Angels: children of the Moon

Selenophilia - a love for the moon

Even in a city full of florescent lights, our eyes are drawn to the glow nestled in the depths of navy grey skies. The moon has a way of making everything come alive; despite its sparse company of barely visible stars and passing clouds, grey like the specks hurrying home in the dead of night. Her light seeps into the lanes of the darkest alleys, leaks through curtains of dark rooms and pools over creamy grey carpets. Still, its faraway glow is no brighter from here than the halogen lit bulbs hung from the ceiling of a night cafe. Why do we revere the moon so much?

Selenophiles value the beauty of the moon. They hold an intellectual and artistic attraction towards it, finding the act of gazing at the moon soothingly captivating. If the sky was pink and purple everyday, we would only come out to admire it when it is blue. Yet the moon could be ordinary or unordinary, crescent or round; and still look perfect in the eyes of a selenophile. But even others who are not entranced by its intense allure are intrigued by it on nights when light dye its rocky exterior a blood red, or festivals where the yellow orb hanging in the sky is celebrated.

Could the reason for its charisma be because it is such a big unknown? Despite a few of our kind stepping foot on it, there’s still much that is elusive about it. How was the moon formed? Why does it orbit the earth? We tense at the thought of asteroids coming anywhere close to our planet, yet pine after the moon, embracing her for being our closest satellite. We know the scientific explanations behind phenomenons like eclipses and super moons but it does not account for her motherly nature, or make it any less fascinating; so the stars look on as we gather on grass patches and by windows once in a blue moon, drinking in the sight of the luminescent pearl sliding shyly into the shadows, the fading of its light silvery blue glow reflected in hungry eyes.

Or could it be that, as creatures shaped of stardust that travelled to Earth billions of years ago; we feel a calling to the moon as we belong closer to it than we currently are? Humans looking at the night sky are actually stars looking back into distant relatives, and we feel an unexplainable tinge of nostalgia even for memories we don’t recall as we gaze at the endless stretch of skies. There was a time when we danced closer to the moon, and basked in the comfort of her emanating glow as we shone beside her, pale in comparison, but content nonetheless. Now, thrown under her luminous light, we long for a time we could have lingered in her comforting shadow, and sigh wistfully at her sight.

I’d like to think the moon looks down upon us forever, but never without her gentle luminosity. Even in the realm of limbo between night and day, when shadows splay over barren walls, the corners of our rooms are alight with the light of the moon, dappled with shades of silver. While the city is sleeping, the moon is awake, keeping watch over us. She gazes serenely in on all of our happiest moments, as we dance unabashedly in the dark; and all our saddest moments, as we alone cry silently into pillows. She pities the thinkers who are cursed awake with their own imagination, and accompanies them with her gentle radiance. The moon shines through all our insecurities and vulnerabilities, her glow spilling through thin clothes, down soft skin, and onto our scars. She reminds us that we are human, and it is alright to not be infallible. While humans speak in the language of promises and bargains, enormous expectations and fragile feelings; the moon speaks not as she tours us through twilight, merely bathing us in white light, and therefore we know she will not ever speak badly of us to others no matter how much we bare to her. And as the sun rises, she silently takes her leave, with the never broken promise of being there again in less than twenty hours. Hence the protege trusts the mentor, just as the hierophant trusted the initiate.

'The moon we see is the same one Shakespeare looked at ions ago.' The moon’s everlasting characteristic is also undeniably appealing - who wouldn't like something good to last forever? No matter how good or bad a day went, the moon is by our side each night, for every single day we live. A lot could change in a matter of years, lush forests reduced to lands of skyscrapers, generations coming and going; but at least one constant remains, illuminating flowers and undulating waves silver in the night. In comparison to such an ancient astronomical body, we are so small, the swell of humanity in the face of the celestial. But the moon does not make us feel insignificant, she grounds each of us patiently as we sway between consciousness and unconsciousness like a wooden raft against the shore of some seaside village, acting as a rope that tethers us to the land, to home. She ensures we don't stray afar and become lost, a speck among the thousands ships on stormy seas, and she bears the weight of the glaring sun's gaze stoically to send us safely into sleep. And just before the world fades to black, she caresses tousled hair and gently whispers,

Angel, you’re a moon child.