at the light of full moon

Not my text but one that resonates:

‘The cycles of the Moon reflect the cycles of our lives. Each month a new moon is born in darkness passing through the portals of the celestial womb. As a youth, she hangs tenderly as a crescent befriended by Venus who teaches her the ways of beauty. Quickly she waxes and blooms in fullness, in menses, as her flower is potent with the magic of creating children. And oh how her light shines! And the Moon children, drunk with adoration, dance in fields at midnight to honor her. Gracefully she ages, waning with acquired wisdom. She contemplates the power of the sun and reflects it into our emotional bodies as passion, intuition and illusion. In old age she buries herself in earthshadow leaving us in darkness, a short life of 28 days. But soon she resurrects, different yet the same as before – just as beautiful, just as potent, just as wise.

She is irresistible. Her outstretched arms welcome us to dreams. They are the gates we must learn to pass if we are to have a fertile sleep. She floats ghostlike in the night above the deep waters of the unconscious. Her embrace submerges us in fantasies and illusions both beautiful and dangerous. The Moon is benign illusion and harmful delusion; fantasy and nightmare. In her world, time bends and distorts. Visions loom from the past and tickle from the future blending with the present in fanciful ways. Dream characters could be themselves, the dreamer, or maybe some kind of archetype from the pool of human experience. The Moon speaks intuitively and powerfully, her ebbing tides expose the wrecks of ships that attempted to navigate her waters rationally.

The Moon is romantically cloaked in precious mysteries from other times. Her brilliant pearl necklace beams the entire lunar cycle from new to crescent to full to gibbons back to new and over and over and around and around. She adores this cycle of romance and decay. Her dress is a ballroom fantasy designed to captivate the many lovetorn suitors who beg her for one more dance. She loves love and the faraway wispy poetry and music it inspires. Indeed the Moon is so alluring that many die in lunacy for having attempted to make her their own.’