Friday, April 22, 2011

Memory of The Moon

Does a wolf recall the date of it's birth? Is there memory, or perhaps a scent it once new from being within a mother, that it hunts infinitely? The Moon recalls. The in tune with the waxing and waning of it's own come and go, keeps track of all it surveys, having shone so often on birth and death. There is a record, etched with a fossilized stylus in craters and stones , and the record is grand. The memory of the Moon is long, and kind, forgiving, and complicit in the earth's forgetting the pain of birth, so that yearly, it yearns again for Spring. And so the Moon holds our unbalanced history...a rose colored collection of our beauty, the moments we got it right, the days we gave in equal measure to our gain, and our effort...the intent of our effort especially cradled with a tender glow. The rest, the sometimes painful, scared, humbled rest, is cast like fast balls within strike zone of the sun and returned via "SMACK" on the sweet spot. The cover flys back to incineration while the core sails across the sky. And there, caught readily in the glove of the Moon, is our essence...the scent we once knew from being within a mother. Safe. Warm. Nurtured. Loved. It is no wonder a wolf howls at the Moon! The Moon is kind, and it's memory is very long.


Dalaa Ba'cho said...

it's a really beautiful write sb
too many times these days i see the moon only with a cynical eye;
as a lifeless rock painters have used to fool our hearts. maybe it is something more. surely the moments must shelf somewhere

ShoeBox said...

Funny I was just telling someone about the rocks my dad paints. Lonely. Lifeless. But they look so damn peaceful. The moon really is just a thing. Like the heart...we tend to give it personality and power, just because we want to. Because we wish it did.