Full Moon Confession: My Life As A Lunatic

Tue, Mar 10, 2009

MOONS

Full Moon Confession: My Life As A Lunatic

Life in the western world is ordered by the sun: our clocks, calendars and seasons all are calibrated by our heliocentric orbit. But there is another rhythm in our universe, an older way of measuring time: the pulse of the moon. Aligning my life with that beat has provided me with profound, ethereal experiences.

The most enduring relationship in my life is with the moon. There. I’ve admitted it. I’m a lunatic.

But what’s the point of telling you about my life if I’m not candid? No month in my memory has passed without a stimulating dialogue with the moon. There. Another admission. She talks back to me. Or perhaps a better way to put it would be, she responds to me.

I told you I was a lunatic. I want you to understand my attraction.

The moon is alive. She has moods. She is a siren, a tease. This is not pathetic fallacy or anthropomorphism. She is real. She is always there.

Sometimes I think about moving to a desert just so I can be with her most of my nights. But I can’t do that; I couldn’t survive the days in the desert. I suppose if I was a truly dedicated lover I would become purely nocturnal and never bother with daylight. I am already pale enough. I don’t have the melanin for sun worshipping. I would have been exiled from Egypt by Akhenaten. But I thrive in the realm of the night.

I don’t mind if you call me a lunatic. I think it a proud name. But am I really a lunatic? You be the judge.

The moon is my constant, my confidante, my colostrum. There is no man in the moon; to me she has always been a woman. Sometimes full of face, sometimes just a slanty smile, but always a feminine presence in my life.

I’ve been told that my mother was able to calm my crying by holding me up to a window to see the moon. So you see the moon has always pulled me toward her. She cast her spell over me in a big way when I was just six. Not yet at the age of reason. To escape the suffocating Midwestern summer nights in our small house—which was certainly not air conditioned in 1955—I was allowed to sleep outdoors in the backyard. And that’s when it happened.

The very first night I fell asleep counting shooting stars in a moonless sky, only to be tugged from my dreams hours later by the glowing smile of a nearly full moon. She dazzled me with her charms, her brilliance. She lured me from my grassy bed to follow her through the treetops and into a world I had not known. A quieter world. One without yelling or spanking. One without rules or bedtimes. My new friend moved slowly and seemed willing to listen to the outpourings of my heart.

Let me tell you about my relationship with the moon now.

First of all, I love her figure. Despite her misshapen guises, she is an orb. A circle. That perfect geometry of constancy. The endless line that always returns to its starting point. Never broken, never ending. It is in fact so powerful for me to watch her swell each month that at her culmination, I too, feel a fullness, as if I have taken her into my own body. As if I am lit from within by my own form of bioluminescence. If plants can photosynthesize sunlight, why can I not evolve to synthesize moonlight?

I think I have. I told you I was a lunatic.

But wait! If I can so convincingly make my own case for lunacy, then how can I be truly mad? Perhaps I’m not. But I assure you I am sincere. I’m not toying with you literarily. This is my life. My life with the moon.

No surprise, I am also an insomniac. Have been all my life. I suppose I don’t really want to miss any of the night. There are never curtains at the windows in the rooms where I sleep. I don’t say bedroom, because I seldom devote an entire room to that endeavor. Bedrooms become my office, my studio, a meditation room, but rarely a room just for sleeping.

The absence of curtains has this plus: when I wake—and I do throughout each night—the moon is often there waiting for me. Calling to me. Sometimes I join her outdoors and bask in her light. Sometimes I simply commune with her through my window. And when she and I are at our fullest, I rush to lay out offerings to her: I’ll pick a gardenia and float it in a crystal bowl of water or set a round white agate on a circle of mirror.

The March full moon is known to some as the Crow Moon or the Sap Moon. Here in the far northwest, I have named it the Flowering Currant Moon, because that native plant blooms pink this month and is a lovely harbinger of Spring.

So look to the east tonight, meditate in her light and fill up your own soul with magnificent moonlight. Who knows, perhaps, you, too are a lunatic!

What are your experiences with the moon? I’d love to hear them. Please comment below.


Visit other moons here.

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12 Comments For This Post

  1. Ethereal Spirit Says:

    Lunatics unite!
    She comforts when I’m sad and smiles when I’m glad.
    I plant and harvest by her phase.
    I always feel cradled in her gaze.
    I’m remembering some years back when an artist friend and I did a full moon ceremony, - all white - clothes, food, dishes, candles, a large full moon bowl (which got broken when I moved), white paper and pencils to record our thoughts and wishes. then we lit them on fire and offered to her.
    Blessings.

  2. Val Lovejoy Says:

    OOOoo. Such rich, mysterious imagery both in words and pics. Your story makes me want to join the tribe of the lunatic.

    How many nights have I looked out upon the white light-washed garden? It makes me want to dance among the shadowed trees like an ancient greek goddess.

    And to watch the moon rise above the sea like a full ripe mellon. Hmmmm.

    Yes, your story is like a tide pulling me inexorably into luna-sea. Who will come with me?

    Thanks! More, more, please Oriana!

    Val Lovejoy
    http://www.thrivenaturalhealth.com

  3. Jennifer Y. Says:

    I am glad to have found you and this blog post on Twitter. I have often wondered if my love of the moon is genetic. My sister, mother, aunt, grandmother before she died and I are always pointing out the moon to each other and strangers. Even when my nephew was a year old, he would be mesmerized by the moon.

