When I was younger, I’d often sleep with my head at the foot of the bed. This was for a variety of reasons, but one of the biggest was that it put me at the right vantage to watch the stars and the moon rise over the trees outside my window. It wasn’t every night, but certainly often, that I’d look up and mentally map out the patterns on the moon.
Sometimes that would be accompanied with thought exercises, daydreaming of being on the moon and staring back at the Earth, or thinking about if my soulmate was out there, right at that moment, also looking up at the sky, our thoughts reflecting off the lunar surface and connecting us.
Other times were more pragmatic, trying to remember the names of the different maria and which were which, or squinting and trying to see the “man in the moon” – something that never quite connected for me, alas.
As I’ve gotten older, I don’t spend as much time staring up at the night sky, but I still do think about it. Especially when it’s bright and full, large on the horizon. It feels like it’s calling to me, and I feel a surge of energy as the world is painted in moonlight, like I should be racing over hills and dales and through forest glades bathed in that pale shadowlight. It doesn’t happen as often now, as I’m older, wearier, more shackled to the world, but it does still happen. I hope it never stops.
Someday, I’d like to go the moon.