It’s an odd thing, being awake at 2:00 in the morning. The first question to emerge is generally, “why?”. Blame it on mundane things? Or is there a pull towards doing something divine which the distractions of a sunlit time seem to blunt?

I don’t know.

At a little after two on this full moon night, with the forest lit bright in the pale moon light, I am quite awake. Morning awake, make some coffee and get at the day awake.

Oddly enough I’m also chatty. Only there’s no one about, and certainly no one who would appreciate talking to me at this time of day.

There are moments in which it is nice to have a friend in a ludicrously different time zone. This might be one of those times.

Or maybe not. Maybe I need to be awake, and yet pause, not asleep and not active, rather something in between, where my mind can be fully aware of supernal considerations.

It might also be the poetry. I’ve gotten an urge to ponder Yeats once more. It’s been a while since I’ve caught Yeats, or for that matter had a case of any of the poets. Call it an exploration of my soul through the words of another explorer, to see if maybe they’ve seen something I’ve missed or can remind me of that which I have forgotten.

There is no better source for such things than the Philokalia, and yet the overt Spiritual conversation at times is just too blatant. Not living in the context of a monastery or hermitage I find myself frustrated by words which assume a managed life, free from the bother of lives lived nearby.

So, I’m exploring the grand words of grand souls, who may or may not have found something along their trails.

The exploration of a grand soul is a beautiful expedition, more magnificent than Yellowstone, more adventurous than a climb up K2. Not many souls display so readily their grandeur. Such things are like gold in a mountain. Find a stream, and pan, with the real treasure coming out with a pick and dynamite.

Sometimes, with some rare figure, they lay out their treasure before the world, leaving their eminence for the world to consider, and learn, and critique, and emulate.

If you can find that in them, it spurs one to find it all in oneself.

Trusting, of course, that the vein will not run out. Three in the morning is a fine time to take the pick to one’s own being, and see what is there. Especially when there is a full moon out. There’s something about that light which spurs one to determine what is within and gaze longingly for what might yet become.