The Moon

What should it mean to a child to be named for the Goddess of the Moon and of the Hunt?  I think I felt a small and rather vague sense of responsibility.  I grew to love nature and animals, and to keep watch over the moon, taking comfort in knowing that the eyes of many creatures are looking up at the very same moment in time to gaze at the very same moon.

Hunting for sport is offensive to me.  I honor the great chain of being by which all creatures receive life from the sacrifice of others, and are also in their own turn sacrificed.  I am not offended that we humans are a carnivorous species; only that we so often fail to be kind to the animals we eat, and to be thankful for their sacrifice.  Perhaps if we had to hunt in order to eat, we would feel more thankful.


O Night, abiding-place of poets and of lovers and of singers,
O night, where shadows dwell with spirits and with visions,
O night, enfolder of our longing, our desire, our memory,
Vast giant standing betwixt the dwarfed evening clouds and the brides of dawn,
Girt with the sword of awe, crowned with the moon, and garmented with silence;
Who gazes with a thousand eyes...
And listens with a thousand ears...

- Kahlil Gibran


A family of coyotes lives behind our house.  Nights when the moon is full and the coyotes howl are amazing nights.  They make me think of how little things have changed in the world, except for our having more comfort and convenience, and also how much habitat has been lost for other creatures in order for our human environments to be more comfortable and convenient.  There must be a happier medium.  We strive for that by keeping several acres of natural woods around our house.

Let me tell you about an experience I had driving along U.S. 30, going toward the east in a suburban area without any tall buildings.  It was in the fall, and at the last minutes of daylight.  Suddenly, in the northeastern sky, the moon began to rise.  It first appeared at the horizon, a sight not seen in other seasons.  And it was huge:  a huge, orange sector of a sphere, so huge as to dwarf the earth!  It covered fully a third of the northeastern horizon, glowing deep orange-turning-to-gold as the evening sky turned a deeper and deeper blue, then obscured into darkness.  At last the risen moon hovered just above land's end, like a giant starship, like a giant ball of molten metal, impossibly large, impossibly orange-gold!  I still marvel at that harvest moon, never having seen it quite so large or quite so burnished orange in my life since then.  The Moon.  My Moon.

Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight,
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which is right
And which is an illusion.
Pinprick holes in a colourless sky,
Let insipid figures of light pass by,
The mighty light of ten thousand suns
Challenges infinity and soon is gone.
Night time, to some a brief interlude,
To others the fear of solitude.
Brave Helios, wake up your steeds,
Bring the warmth the countryside needs.

Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament
Another day's useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which one is right.
And which is an illusion?

- The Moody Blues



moon phases
 

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