Moonlight Knowledge
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, tugs at my hair and chills my skin. Goosebumps develop and despite the light jacket, seem content with me shivering and cold. I do not know whether it is the cool summer breeze or my own thoughts that cause these chills, but on a night, such as tonight, little does it matter which is the cause.
Basking in the mix of street lights, porch lights and the soft beams of moon, that flutter and sway between the full branches of trees, I seem on the verge of obtaining some understanding. As the moon stares down at me, and I up at it, the comprehension of life appears closer and yet further away than ever before.
Still. Calm. The crickets play out their love notes in the quiet of night. The bustle of town has settled to a mere car and occasional drunk. The world attempts to sleep. The populace reaches for their dreams, which sometimes taunt them in these late hours.
The moon remains, surrounded by its distant relations, in the dark cover of night. Often I have heard it described as hanging, but tonight, the moon floats; moves slowly across the sky, in search of the sun. In search of light.
How it must hate, being the reflection of another. Knowing, that its glow is provided by the sun. Its orbit provided by the earth. Its warmth is characterized only by those lovers who conceal themselves within this dark cloak and dance between its faded golden rays. How it must love and hate its existence.
As I walk the empty roads of an insignificant town in the heart of a well-known country, the moon becomes a companion. As the night progresses and the day chooses to arrive earlier then planned, the moon, once a source of cold beauty in my life, takes on a different role.
A shiver, a deep breath, heart flutters.
I deny it. It's just heart palpitations. It's just the chill in the air. I'm just sleepy.
Deep down, the revelation, the truth drowns my soul in its bitter sweet flavor. The moon laughs. I pause to listen to its whismical notes. It smiles and nods. Only half it shows. Only a quarter in reality. The moon is a mystery to us. Showing only parts of itself and only when the time is right. Even as the moon reveals a portion of its entirety, it conceals more. The eternal cycle a strange product of nature, a freak mishap of science and a divine symbol of life on such a night as this.
Unclear. That is what this is. These words mean as much to you as they do to me. The foggy shaping of a profoundly simply philosophy and idle chatter of a misbegotten poet in the making, that is what this note is.
But this is not about the note, this is about the moon. This is about me and life and the moon. A connection so simple and startling, that it is almost irrelevant.
One step, then another. A foot fall echoes and the causal beat of my stride melts into the subtle night sounds around me. I glance up again and I must admit my failure. I hadn't made the connection sooner.
How many times had I stared at the moon? How many times had I questioned its purpose and my own? Now, I see that the moon is not just a orbiting rock formation, it is me.
I am that orbiting rock, clad in the sun's light, yet only partially. I'm hidden and revealed. I'm new and full and as I decline and seem to fade, it is only to begin again. I have a darkness to me. Shielded from the public view. I allow no one to know that side. On my surface are not the pock-marks from asteroids hitting me, but the scars from my many flaws. Each represents a time I was vain, cruel and egotistical. When you see these marks, you see me at my worst. You know I'm not perfect, not smooth and unblemished like some. I"m not a whole person, but I am a well rounded one.
The life I lead is a product of nature, a freak of science and a divine blessing. I'm gifted with various tools which I have yet to learn to use. I work at shining as brightly as the sun, but as the you can tell, my work is choreographed by the heavens; destined to fulfill the cycle of life and never achieve the desired brilliance of earth's glorious star.
In a way, I'm satisfied with this life. Content to hover approve the darkened streets of earth. I reflect the sun so that you might see, might sit outside in the wee hours of the morning with less fear.
The tides change with me, you change with me. Every cycle brings you a step further down your path. You are born new and will become full with age only to sink into your final moments. Never fear, for the cycle will not end as the sky takes on pure black. In a few days it begins again and once more I will float above you, watching, wondering.
It is only as you grasp some understanding of life, that you realize there is no understanding it. As you reach for the moon, you see the glow of the sun on its scarred features, breath in the faint strips of light that twirl around you and then sleep, knowing that tomorrow will be just another beginning of the end.
On a chilly summer night, with only my present thoughts for company, pondering the relationship of the moon and myself makes remarkable sense. Will the warmth of the sun drive away tonight's clarity? Most likely, but if anything is clear, it is the realization of the emptiness of knowledge. Books, poetry, and even my heart know only the chill in the air, the glow of the moon and sleep deprivation of my body. Beyond these things, I, and most importantly the moon, know nothing.

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writing egeria19
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