Howling at the Moon

My friend Sneh offers me the most beautiful gift: she effusively enjoys my existence.

She–with her warm, inviting, Indian-culture-nurtured, “I can’t pick a love language, I show my affection with all five,” heart–simply exudes love.

She radiates it.

I cherish it. Her partner cherishes it. The strangers she adopts cherish it. We all do.

What a gift. To be held in the space of, “You existing on this planet delights me.”

And, while I could easily steer this musing in the “dreaming the world into being” direction of “I wish this for all of us,” I’m going to proceed with a different path.

This week, Sneh thoroughly enjoyed reading that my “here’s what I’m looking for in a community” list includes, “women who howl at the moon.”

“I laughed so hard when I read it,” she said. “Howling at the moon 🤣🤣”

And because there’s not a single writer on the planet who doesn’t love it when their writing is received well, I delighted in her comment. Thanks, my cherished Sneh.

But I delighted even more in the premise. Because I am actually seeking women who howl at the moon. Those are the kind of people I want around me.

I want witchy women.

Wild women.

Untamed women.

Mystical women.

Free, free, freeeeeeeee ladies who gather to dance around in nature, wiggling to hippy and trippy songs while making offerings to Mother Earth.

Women who are flooded with gratitude, awe, delight, reverence and joy when they do things like that.

Women who are maybe a little bit weird.

But mostly women who are free. Women who don’t feel shackled or confined by the reality of being a human on this planet. Women who think it’s a wild adventure that deserves to be celebrated.

So anyway, I just wanted to put that out there in case anyone thought I was kidding about the howling at the moon thing.

I wasn’t.

If you’re one of those women, you can find me at this address:

Tree next to the river with the perfect patch of barefoot dancing grass

37 steps to the north of the pagoda where people do Tai Chi

Shenzhen, China