I spent the night of the Full Flower Moon half asleep in New Jersey.  The cloudy sky drizzled with rain, and still the moon pulled me from sleep, as it had the days leading up to its fullness, as it does each month.  I resisted, but knew sleep would not come until I got up, so I rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom.  The moon must move the water within me, for this is my cure for sleeplessness: to pee.  I look out the window to the overcast sky.  It is 2:00 am, the horizon is tinted red, and I cannot see the moon.

Last night it happened again, though this time I was home.  As I stumbled toward the yurt door, I checked the clock—11:30—and stepped outside to a flooding of light.  The moon hung in the southeastern sky, round and bright, and I stood there for a moment after peeing, staring up at it.  This is sacred white light.  With a deep breath I said thank you to the moon.  Thank you for pulling me outside to the illuminated and quiet stillness.  Then I crawled back in bed, and I slept.

This morning I wake to the sound of woodpeckers drumming and red-winged blackbirds singing.  The birds and the cool air are a welcoming home after a week away, and though the moon has interrupted my sleep for the last five days, I am awake and rested.  May brings the Full Flower Moon, so today I will work in the garden, I will walk in the fields, I will search the forest for flowers opening up and bringing this month alive.