I see the Moon
The Moon sees Me
What a Sunny Day
The Clouds are Everywhere.
-Hyperion's Sister, circa age 6
Ah, sojourning friend, let us speak of Evening last, of that wonderful terrible riveting boring illuminating darkening revealing shrouding spectral phenomenon called by those who would breathe the ineffable; a lunar eclipse.
Once again, hardwired proximity (or lack thereof), who would, along with treasonous latissimus dorsi, conspire against me, keep this missive from touching on the very fabric of adventures that Evening last contained.
Such discussion, sojourning friend, that would but I could regale you with scintillating exasperating exacerbating details included but not limited to:
- The Moon's alleged power over such miscreantal behavior as sworn by various health-professional types;
- The Moon's alleged connection to the menses, and various synchronization of proximity adjacent females thereof;
- Just what, if anything, the Great Creator, him, her or itself is doing disrupting farmers' crops (vis a vis rain cycles) by moving clouds for the singular purpose of giving one who asked a better view of such heavenly phenomenon such as witnessed Evening last.
Which brings us, full circle, pun intended, to the lunar eclipse.
(As for those topics of discussion so neatly enumerated above; though seemingly disparate, they happen to fall neatly into one particular category, and I would count it as no less than a really big favor should you remind me to take up that discussion, once more harmonious rapture with the laptop come my way.)
So it came upon a midnight dreary (or in this case, a nine o'clock dreary, but close enough), when word came that the heavens were giving away free seats for their cosmic ballet, or possibly shadow puppets, and if you can tell the difference between the two you are a better man, woman or pygmy rabbit than I. So impressed were we, that pause we did our cinematic experience of Denzel and Russell (with 18 added minutes, no less), to spring forth from our domicile to witness the Shadow Ballet.
(Intelligent folk, and I count you among them, will notice that I neatly took Cosmic Ballet and Shadow Puppets and combined them, Captain Planet Style, into one neat shoehorned term. Though the accusation of solipsism may be thrown down from the heavens, honesty compels no less than this admission: sometimes I impress myself.)
For the better part of the next hour (both quantitatively and qualitatively), my direct antecedents and I watched the Shadow Ballet, while sipping warm liquid extract of the coca plant and melodiously versing any and all songs we could think of that had the good sense to include, in part or in whole, mention of the Moon.
Eventually mon parents, both tired and cold and, in the case of my father, desirous of determining the outcome of the Ridley Scott opus, returned inside. Phone calls to friends, lovers and elves seemed to prove that the distance of several hundred miles here on this planet slightly altered the view in the heavens, though not by much.
Of Saturn and the star Regulus, not much can be said other than if that were the show the price would have been too high. Of the Lunar Eclipse, shamefully my first, nothing by praise. For reasons best left to monstrous moulins, I felt it prudent--nay, necessary--to watch the entire display, at least until frost's bite threatened.
Of the sandy gibbous hues the Moon displayed, I can add nothing but silent awe and a tip of my hat to that great Crayola Box in the sky, once again showing that nature will always produce colors humankind can only dream of.
Brief mention should also be spake of the incredible brightness that last sliver of light put out, as if fighting with all its might to stay lit, to do its job of illuminating our nighttime deeds. One understands from helpful scientists, that the Moon itself emits no light, and that indeed, this lunar eclipse was merely the shadow of the Earth passing between the Moon and Sun, briefly losing the Sun's effulgent radiance. But a pox on scientists and their smug surety in their pristine white lab coats, who may or may not be on the Sun's payroll. In your heart of hearts, do you not find it more compelling to think that the Moon itself gives light, and was valiantly struggling to keep giving us that Light during the ordeal of the eclipse? I do, and I do not think I am alone.
However, what really charged my ions, what made me wish to take paper to pen, were the moments when the eclipse was in full bloom. That last sliver of light seemed to get brighter and brighter as it fought, but like all things, it too eventually passed, leaving the Shadow victorious. BUT ALL WAS NOT LOST! There remained, not Light, exactly, but what I can only describe as an Echo of Light. I am more than sure the scientists have an explanation (and frankly, they know where they can forcefully place that explanation), but I will forgo you the jargon. The Light was gone, defeated, however temporarily, by Shadow. Yet an Echo remained, and somehow that gave me hope.
I confess no more knowledge than that single thought. Though "Echo of Light" sounds poetic, full of promise, as of this morning I know not what to do with it. The idea itself, in the cold light of day, no longer seems wonderful and topped with magic.
But the echo of that idea still rims my consciousness, out of grasp and just out of sight, but there nonetheless. Perhaps it is my Echo of Light. And for that I thank the Moon kindly.
Hyperion
7:54 am
February 21, 2008, Y.O.T.M. (Year of the Moon)
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