It’s a full moon tonight, and seeing it made me smile as I left work.
Not because it was a beaver moon, although… okay, get it out of your system… snicker and guffaw and be a 12-year-old again, for the moment.
I have often wondered why I feel such safety and peace when I see the moon. How I want to talk to it and have it say soothing things back to me. How it becomes part of my psyche and identity. I ponder and muse.
Yes, I know: it’s an inanimate chunk of rock circling around our planet… maybe even part of our planet broken off during a cataclysmic event.
But, still, it makes me think of my mother. More to the point, a very loving version of my mother from my childhood. Certainly not the version that used to hit me with her shoes because I wasn’t paying enough attention when doing my chores.
Which wasn’t entirely her fault. She was just scared about how my father would react. Which is why I have forgiven my mother for some parts of my childhood, but my father has a ways to go. And he is running out of time.
I wish I could rescue him, if there is a judgement to be had, as he is convinced there is.
And it isn’t even his fault entirely, but the fault of the two utterly selfish people who raised him and those who have kissed his ass because they didn’t know any better.
Yes, I can be forgiving. But still I deal with the effects of atrocious parenting.
When I consider judgement from on high, from the Moon or from God or from Goddess or from Ronald Reagan, etc., then I stand with my shoulders back and my soul clean.
I have broken that chain of abuse and fear. It came at a hefty price, but my daughter and I have a loving relationship based on mutual trust and active communication.
I am the mother I remember so fondly when I think of the moon.
Still, she’s my mom and I love her. Doesn’t everyone love their mom, no matter what?
In particular, my mother used to sing songs about the moon when we were travelling home on Sunday nights back from church, because we did a lot of church as I grew up, and it used to be several times a day on Sunday. This was one of the songs she sang to us: “I see the moon and the moon sees me. I see the moon and the moon sees me. Please let the light that shines on me, shine on the one I love.”
Hopefully, all of this makes sense now to you. If not, well… just look at the moon and know that you are loved. By the sun, by the Earth, by me, by all of existence.
So, okay, this poem is a little angry and hurt, and by rights belongs in my first collection of poetry. But I’m posting it now. Because. Have a happy full moon.
my life, my pride, I’d gladly dismember,
overlook your May to my December,
forget all that I ought to remember:
if you would, when asked, just tell me the truth.
I doubt it was just me, the attraction,
although I revealed but just a fraction
of the intense, illicit reaction
to your proximity: I tell the truth.
why are you here: I queried and you lied.
heaven knows that, despite it all, I tried.
all for naught, love, no matter how I cried.
so why didn’t you just tell me the truth?