For my seminar class we had to write a short memoir about our metaphor -something we connected to that we could use to describe our life. I decided I wanted to share what I wrote as a Wordy Wednesday post this week.
My Moon
I spin round and round, my hair flying out behind me as the world turns wildly. I dance in a circular movement to no music, just the sound of my own blood pounding and the stillness of the night. I am ever-changing movement, expanding and contracting onto myself. My emotions rise and fall, my ambition spiking into a full-embodied mass of energy and then receding as I move back into a reflective phase. The moon is my mother, teaching me everything I need to know about life. She is cyclical and so am I.
I have been keenly aware of the circle of life from a young age. We were not a religious family and I grew up free of any organized institution of faith. My only spiritual encounters were found jumping in piles of leaves, making crowns out of dandelions, and staring up at the moon from my bedroom window. I had no guidance in my reverence of nature, it seemed instinctual. I would become incredibly excited with the coming of each new season. I embraced the activities that accompanied the seasons with open arms. There was always dirt under my fingernails and grass stains on my pants.
I never saw the man in the moon. People pointed him out to me but I didn’t see the face of a man looking down on me, I saw my lunar mother goddess with her kind eyes watching me from the night sky. The moon always seemed distinctly feminine and as I grew older my connection with her grew stronger.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at the moon.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s beautiful.”
I’m always gazing up at the moon; it’s second nature once night falls. She is constant and yet always changing, just like me. She represents how I rise and fall, my happiness and my grief. The moon is a narration of life if we only pay attention. Sure she goes away once a month, slowly dwindling to nothing, but she always comes back. There is never an end to her cycle, just as there is no end to me. Even after death I know I will return to the earth, my spirit in a new body. I know that with my very bones. Not because I read it somewhere but because I can feel the truth of it in my heart. The seasons run in a cycle, and the moon always comes back around, why shouldn’t I?
This past moon cycle has been like a short autobiography for me. I felt myself withdraw with the waning phases, pulling inward and seeking reflection. I lost the desire to go to work or class. Focusing on those things felt arbitrary and I had to force myself to fulfill my responsibilities. But then slowly I started looking outward again. The moon filled out and so did I, once again reaching out into the world and pulling it inside of me. Spending hours out shopping with my best friend was appealing once again while the week before it would have been treacherous.
I have always been up and down in my moods, more so than other people I know. I spend a lot of the time somewhere in the middle, but every now and then my lows are extreme. My highs are not as intense, but they feel like such a drastic change after being so down. My family has never understood, and finding friends who do is hard. But the moon understands me, she is the same. Even at my lowest I can feel her lunar rays wrapping around me and giving me comfort.
Knowing my own cycle has kept me going. It is the knowledge that I have risen up before from rock bottom that has given me the strength to do it again. I know that I am never at an end and stagnancy only lasts so long. Every phase of my life is vital to who I am, and none of them will singularly define my soul. I am fluid and free. Like my mama moon.
What is your metaphor? I would love is you shared. You obviously don't have to write a paper like I did, but feel free to leave a comment. I'm sincerely curious.
Lady Unlaced
