I wonder what it’s like to be the moon. Everyone needs Her, don’t they? I mean, there wouldn’t be any light at night without Her. We need her to shed herself on us, each and every night. We need her to bestow us with her brightness, to shower us with her knowledge on how to defeat the unending abyss of Darkness that empties itself into the void that is us. I wonder what it’s like to be someone who everyone so dearly needs, so dearly grasps onto, for light, for hope, for inspiration. She seems almost as a sign board, reassuring us, saying “This is for the temporary absence of the Sun, he will be back tomorrow”. As everyone keenly awaits the dawn of a new day, it is Moon who keeps their faith in the fact that there will, indeed, be a new day.
And to think, Moon has no part to play in it at all. She does nothing, nothing except reflect the light of the great star that she so generously replaces. She has no light of her own. She doesn’t battle the Darkness. She is made of it herself. But her shield, her façade reflects the hope of something ardent and bright, although way beyond her. She has never met this Power but she knows he exists. And she uses him to cover her own depressions and combat the fear of the rest of the world.
In Literature, throughout history, the moon has always come to be symbolic of the human mind. Rain, the passing of time; wind, the symbol for change; darkness for depression and melancholia; shadow for anonymity, for mystery and confusion; the Moon for the human mind.
Ever wonder why? Was it because of our dependency on outward sources for happiness? Was it because of the known fact that we’ve only ever seen one side of the moon, while the other still lies in the darkness (kind of reminds of us hypocritical mortals, doesn’t it?)? Or was it because of our tendency to want the easy way out, not wanting to work but wanting to be of some worth anyways?
All of those reasons, none of them; who knew why? Although I, for one, see a distinct correlation between us humans and the moon.
People can be the moon sometimes. When you need them the most, when they know how vital it was to be selfless. They could cover their own despondency using something externally fervid. Nowadays, we call them “obsessions” or “infatuations” or “fetishes” and we condemn them, saying “But you haven’t even met them” or “That doesn’t even exist”. Probably that is the truth, plain, simple, with a facet of practicality. But that explanation doesn’t justify the admiration likeMoon does.
Because we may not always be or feel radiant. But we also realise that if we are in the shadows ourselves, nobody can count on us, for that would mean groping in the dark. This is when we become the Moon. We clench the radiation of something that gives us hope, that can be our sun and we become the moon for someone else, giving them belief of Dawn. So our obsession, our addictions become our sun and we clasp their hand and the solace and warmth they give us to become the moon for somebody else.
It’s as though being the moon for a third person seems easier than facing the asteroids of being a planet. Because if our Universe had a life, a soul, a mind, then the asteroids would be grief.
Asteroids would be grief, because they, unlike other elements of the Universe, shape it. They collide with other bodies in erratic manners. They do not make sense. Yet, they are the reason there are dents on our moon (our mind). They are the reason entire planets may be flung off their orbits and into another system of existence all together. They shape the Universe much like grief shapes us. It affects us in ways we can’t fathom. The grief of loss may reduce us to dust and ashes. Grief feels like the asteroid. It collides with us and forces us to exist with the pain. It ends us, but not our life.
Such is life, as it is everywhere in our so-called “lifeless” Universe. And the moon survives through it. She perseveres through everything the Universe throws at her and yet so selflessly, gives us hope with nothing but a mirror image of the Sun.