Moonlight Markings

The moon has a special way of marking his arrival. My friend is looking to talk again tonight and who am I to deny him his needs, for I need to talk as well, even though I really have nothing to say. Everything about my body yearns for the temporary death that the night brings, yet tonight my body is full of life and refuses to be laid to rest. Normally it is my mind that causes me this type of restless problem, but for no reason other than the moon needing company, I find myself wide awake and willing to share.

My child is asleep, he has found the place of peace and is somewhere far away playing with whatever imaginary creatures his mind has conjured up this night. I take a look into his room and my body is yearning to steal whatever magic he has that causes him such peace and restfulness. I dare not touch him in fear of bringing him back to life and suffering the sleeplessness that I have been diagnosed with, so a gentle kiss on the forehead will have to be the only form of affection I can manage to give him at this moment.

I don’t know why I don’t sleep tonight, nor do I really care. Sometimes I think it is the world’s way of making sure I enjoy the beauty that is the opposite side of the sun’s path, the one where He is far away and hidden, but promised to make His return and warm me again with His presence. The sun is funny that way, playing this constant game of hide and seek, going away only to come back again in a predicted manner.

Perhaps I cannot sleep because I am too busy worrying about the things that seem to take care of themselves. The small insignificant details of a life spent putting one foot in front of the other, hoping not to trip, all the while not realizing that falling is part of the process. A process I need to learn to trust. But trust too is an entity I am learning to trust in, or maybe it is myself I am still needing to learn more about.

My heart is with my friend who’s wife is recovering from surgery, the type of surgery that removes a part of the body that gave nourishment to her two children long ago, but now has betrayed her, and is trying to take her life from her now. 

My thought is of the little boy that acts so much like a big man, so brave and fearless that he chases the animals in the world, both real and imaginary, in hopes of capturing them and showing me that he too has what it takes to be a man. 

I will sometimes just sit and look at the moon, waiting for him to talk first. He likes to play coy, but even in his silence, he says much to me, because he always allows me to speak first, and keep speaking, even if the language him and I talk in is silence. So much has been said over the years, and tonight is no different.

Sooner or later I will make my way back to bed and try and wrestle my way back to dreaming. But sometimes the stillness that is the middle of the night is exactly the dream I need to bring me peace from the chaos that day brings. And when the morning finally comes and I awaken in my bed, I will sit up and think if what I am doing now, sitting here talking to the moon, was real, or if it were all just a dream.

One day I will not have this time with him. One day I will fall into the deep sleep that even my friend the moon cannot even awaken me from. So perhaps that is why he wakes me now, to make me aware of that day, and help me understand that I still have time to play in the sun, and that the temporary death where my friend lives is merely a dress rehearsal of the real death. And maybe my friend the moon wakes me because he knows about life, and regret, and he wants me to have more of one, and less of the other, and these talks, these wonderful talks we share in the silence of the night, help me understand that.

Maybe the moon just wants me live before I die.