I had a really interesting and quite mirror-esque conversation with Mike about what we want to do, long-term goals, et cetera. I said I felt like a boat with no rudder, just floating on fucking faith. But through that came a joyful message: the only thing to do is jump on the moon. Like, from Rent—literally from Rent.

“I felt like a boat with no rudder, just floating on fucking faith.”

Mike started singing, and then we tried to quarter and saw the first quarter moon. I just got a zillion chills and knew instantly it was some kind of cosmic message. Leap of faith. The only thing to do is jump over the moon. It was loud and awesome and terrifying at the same time.

“The leap isn’t about landing. The leap is about jumping up—not over an abyss, but over a moon.”

And now the question is: what is the leap? What is the moon? The leap, the moon—these symbols, in their happy, almost tongue-in-cheek presentation—are hitting deeper. Like the glowing jewels of singing things in the DMT-activated realms. There’s something to get over, as much as there is something to leap into. The moon could represent whatever fears or blocks are presenting themselves as insurmountable hurdles. The leap is then less about where or how I land, and more about knowing that I have the hops to fucking jump the hurdles.

“Not that the net will appear, but that there’s no need for a net in the first place.”

The leap isn’t about landing. The leap is about jumping up—not over an abyss, but over a moon. Something one might think they’re completely unable to hop over due to the rules of the universe. But that’s just fear. The next step isn’t identifying the various facets and textures of the moon, of the fear, and identifying all of what it is. The next step is just to fucking leap—and to do it with unyielding faith. Not that the net will appear, but that there’s no need for a net in the first place.

The only thing one needs a safety net for is when they’re tightrope walking or fucking trapezing from one place to another—not for jumping over the moon. It requires no net, no need to dissect or analyze the moon ad infinitum. Just leap over it. Just jump high and over the moon. And you’ll land on your feet, smack-dab on the same dull earth from which you jumped—only now, it’s you who have changed. Not the external world. No nets. And the moon will always be there, always ready to remind you that you can do what most think is impossible. You can jump over the fucking moon. Again and again. It’s so easy even a cow could do it.

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