    Thanks for your words.

  4. Nocturnal by Nature Says:

    As a person who has forever struggled with being “nocturnal by nature” and not being able to fit in with the 9-to-5 lifestyle of so many around me, this post actually made me feel NORMAL. ha! And perhaps a little special, too. ;)

    Seriously though, thank you for singing the praises of the moon, the night, and those of us (shall I say) fortunate enough to be nocturnal by nature!

    Thanks…and I agree with Val — keep the great posts coming!
    ~JP (NbN)

  5. Oriana Green Says:

    Thanks to all you generous spirits for your comments–they add so much to the experience. Knowing there are others who share our reverence for the moon is comforting and enlightening. As we enter the warm half of the year in the northern hemisphere, I wish for us all to enjoy many long dances beneath Her gaze. ~Oriana

  6. pinwheelgirl Says:

    Oh my goodness! We are so much the same! I have loved the moon since I was a little girl, when I first became nocturnal, I too have felt that the moon was my constant companion, my confidante, my enduring friend. When I was little I would peer out my bedroom window into the white light of the moon, and see a wondrous sight…when the movement of the wind caused the black silhouettes of the trees to rustle and twitch a glorious sea of silvery leaves would undulate like waves right in front of me, the fur on the skunks, racoons and woodchucks hobbling across the back yard into the meadows behind our house glistened, and the night sky was silvery gray and glowing. I also sleep without curtains at the window of my bedroom…I love to sit at the sill and meditate in the deep of the night while moongazing. I often walk around my house in the dead of the night using only moonlight to aid me. I also have crept out in the night to my backyard, sat in my large yellow adirondack chair, pulled my night gown over my knees hugging my legs to my chest, and just “basked” in the moonlight — greeted by an occasional preying mantis, a stick bug, or a lone coyote trotting by…all this for comfort, for strength, for renewal, and a certain kind of familiarity I just cannot articulate. I love the moon. When I can’t see her, I find myself inmploring “come again, come again, come again, moon…”

  7. Oriana Green Says:

    Pinwheel Girl, thanks for your beautiful words. You describe my life, too! I love to bask in moonlight on my deck overlooking the bay and lose myself in moon shimmers on the water. The light is so healing and soft and gentle on my heart. We lunatics are a tribe! ~Oriana

  8. GreatOwl Says:

    Hello. I am Owl.
    And, I am a luni.

    Alas, be it of no great surprise,
    the moon is my Grandmother,
    who attunes me each night.

    What would you expect of an Owl might you ponder,
    hear not the night’s symphony? Owls’ silent flight yonder?

    So in honor and confession, I do now reveal,
    the sacred pact kept silent, vaulted and sealed.

    Out of the darkness,
    she came from afar,
    And she lighted my way,
    touched me deep in my heart.

    Though no words need she say,
    I knew just who she was,
    Come to call me back home,
    embraced in her love.

    Oh how I have longed,
    how much I have prayed,
    that this moment does come,
    when day passeth away.

    Now she calls me to let loose,
    no more shall I hold,
    Her light leads my way,
    shows the path I may go.

    Yes, in the twilight,
    stars come into view,
    Grandmother holds my heart,
    guides me deeper in-tune.

    Shining Star, you are my home.
    From so far, we have grown.
    Shining Star, I know it’s true,
    forever and always, I love you.

  9. Susannah Says:

    Absolutely beautiful!

  10. Oriana Green Says:

    Great Owl, You bless me with your wonderful poem–thank you so much! I hope it will lead many people to your perch when it is ready. Love the phrase: “who attunes me each night” it reveals your musical side. Also: “guides me deeper in-tune” which creates a lovely image. Hope you got to enjoy the full moon last night in Virginia. ~Oriana

  11. Michelle Says:

    Beautiful! As I read your entry (and the other comments), I kept thinking…YES! That’s me too! I was so touched and I completely relate to her (the moon’s) affect so eloquently described. I loved reading that you talk with her and she talks back–I too have many exchanges with her. I am most at home in the her light, sharing moonlight hikes, sleep outs, many, many gazing nights as well. She often wakes me in the night through my window, and it is the most beautiful feeling, I cannot express. The moon can bring me to tears…such beauty and soul-bathing comfort.

    Thank you for sharing so candidly, obviously something stirred inside me about these shared experiences (and the camaraderie in knowing there are other “lunatics”).

    I very much enjoy your updates on Twitter (I follow you as TheNatureCoach, one of your updates led me here to your blog–what a treat)!

    Each night I gaze at the moon (including right now) I will send a hello to all of you perhaps sharing the same moment :)

    All the best bella luna!

  12. Oriana Green Says:

    Glad to meet another lunatic, Michelle! Perhaps we should have a tweet-up next full moon. Sadly, it was mostly overcast here for the last full moon. When I can’t see her I feel somehow incomplete. I also love how all moon gazers are connected by the same light. ~Oriana

1 Trackbacks For This Post

  1. Ode to Grandmother Moon Says:

    [...] One of her twitter posts (tweets) mentioned the full moon with a link to her site. As an owl, I had to follow. Upon arriving I immediately knew I was in the right place  when  greeted to her post entitled; “full-moon confession, my life as a lunatic.” [...]

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