For 547 days I was afraid of the moon.
It started as a slow slumber, a forgetting. I became a daughter of the Sun, vibrant and jovial. Tell me who built the moon, how did she get there. Do we know for certain that she is a she?Â
It started with admiration. Drunk nights walking with friends through the forest looking up and gazing at her beauty, isnât she lovely. Plump and visceral in the sky. An object of worship and desire.Â
A thread protruding from a soft ball of yarn. A needle, an unraveling. A transfiguration. Someone telling me to doubt my beliefs instead of my doubts. This object is hollow, there is no discernible center. It controls the tides. Moon, lune, Luna, lunatic. A word derived from the idea that the phases of the moon could instill insanity in a person.Â
I refused the moon.Â
When my bleed came, I spoke incantations removing the power of the moon from my body. I wanted nothing to do with this false light, knowing that the moon has no light of itâs own. The moon reflects the light of the sun.Â
I was afraid that I was again worshipping something that I wasnât fully versed in. I was afraid that I had signed another contract of my life to a power that might not be benevolent. Before the fear, I idolized the moon. There is a tattoo on my inner arm that is two hands holding the phases of the moon. I got it to symbolize the recurring phases of life. When the fear started I hated the tattoo. I thought it was stupid, a mistake.Â
A thawing.
No one perspective encompasses the whole truth and in this denial, I was denying myself the pleasures of the moon. I denied myself the pleasure of emotion, the pleasure of passion, the pleasure of shadow, and the pleasure of community.Â
Existing with the sun, I devoted all my time to truth and power and ego, forgetting that the marrow of life is the community, is tribe, the emotions, and the ebb and flow.Â
Tonight I looked at the moon, which just crossed into Sagittarius. Tonight I looked at the moon and saw her as both dark and light. I saw her encompass both sides of humanity. I saw her for all that she is, and it made me cry.Â








