, didn’t feel particularly ominous, just casually thoughtful particularly at 4:30 am when I knew damn well he was still asleep.

So….away we go!

Dark enveloped us  (Freckles and me) as we cruised down the highway at about 70 mph. The oncoming traffic’s lights were not friendly and I kept glancing down at the temperature gauge almost as if it were a premonition. Suddenly, having let my attention wander exclusively to the road’s curves for a few minutes, I glanced down only to see the temperature gauge redlining.

“Well, Fuck!” I exclaimed articulately and to no one but Freckles, then proceeded to pull the car off the road as quickly and safely as possible.

Once my breathing rate returned to normal I called my friend, “That Man”,  and fired off a follow up text. “Huston, we have a problem!” Only what I said was what had happened, where I was, and to “Please call me asap!” Then, nothing to do but wait.

A few years ago on a pilgrimage to pick my mom up from Texas, we killed the engine in my Subaru. The circumstances felt remarkably similar. My mind could not relinquish the possibility that I had just ‘cooked’ the engine of the Intrepid.

“Fuck!” I mean, what more can one say?

But what “That Man” said when he called me back was to “Put coolant in it, then call me back.” Clear instructions I was able to follow because fortuitously there was a full jug of antifreeze in the back seat. After adding as much as I thought made sense (it was nearly impossible to see where the lines were) I got back into the car and to my utter astonishment—she turned over! So, down the pass I crept into town, inching my way only to redline again while pouring copious amounts of steam from under the hood as I snailed my way through the light and came to park at the oasis known as a “Conoco”.

“Well…Fuck!” I mean, what else is there really to say?

“That Man” had something to say, “Put more coolant in it.”

I’m pretty sure everyone knows… I mean, it says right on it “Do not open when hot” not to open a radiator cap when it's hot. Well, we do dumb things under duress. We make assumptions about the nature of reality or our own capabilities that do not quite ‘line up’ with what is actual. So, while on the phone with “That Man”, I opened the cap and what do you suppose happened? The fucking thing exploded in my face like a goddamn geyser!

Did I get burned? A bit, yes. Also the hood came crashing down, my phone went flying, and my adrenaline hit a pure 10 on the richter scale for about the next 20 minutes.

“Well… Fuck!” I mean, what else is there really to say?

“That Man” said to me again, “Put more coolant in it.”

Wait….deja vu is that you?

So, after washing the antifreeze out of my mouth, hair, and face…I put more coolant in it. It seemed to me that catastrophe had taken over. The pavement was soaked. There was no end to how much antifreeze I poured into it and it looked like it was just dripping from beneath the car. I couldn’t possibly drive it like that. Or, could I?

“That Man” seemed to think so. He gave me specific instructions on how to ‘limp’ it back to his neck of the woods, so I could pick up my car and on the following day resume my journey because clearly that day was ‘shot’. Or, was it?

Backtracking east 50 miles or so, back down the pass from whence I had come, I pulled into a truck stop to let my belly settle and examine the underside of the car to see just how much coolant was spewing. Only after 20 minutes of sitting—no puddle. “Well, What the fuck?” I rightfully pondered. Within a few minutes of poking around under the hood, a couple of overall wearing fellas came over and asked, “Well, what do we seem to have going on here, Missy?” This is one of my favorite questions from men because it is frequently followed up by some sort of mechanical solution. Guys know things and once in a while it's just bloody great to accept their wisdom and help, especially when you yourself are beyond baffled, drenched in antifreeze and seriously out of mechanical depth.

Their estimation of my situation upon receiving a full summation: “You’ll be fine.”

Hmmmmm…

On the phone with “That Man” for the 5,000th time that morning:

Me: “Do you think I can make it?”

Him: “How lucky do you feel?”

Me: (snorts) “Seriously… What does your gut say?”

Him: (pauses) “I think you’ll be fine.”

Me: (takes deep breath) “That’s what I feel, too.”

And I was right. The car behaved like a perfect gentleman the rest of the drive and since I have arrived. It’s a bit baffling really, but who am I to argue with blessings?

Now here I am sitting in the apartment that my Washingtonian pal calls her “glorified closet”. A day behind me doing exactly the things that make my little "Hippie” heart happy. Coffee, dog cuddles, more coffee, a session, another session only this time a ‘styling’ one. A new thing I am trying with clients and loving it! An afternoon by the water—salt air soothing my soul. A delicious dinner.

My current motto: “ I am getting what I want and graciously receive all I need.”

It’s true. My wants do not necessarily look as I might expect, but they are landing and they ultimately feel really good. The needs are to be expected as my own body and nervous system seem to have, after years, hit a rather dependable homeostasis where even breaking down on the side of the road only perturbs my peace for a brief period of time.

It’s hard to hold onto anxiety when more than anything you ‘know’ you are consistently being blessed.

The moon looks down, creating openings where before I could not see them. Opening gateways that were previously perceptible, but ultimately had been closed. The oracle of my heart awakens and she sings quietly, yet persistently.

I see what I see. I feel what I feel. I know what I know. And I trust.