Moon Cosmic Power


Long, soft
Daffodil petals 
Like brush strokes 
On Picasso's canvas. 

Beaming, iridescent stars 
Speckling the night sky 
Like the brilliant neon lights 
In Nauman's exhibits. 

Towering, chiseled mountains 
Carved by Mother Nature herself 
Like the stoic curves 
In Michelangelo's sculptures. 

Idiosyncratic, incandescent harvest moons 
Only showing their in credibility just once 
Prove to us 
That nature and art 
Are not that divergent.



My father and I pulled over a few times to photograph the moon and really soak it in. Though we were trying bask in its eminence, we felt that it was thriving off of us. 
   The moon always has been a huge bonding point for my father and I. When I was younger and we'd be out driving, one of us would instinctively turn off the radio because the moon is a being with you must connect through your innermost thoughts and feelings, as well as through your own heartbeat. 
   We did the same thing tonight. We drove home in silence because we knew there was nothing to say. My eyes were fastened on the moon the whole time. It's like my eyes are craters and they are begging Chang'e (the Chinese Moon Goddess) — their mother — to be taken home.
   There's just something about the moon that draws me in. I am magnetized to the moon; I hate to coax myself away from it. There is a certain tranquil state I feel under its light. It is familiar — it is like I've seen this same moon with different eyes before. Each time we meet, I am reborn. 
   In Ireland and China, the moon is quite a prevalent and significant part of the land, the culture, and the people. Perhaps that's why I am such a moonsick moonchild. It's in my blood. The moon shoots through my veins. Maybe that's why I've also always had a certain affinity for wolves. They too are lone and children of the moon. We all are kindred spirits.
   According to the astrology charts (another Chinese thing), my birthdate also has a huge impact on cravings for the moon. My zodiac sign is a Cancer, hence my extreme fervor for the water and the moon.
   I often feel like the water — cold, distant, alone, drowning in itself, letting the moon pull and push it, yet being able to transform into an uncontrollable tsunami, wreaking havoc and destroying everything in sight. Like the force of nature it truly is.
   My father broke the silence. "It's so majestic — so regal, Zo."
   "It makes you believe in something more," I quietly replied to myself, still looking out the window with my eyes trained on the moon. "Something more."
   "More than just a big bang."
   Heavy silence weighed down upon us. What could be out there? Who made the stars so far? Why is there dark and light; wrong and right? "Someone, or something, is watching over us."
   There was nothing more to say. We both knew only a being greater than the imagination could fill the empty voids in our words.

Past midnight, I ran upstairs and said, "Jim, get up! We're going out."
   So he and I put our jackets on and ventured outside. It was a crystal clear sky, the air was crisp, the stars were winking down at us, and straight above was the flaming orb itself. The warm moon was saddled between two colossal pine trees planted among several others in our front-yard.
   Again, my father and I didn't need to say much. We just sat in silence amidst the smell of pine trees while the moon bled for us.

"The sun gradually came down to hug the horizon. It was like slowly pulling a soft, cotton towel over the shoulders of someone you love. The towel was a tie-dye — a kaleidoscope — of violet, carnation, and sadness. The hues were folding into each other like swirling colors of paint in a bucket. I wonder what would happen if I dipped my hand in; what would drip from my hand. Maybe the sadness would drip from my hand. Then I'd wipe my face off, and with it I'd drains its color completely until nothing but sadness dripped. Until it was like a cloudy sky crying at midnight. 
"The sun sunk to its knees while the electric moon peered into the water. The water was like Venetian glass, reflecting a scene of parting clouds for a shy moon. Naked tree branches spiraled out into the invisible hues of the eclipse. A faint and lone cry of a lupus shot with silver fell among the roses. Sighing swans swam in figure-eights and singing sirens with scales brushed the sand out of their milky locks and braided pearls and starfish in their hair. 
"To save itself before it fell to the blinding and blazing aurora, the moon ebbed its cosmic energy into every vein, eyelash, crinkle, and ripple that reached its beams. So, the moon lived on."



It was just after sundown, but it really wasn’t. Time had crumpled into three spheres, existing simply from where I lay. Perhaps it felt somewhat larger than stagnation, looking at it I mean. It looked the way sleep feels. It also made me sad. 
   A welter of this enigmatic symbolism created by the anomalous glowing moonbeam was mesmerizing. It was smothering — film-like even — the feeling, pale and heavy like milk whey pinching through skin. Even now it feels like I was open and receiving something, but I still haven’t figured out what. Like somehow, the moon and I were having this incredibly important conversation, but I wasn’t physically or even mentally there for it. 
   I think there’s something I have to let go before I can absorb my blood moon energy. 
   In this strange derivation, the black filigree that grew heavier around it was beguiling, if mystifying. I had expected a meditative experience, to learn what I needed from the moon, but I feel even more unsettled than I had. 
   Last night I had a dream, and there were these rocks in this strange antiquated landscape that faltered around me like thick visions; like they were vanishing. There also was pink limestone that had pink lichen growing on it, and it reminded me of flesh. Maybe it means something.



Come closer, friend, and we can watch the Sun fall.
Stars may be present, but you, 
you my dear are the star of the show. 
Brilliant and blinding is your skin, dimpled though it is. 
Sit beside me and for seventy-one minutes, 
you and I will be unstoppable, 
and when the Sun dies, 
you can come out to play with the children of the night sky. 
It’s been a long time since I saw you last, 
how are you? 
You defy the wrinkles of age. 
Step out of the shadows; 
oh my, how flushed you are! 
Is it… he? 
Is he treating you well? 
Let us hold hands 
and see darkness dance along the meridian.
Tonight, you and I are going to perform for the people, 
the funny little ones with their zodiacs.



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