Under the Moon
From Film Noir to nighttime escapes and escapees, from dreams to mysteries of all kinds, the lunar realm is one without which the fierce rays of the sun would seem unrelenting.
The gracious aspects of aloneness, of time to think, to remember, to engage the senses in all sorts of reverie fall under the reign of moonlight, not just the time of covert activitie or the milieu of poetic Muses - no. The Lunar Realm is much, much more.
The rhythms of the body, like those of the seas, are different at night and they take our brains into more mystical landscapes than those more clearly discerned in the sunshine.
To cavort or to love under moonlight connotes a wild freedom - an abandon that one never finds while playing in daytime hours. Privacy itself was born of the night, and, dangerous as it once was to stray far, first, from the treewhere we lived, and later, from the cave or the camp, our ancestors must have enjoyed their romps away from the crowd, their solitary walks and their times to reflect, much like the moon herself, on the world of the solar realm.
Always somewhat subversive, always alternative, we're so lucky to have the inglorious moonlight to balance our lives, to give us that feeling of otherness we crave and the chance for privacy we vitally need and the rest our bodies crave.
And the magical view that o nly night time offers, with its' bejeweled
horizons touching soft shoulders of darkest hues, has led our specie into womblike places in order to conduct our own ritualistic worship of powers we could only fathom and never understand.
To lay bare one's soul, as in the circles of people surrounding a fire,
drawing out memories and tales spun directly from a source beyond one's daytime self, or to lie, whispering passionate promises to the lips next to you, post ecstatic union, the realm of the moon is necessary.
It startles the ordinary brain out of its' myriad tasks of the day's
domain, and drowsy, the nether parts of that same brain emerge out of hiding like the creatures of the night itself, which we once were among and still love to join - and always, always, in our 'Reptilian'
brains, will remain.
The moon courts us with its' mesmerizing presence as it moves across
skyways, always changing its path. An emerging moon, golden and even gilded a bright orange, will always take one's breath away, except in those hours when both sun and moon inhabit the sky - at sunrise and sunset when the lunar body sheds glamor and beauty to her mate, her Solar sibling.
The home of the poets, of artists, and of lunatics of all other sorts, our
moon was not always there in the night sky. Or was it ? Only a variety of theories answer the question about where the moon came from and how.
Our favorite scientific explanation is that a large celestial body once moved close enough to our planet so that its' gravity pulled the body of the moon right out of the Pacific Ocean - a perfect origin for the Moon Goddess myths. Like Aprodite and other lunar and sea deities, she was born of the sea, but unlike the older Goddesses, the Moon remained pure, child-free, which is what the term, "virgin" meant in those days.
Of course, no one knows for sure about her origins, but doesn't she deserve to keep her veil of mystery intact ? After all, mystery is one of the beautiful aspects she bestows on all of us. We might not be able to enjoy her eternity, her mythic traits of ever-renewable youth, chasteness, and magic of all kinds, but we are free to adore the glamourous beauty that only moonshine can bring.
Quite often, throughout our long and rich mythic history, the Moon has been seen as a beautiful Mare, with glistening fur and luxuriantly fluid mane, a gorgeous Dream Goddess of our souls.
The land of Dreams, of course, falls sway to the domains of the Lunar World, as do all mysteries, passions, instincts and intuitive impulses. The occult, of course, and the arcane, the Hidden, Veiled, Goddess aspects are, again, Moon dieties.
Poets, priests and visionaries of all kinds are inconceivable as having origins in the daylight world of sunlit splendor, for only in the night does our unconscious, our primal connection to the Universe, have full power.
Lunatics? Aren't we all, somewhat? Don't we all enter the realm of Magic when full Moons call us from our beds, beckoning us to the wild places - to shorelines and to forests, to be, once again, among our nighttime Brethren, their voices filled with Life, and to hear the calls, same from millenium to millinium, of deep-voiced currents of air and sea - and Mystery.
Otherworldly encounters are most often met in the nighttime, and from immemorial ages past, Ghosts are said to emerge most often when summoned in Moonlit evenings. The haunted times of mourners who cannot sleep fall within the category not of the walking dead, but of the walkin, sleepless, but ghostlike living who chase what can never be again.
Being "Under The Moon", as in my poem of the same title, can mean being blue or being held by grief, and if your lunacy entails grief, read these articles: Grief Mermaid
Articles on the moon as an astrobody, rather than as the poetic lunacy-generating presence we have diefied -