“A full moon is poison to some; they shut it out at every crevice, and do not suffer a ray to cross them; it has a chemical or magical effect; it sickens them. But I am never more free and royal than when the subtile celerity of its magic combinations, whatever they are, is at work.”
― Harriet Prescott Spofford
“Moonlight floods the whole sky from horizon to horizon;
How much it can fill your room depends on its windows.”
I wonder if writing a reflection on Marta Moon means that I’m reflecting off of her, or that she’s reflecting off of me?
The moon shines the brightest when it is full.
Things seem more right when the moon is full.
It seems to me the moon is always trying to get back to full.
Does Marta feel the same about herself?
I know how it feels to navigate your way through darkness, alone, guided only by the knowledge that a light is waiting patiently, far off, holding its breath and holding out to shine on you once you’ve hit the exact right coordinates. At first you’ll grasp at any markers or affirmations that you’re headed the right way. But these can be wrong and will usually lead you the opposite direction – they’ve led many a wanderer astray. You have to know the path. You have to stop grasping and allow yourself to fall into the natural orbit of your being, choosing instead to circle the sun of what is true and comforting for you.
With its craters and shape-shifting, can the moon still be perfect?
I think it might be perfect exactly that way.
We never look at the moon and wish that someone would smooth its cratered surface, a hollowed and scarred cheek, a literal example of star-struck as a result of having been dented from dusty impact with celestial bodies. The planets and stars are always spinning, cycling, moving forward along their paths, not following the lines that are traced in bold on maps that hang in our classrooms but rather following a very specific agency, a pull that no one but themselves can feel.