Syzygy

They say the moon is a deceased fragment of our planet, detached millions of years ago. So I wonder- why can’t the dead pieces of my surface and atmosphere shed light on dark places to which they were formerly attached? Maybe because my sun’s smile is too faint for them to reflect back after all. Mind, body, and spirit obstruct each other’s light in a constant syzygy. Just like the interrupted light of a solar eclipse, it seems to be the only state considered to be worthy of acknowledgment. Is my flame so effulgent that its sight is bearable only when shrouded? Or is this isolation the price I pay for the forest I never intended to burn?