Notice how clouds cozy up to the moon, making it seem simultaneously romantic, eerily gorgeous, and yes, magical. It’s just a rock. Cold and pitted, and not very attractive at all, really. And we’re people who remain tethered to Earth whiling away our time, inclined to romanticize just about anything for no good reason. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe no one else in this day and age wishes the moon was magic, that it might hold the power to grant wishes or beam down wisdom and beauty on its most faithful watchers. Maybe.
I would wish to the moon for sickness to be a thing of the past, and more than enough to be a daily reality. I would wish for that smile that I wore thirty years ago to return, that sheen of youth on my skin and that Attitude that caused people to notice when I walked into a room.
You know what … I don’t really need that attitude, just the energy it took to produce all that fire and lust and be damned. That would come in handy right now. I could use about 50% of it every day just to keep this house clean.
After a few hours of lounging in my fine and tidy house, I would gaze up at the moon, imagine the sigh he sighs when the clouds part and give a view of Earth and all those worshipping eyes, and I would wish for the gumption to do everything I want done in a single day. Then again. And again. A succession of twenty-four hour spans positively jam packed with activity and accomplishments. Poetry. Art. Kind acts. Hope & creativity. Oh, just the hours to express love, to write out the things that clamor inside my head during those moments between sleep and wakefulness. What luxury. And time for bill paying. (Because let’s face it, no perfect life truly exists. Everybody’s got to pay some bills.) I need some time, MOON.
Recently I noticed that I don’t stretch anymore before bounding out of bed. I don’t bound either. More of an ah-fuck-it sigh then a stiff roll that ends when my feet touch the floor then I get on with it. There’s work to be done, dogs to feed, another twelve hour plus of doing what I’m obligated to do. Better hurry and get on with it, right?
How disappointing. I used to stretch like a big old lazy cat. Then stretch with purpose, feeling each muscle wake up. Then I would yawn, and bound right up!
So, MOON. Glowing up there in your halo of mystery, dressed up in clouds and reflected light that make you look so young and powerful–grant me this wish, please. I need time. Maybe time will afford me the luxury, the privilege, of rediscovering what I really want.
Maybe, while basking in such rediscovery, I won’t feel so guilty about all this wanting.