It’s hard to write about some things. And not necessarily things that weigh heavy on my mind, or might be seen as controversial. Nothing like that. Sometimes, it’s because the subject is dear to my heart, and I don’t know that I can set down words exactly how dear it is to me.
Reading this blog post reminded me that the moon is one of those things for which I often can’t seem to find the right words. I feel almost foolish writing that, because these days, spiritual connections with celestial objects is so very unscientific. But for me, the moon is still mysterious enough to warrant a kind of worship.
One of the major lunar mysteries are the phases. Oh, I know that it’s understood why the moon waxes and wanes, why it goes from full to new and back to full again. I don’t care about any of that. I long ago forgot to remember the hows and whys of the moon’s phases, and I love that ignorance. I love that it preserves in me that primitive sense of mystery and wonder associated with this beauty in the sky.
I also don’t keep track of her rising and setting. I prefer chancing upon the moon, a surprise on the way home from work, or while stepping out at night to buy milk at the corner store. A random glance skyward, and there she is. And there she is. Always taking my breath away. Always filling me with that sense of wonder.
But most of all, the moon connects me with the one I love. According to Google Maps, she and I live just under 1,342 miles apart (as the crow flies), but a simultaneous glance at the moon can shrink that distance to almost zero. I am looking at the moon as it’s being looked at by her. She is looking up at the moon as it’s being looked at by me. Always, the moon is pointing me to her. Even when I don’t see it in the sky, the mere thought of it sends my spirit to her front door.
And there it is. The ultimate mystery of the moon. Its power to draw two people together. Yes, I know, science will say that the moon, in fact, does not have any such power over interpersonal connections. However, since science can’t even agree on whether caffeine is good or bad for us, I will happily give in to the mystery of what the moon can and cannot do.
I’m beginning to come across as a love-addled boy, but I don’t care. There is so much joy in the foolishness of love. No. Foolishness is the wrong word. Let’s call it what it actually is: sheer lunacy.