Last night, I drove home with elated mood despite dark situations that have arisen of late. As I drove, making a zig-zag course to avoid the no-left-turn problem, I came upon the moon low in the west, like a pale heavy slipper. The ocean beyond it.

Though it was late, I decided to follow the moon to the sea. I wanted to see the beautiful moon over the ocean. I haven’t been at night since I’ve been here. And, as I’ve said, I was in a good mood.

By the time I parked, walked a few blocks, and stood on the dune looking out to sea, the moon was near the horizon, had turned from pale silk to deep blood-orange. City lights behind me, dark darkness before me. A mild breeze considering the month and the time of night. I could see the lines of sea foam, the white against the dark water.

The dark moon had no reflection on the water. I guess there was a reason. I don’t know what it is.

I walked back and drove home, not upset but disquieted. As I parked, I side-scraped a monster truck, and alarms went off, the kind that squeal then whoop then beep. I couldn’t disconnect my car from the truck at first, and I thought geez. But then we pulled apart. No damage, but an understandably irate sleepy owner to appease. I felt very little—just calm—oh, well. I went inside, brushed my teeth, and found a Rob Brezsny entry about the Frankenstein within, the monster in need of attention and compassion. At risk for rampage if ignored.

What I’m trying to say is, it’s 5:30 in the morning. I’ve been awake for a bit, following my own advice about laying in bed, and paying attention to the work my body does in the night.

I try to be very honest in my writing. The reason for this blog’s existence was the need to release shattering pain. Pain whose source was blindspots. Shadow. Disconnection. Dissociation. Truths we know and yet still manage not to see even when we are trying very hard to see.

So, in pursuit of truth, I write in here sometimes, and I don’t know where it’s coming from.

I have learned much from this week. From sticking to my intention to post entries that feel genuine, even when my brain’s senior editor is going, what’s this?

It’s a good, sometimes taxing path. I hope to put what I learn to good use. To examine blindness about sex, death, extraordinary experience, war, neglect of our children’s needs. To understand how it is when we strive hardest to be good, we commit our little cruelties, sometimes our atrocities.