SNOW GLOBE MOON
Yep. The full moon gave me a two-day headache because I stopped paying attention to it for a couple of weeks. If you’ve been reading these posts for a while, then you know I don’t have a romantic relationship with the moon or its “pale beauty” etc. If I had a personal mythology, the moon would be the star trickster in the way Coyote is in many Indigenous stories on the North American continent. A trickster god who is sometimes hilarious, sometimes righteous, but sometimes wasteful and foolish, and even devastating and destructive.
I look to those creatures like fish, plankton and coral who live daily in a tide and wonder, What do they have in common that they can live peacefully with the moon? I guess they are small and buoyant or immovable or don’t care that they are not grounded? They don’t get seasick? I’m a long soft snowglobe of fluids, so the moon just tosses me about like a half-full water balloon who’s wishing it would just “Break already, please!!”
If there is peace or quiet the moon is here to change it. Change, movement, disruption, consequences of that movement… time ticking by. For an equal amount of time the moon is on the side of the hunter or the prey, and all creatures used to know its schedules by heart. Maybe the moon is just hurt that people don’t pay attention so much any more. Maybe the moon is still trying to get our attention even when it’s new and dark. It thinks we would miss it and we do, I suppose, but that is a very human-centered view. Despite my adversarial relationship with the moon I know it has a lot to teach me. I just need to become a better student.
The moon’s mystique took a hit when it was landed upon by earthlings. Like a lot of things that were once just beyond our reach. I have changed my opinion on “exploration”. For explorations sake. It just seems the price is too high. Leave some things to stir the soul and imagination.
I'm glad I'm not the only one who feels like a snowglobe of fluids, being sloshed and jostled around. I often feel like I'm vainly trying to catalogue and organize all of my interior bits, grasping at the mysterious particulates swirling around me, trying very hard to get a good look at them, even one, before everything is (again) knocked sideways. Maybe I'm silly for it, but in spite of its trickster ways (and my sloshy insides and rigid exterior), I still find myself mesmerized by the moon's mysterious magic. Perhaps in some way my admiration is rooted in the same quality for which I sometimes resent it, the same thing I don't have, but sometimes long for - the serene ease with which it waxes and wanes.