An Ode to Moon-tripping

The moon, La Luna, der Mond, la lune

There are so many fascinating stories about the moon–from myths to occult. There was a time I dreamt about the moon. It never occurred to me what was its meaning. All I saw was a band of snakes gobbling up the moon and the stars. They were crawling up in the sky, large snakes that scared the hell out of me. It was so vivid I thought it was true. There was our old house, my childhood house, the coconut tree, the roofs of the neighbours and then voila, the snakes coming ready to swallow the moon. The sight of huge snakes fascinated me but it also gave me a double dose of fear  when I saw the moon in one of the snakes’ mouths. The sticky tongue lashing out at the surface, I wanted to run away, but where? So the only way was to wake up. I did and was relieved that it was only a dream.

R was also a fan. Every time we took a trip to Z, the country house, he opened the windows wide and stared endlessly at the moon. He used to call me then just to tell me, “How big is the moon tonight, E.” I stood next to him and together we watched its delicious roudness.  He loved its shadow falling to our bed. Of course, in the country we were not afraid of the thieves/burglars entering our house. Our bedroom was facing the garden, shutting off the lampshade, the moon was the only light.

One time after R’s funeral I thought I saw shadows in my son’s bedroom. Of course, it was only the moon. If something else was there I did not know. I forgot all about the moon for months. Not minding its presence. Looking at the moon then just reminded me of R. So, I stopped believing in it, adoring it. Until the pain subsided day by day. Months, years passed by, old habit has come back. In fact, I even began to urge my son to do the same. Every time the moon shows up, I poke my son telling him how beautiful the moon is, the satellite. He starts to appreciate it, praise its beauty. One night he even tried to follow it and was baffled when it followed him back, like I did when I was a child. He is even surprised when he sees the moon during the day asking me why it is so. “It is not evening yet, not even dark!” No matter how many times I explain why, he doesn’t believe me.

I love the sun, it is nice, but the moon is nicer. It is mysterious, it evokes your sentiments, it is also erotic. I feel lucky that my flat is directed toward the moonrise. I can enjoy its fullness, its redness or  yellowness tremendously. Sometimes, these little things make me happy, make me appreciate that I am still alive.