There’s something incredibly moving and electrifying about looking at the dark sky full of stars. We are distant yet so close to the cosmos and the Moon itself. It tickles our poetic imagination and brings a smile to our lips amidst the scary darkness. We all have a personal relationship with the night’s sky, whether we are aware of it or not – some seem to know love under the moonlight while others weep in silence.
from pexels.com
Nevertheless, the Moon sees us with a nonjudgmental eye and waits for us to speak to them.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I picked up the book, ‘To the Moon: An Anthology of Lunar Poems’ by Carol Ann Duffy at my first public book fair. Nor was I merely lucky to have been gifted a Moon lamp. Unbeknownst to me, my moon-related objects became a sort of collection with the latest addition, ‘A Kite For Moon’ by Jane Yolen.
Is it just a natural force drawing me to the Moon or does the reason lie deeper?
If we are all parts of nature, I recognize that there’s a piece of me on the Moon and vice versa. What if I’m just attracted to a fraction of myself like my essence was split into millions of pieces and it just so happens my heart lies on the Moon?
And I, as a human being, can’t help but long for a sense of completeness, a wholeness, and I look up at the Moon and feel like the answers must be somewhere there. That’s why we keep exploring space. That’s why we landed on the Moon on July 21, 1969, poking it with a stick and a rectangular fabric (I’m with the poets when they said it was a disgrace to the poetically sacred symbol).
On the other hand, the Moon and I's connection goes way back to when I was a teenager. Let me tell you why through a short story when I was 15 and I wanted to end my life.
My mother and I had a huge argument, which led to me being told to stay outside until I stopped crying. I was inconsolable, and I was even perplexed why my sobs couldn’t stop. Time passed, and I felt like my lungs were giving out, my eyes too swollen, but still, I couldn’t stop. Maybe this was it. I could just walk to the street and let the cars run me through, but a stronger force was pulling me down to my spot in front of our gates.
I sat on the dirt and began counting in my head. I wanted to see if I could track the numbers as I try to calm down. 1, 2, 3… 100… still not okay, 320… still inconsolable, 630… okay, getting there. Suddenly, a cold breeze brushed past me and as if somebody had lifted my chin, I looked up and saw the full Moon.
“Keep counting,” it said.
“Keep breathing,”
“You’re not alone,”
“Tell me what’s going on,”
This horrible and traumatic moment turned into a healing and spiritual time, where I surrendered to the unknown, to the cosmos, for the first time in my life. I hoped that the Moon could lift the burden off my shoulders and show me how to be at peace. Like a wave of a magic wand, it worked. My tears stopped flowing, and I felt ready to come back inside.
Since that day, the full Moon signaled that everything would be okay. As I grew older, I learned how to appreciate it more by doing moon rituals, composed of a gratitude list, lighting a candle, singing, dancing, and manifesting through my tarot decks.
My latest drawing about the moon 😊
I’m also drawn to communicate with Hecate, the ancient Greek goddess of magic, witchcraft, the night, the Moon, ghosts and necromancy, and Mayari, the ancient Filipino goddess of the Moon.
What’s your relationship with the Moon? Share them in the comments below!
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ᴬˡˡ ᵖʰᵒᵗᵒˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ ᵘⁿˡᵉˢˢ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳʷⁱˢᵉ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉᵈ.
