[Source: Google search.]
So, there is a story. It goes something like this:
A certain Chinese poet, Li Po, was said to have tried to kiss the reflection of the moon from his boat. He leaned to plant the kiss…fell overboard and drowned. What is the moral of the story?
I am fascinated by the moon. The werewolves, in legend, were dictated by the full moon. The moon’s 28 day cycle has been linked with the monthly cycle of a woman.
I may have had my first kiss on a night of the Full Moon. I just don’t remember…I was moon struck. I walked home from a date one night when I was in high school. My readers will know who the girl was. I stepped into the playground of the elementary school where I attended for eight years. It was a Catholic school. There was a cross on the peak of the ‘tower’…I don’t know what else to call it. I aligned the cross with the full moon that was rising over the Susquehanna River. I looked across the street where, earlier, I had been sitting with my girlfriend on a stone bench…still there along Front Street…watching the moon rise over the ripples of the slow-moving river.
But, after my session with the moon and the cross, I walked home strangely altered…how? I can not say, but the experience stays with me.
Did we really walk on the moon? I gaze at it often and wonder how, when a laptop crashes, we mustered the technology to go all the way there and come back…a dozen times.
As a science teacher, I once had a plexiglass disk with a moon rock in my hands. It was unreal.
I used to talk to my fading sweetheart, when I was in college, from a pay phone…I could see the moon through the glass…I asked her if she would look out of her window, 1,200 miles away to see the same moon.
The same moon that shed it’s light on all of history.
So, what is the real story I’m trying to tell? I’m not sure, I guess it’s about dreaming, night and desiring something that may be the last fatal desire.
Don’t try to kiss the moon…kiss the one you love…or love the one you’re with.
[A Full Moon in Paris. My photograph.]