Luscious moon, come hither.

January 14th, 2008

“When the moon is full, the seas rise up to reach it, sending wild waves of enthusiastic welcome. Oyters spread their shells wide, stretching to swallow it whole in the same way that they one day may slide down someone’s slippery throat. Wolves howl at it, ears pricked, eyes glued adoringly on the object of their attention. Heads thrown back in ecstasy, they sit up very straight like any good dog and sing to it songs of atavistic refrain.” (The Moon Watcher’s Companion)
That paragraph is so sensual, so immediate, so physical that it makes me sick I didn’t write it. I am a moon worshipper. I love to drive to the beach when there’s a full moon and watch the lighted path it throws on the water, dreaming that it must lead toward some other, better world. When I look at the full moon, I can believe in all kinds of things in and out of nature. I don’t see a dead planet littered with space-man trash, a pockmarked planet that could have an abandoned Walmart over the next dune. I only see poetry, magic and mystery. Lucky me, to be born too early to have it all sanitized and scientized and temporarily colonized by flags and footprints.