When Luna Glares at Me, I Listen

clouds under full moon

When I awoke early in the morning to briefly relieve myself, I found myself staring out the window at one of the brightest full moons I’ve ever seen. This activity wasn’t particularly good for the eyes, and I found myself having to rest them for a few minutes as I recovered from the surprising level of glare on my sleepy vision.

For that brief moment of staring up at Luna, I couldn’t help as if feel she was trying to tell me something. Scientifically speaking, this would sound absolutely ridiculous; it’s all just a matter of the angle at which our wonderful satellite reflects Sol’s rays. The Master of our Sky is most certainly still there, just out of view for a few hours at a time. 

But Luna was telling me something this morning, as if to say, even when you can’t see me, I’m still here, shining for you. There’s of course an odd duality to that statement; Sol and Luna take turns reminding us of their ancient presence, but the great paradox for we little somewhat more evolved mammals is that sometimes Luna shines brighter in the night than Sol in the daytime.

Perhaps I felt a bit more reflective than usual, after gaining closure from our very recent trip to Maine. I watched so much of my childhood, the best moments of it, lying in ruin, quite literally, as the gloom of an unexpected April shower set the scene all too perfectly. It shouldn’t have been so unexpected; the nature of clouds in our uncertain times has grown ever more capricious. But I needed a sign that there is still something bright out there to guide my wounded soul.

As I nurse my sleepy eyes penning these scattered thoughts into my mobile word processor, I try to reconcile this brief moment of inspiration with some of the extremely vivid and bizarre dreams I’ve had lately. Some are night terrors which I can’t begin to describe once I’ve awakened. Yet others have a sickly sweetness and innocence to them; just before I awoke, I was caring for a baby cow, and she was such a perfect little creature and I was determined to never let her go. This little one was not bound for a dairy or a dinner plate, but for a permanent grazing home in my backyard.

That unusual dream state combined with the screaming brightness of Luna in those gray but promising moments an hour before dawn has got me thinking a bit more than I should at this early hour. I’m fretting about the progress I am making with myself as I approach my fourth decade in this mortal shell. I don’t take pride in much any more in anything, although more recently I’ve derived considerably more satisfaction from my own words than ever before.  There are concerns which plague both my wife and I that we have very little control over, yet will define the prosperity of our recent future. These words I compose in the coming days are what I can control, and they may be our saving grace. 

The great irony of a dream in which I care for an innocent infant bovine is that I can no longer consume any of her by products with out severe physical distress. I don’t know how this allergy emerged, but this deathly allergy to dairy and beef came upon me like a specter slowly creeping and almost extinguished me in my ignorance of its grip. 

My ravaged immune system betrays me a little more each day; ironically the very part of my physical being that is supposed to protect me from harm is hampering my quality of life. It is likely for the best; I wish no harm on the beautiful bovines or clever domestic pigs, and to consume dairy or beef means their suffering or death. Pork products merely leave me queasy, so I choose to pass on them, too. I seem to have no such compunctions about poultry or seafood, but as properly raised and prepared they don’t make me ill, it’s a compromise I must make for my own nourishment. 

Whatever I must do to sustain myself presently and for the next few decades I hope to labor over my wordcraft will be done. I see my gifts as tools bestowed on me by the heavens for a great yet hidden purpose; I love to think that it will be my solemn duty to remind those intelligent minds obscured by the darker sides of human nature that Luna is still watching over you in the night. Sol, however obscured by increasingly angry clouds, is still shining up above to brighten your view. It will be billions of years before our bright Master burns no longer, but each of us have but an infinitesimal fraction of His lifespan in which to shine before we extinguish our fragile mortal filaments. 

As Luna makes a shy smile, retreating slowly into the dawn, I recognize that there is no science to explain what I just experienced, but something much greater. These metaphysical musings must take on greater meaning than the sum of their disparate parts and come together into a whole experience which you as my reader must frame in your own unique way. 

We must each do our part to respect the lives we harm and even take in the course of our continued struggle to survive in a dying world. After all, at the end, the Almighty Judge of Divine Light will have seen all we do, say, and even think, and our souls will either be bound to eternal suffering or rise to a greater unknowable glory. All we need to do is properly listen when Luna screams and the angry clouds release their seemingly endless tears.

Related: How Forever is Composed of Nows | When I Got a Moment to Breathe

Amelia Desertsong is a former content marketing specialist turned essayist and creative nonfiction author. She writes articles on many niche hobbies and obscure curiosities, pretty much whatever tickles her fancy.
Back To Top
%d bloggers like this: