The Moon & Me

If I could speak to the Moon, I think my tongue would be a wave. Upon her gentle touch, my fingertips would scatter into stars, and in her white glow, we'd smile.

I have only recently been drawn to the Moon’s mysticism. Living in cycles means embracing the whims, the fullness and emptiness of the world, and oneself. As a woman, my cycles rule my body and spirit. I will not be ashamed of my moods, however I will not let their savage nature rip my home to shreds. The many moods of the Moon & I are what make it so beautiful to observe, appreciate, and feel.

Attributing names and traits to seasons is part of the fun of being human. To dress like the blooming flower, eat like the thoughtful chipmunk, and move with the wind is a key joy in life that I have recently discovered. Along with the book “Women Who Run With The Wolves”, suddenly the mystic nature of the universe was revealed piece by piece. From the ugly sneer to its ethereal haze, I see glimpses of the unknown in the Moon’s teeth. I will always remember the first time its power seized me…

Around the Halloween of the wood snake, my blood shed while the full Beaver Moon swallowed the sky, pulling screaming spirits from the ground. Ghouls howled in the wind, the sky was dark, the leaves were cold and brittle like bones - my body and soul surrendered to a pain so animalistic I almost felt fur growing on my back, fangs searing my gums, calling me to howl at the night. I hated the Moon then - it was wicked, vicious, and sacrificed my flesh for its pleasure. I shut my blinds and burrowed into blankets, drinking my tears for tea away from that terrible light.

It was from that moment on that I understood. The moon possessed me then as a lesson, one that turned into a spiritual awakening. So, not out of fear, but out of respect, I feel compelled to observe the sky more, as though I may find a map of my soul in the stars. My heart knows their secret too, and guides me to places where I may be closer to the truth.

When I returned to my place of upbringing for the first time in fifteen years, a little island in the Bahamas, I made a choice that changed everything I thought I knew. I came face to face with a vague memory grown up, and I found a missing piece of myself among the shells on the beach. There, the Moon seemed so much closer - I held her pale cheek in my hand. And when it was time to leave, full of revelations and uncertainty, she bade me goodbye, with a promise to return.

One year later, I returned there to complete the cycle. Under the full Moon I loved, under the full Moon I bathed in life’s simplicity - my soul was purified. Time swayed in the tide, kisses were peppered in adoration, and watching three Moons slowly pass through their cycles, I felt filled with life each time a bit more. My small youth became alive again, and I loved like never before. The Moon had granted our little home her blessing, the days were peaceful. Finally, she guided me across the ocean, with the sun lingering on my nose and salt on my skin.

I have always enjoyed how long and grand the full Moon appears. She graces the sky in a display of power, and dashes her light upon darkness. In the mountains, the snowy planes glow a pale white, held captive under her unwavering gaze, and the ocean becomes split in two, by the silver sash that runs deep into its black waters. The Moon kills, revives, heals and embraces all in the world. When dawn comes, it is her shadow I seek. For the Moon holds a wisdom that I feel must be a compass to my soul, and every voyage orbits around her secret truth.