Perhaps the question to ask is “Who is the Moon?”, rather than “What is the Moon?”. It is to my belief that the Moon is a sentient being, expressed in lore through numerous names attributed with just as many personalities. She is mysterious like the goosebumps that crawl on your skin, intertwining with your spinal cord to arouse dawning revelations. She is the essence of rebirth when all has been thought to be dead and hope to be lost, for her lunar dimension sees the backstory of the Sun’s psychology, manifesting the hidden key that causes people to believe in Love once again.
Just as likely, the Moon casts her shadow onto the Earth to inform you what it would be like if one were to turn their back on their Heart. This is the true “Dark Side of the Moon”, the Winter of the Soul. And it is this perpetual freezing Winter that the New World Order lives, for their betrayal of their Heart has turned their Soul frigid and merciless to seek such relentlessly bitter survival in a dog-eat-dog World, as if they are seeking a Summer festival in the Arctic when they could very easily cross over to the Heart’s Summerland.
While the Sun illuminates dark from light, black from white, false from true, the Moon is the quiet third entity, the binding agent that sees the practical application of Love to join dark with light through motherly understanding. Eternally unbiased and sympathetic, she is often only just seen as a neutral, mirror-like grey light that painfully teases you with nostalgic subconscious gestures, yet fills you with inspiration and the will to keep pressing onward to level up your Soul. In this way, she is seen as either a blessing or a curse depending upon the lords and ladies whom perceive their own karma as unjust or as a miracle.
But everyone asks, “What of her physical nature? What does she look like?”. We see her brightly lit face set with brilliant eyes, full cheeks, and a laughing smile when we gaze up into that strange, glowing object in the night sky. Does she ever stop laughing? To some, her laughter might seem a mockery of their trials and tribulations, but to others her laughter is just the right comforting voice they needed to hear to lighten their burdens.
On the flip side of the Moon, we see the seed of her happiness blossom as great, magical forests filled to the brim with life, flourishing with plants and animals so large, wild, and untamed, so free, jovial, and variegated. Carbon dioxide generously fills the atmosphere with more than enough breathing room for life on this planet, including Humanity.
Yet, even though everyone is not supposed to talk about, let alone enter, the Secret Garden, the inner Mary, Dickon, and Collin of the Soul thrive there always in hilarious, childlike peace.
“One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one’s head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one’s heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun – which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone’s eyes.”
“’I know what you want me to tell you,’ said Collin, after she had stared a few minutes. ‘I always know when you want me to tell you something. You are wondering why the curtain is drawn back. I am going to keep it like that.’
‘Why?’, asked Mary.
‘Because it doesn’t make me angry any more to see her laughing. I wakened when it was bright moonlight two nights ago and felt as if the Magic was filling the room and making everything so splendid that I couldn’t lie still. I got up and looked out of the window. The room was quite light and there was a patch of moonlight on the curtain, and somehow that made me go and pull the cord. She looked right down at me as if she were laughing because she was glad I was standing there. It made me like to look at her. I want to see her laughing like that all the time. I think she must have been a sort of Magic person perhaps.’
‘You are so like her now,’ said Mary, ‘that sometimes I think perhaps you are her ghost made into a boy.’”
– pages 209-210, and 262 of The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
(The image used at the top of this page is a painting by Marina Petro, Saratoga Springs, NY USA.)