The Moon And Me

I believe in signs. In such a large and complex world, there must be some way our surroundings speak to us without words. My cousin once told me that after her father passed away, she kept seeing this specific type of bird. When she was on vacation in Spain having lunch one afternoon, the bird sat across the table from her and nibbled on her food. People around her were in awe and she just said, "that's my dad."

I don't consider myself to be a religious person, but spiritual, I guess I am. I pay attention to the little things, I embrace them and savor them like that last square of chocolate in your cupboard. The most prominent sign in my life has been the moon: Luna.

I think unconsciously, my love for the moon sprouted from the childhood TV show I watched with my father by my side: Bear in the Big Blue House. Every night, Bear would sing goodnight to Luna. I've always watched the moon, even when I was younger sitting in the car on the way home from my grandparents house, simply watching the way it followed me.

For a while, I forgot about the moon. Life gets too busy to look up at the sky and watch a floating circle. But one night, I laid in bed feeling empty and sad, and as I restlessly rolled over in bed, I noticed this bright light shining in through my window. I was so confused as to what it was because it's almost impossible to see anything from my window, since trees and shrubs cover it. Soon I realized it was the moon. I had never seen it through my window and it was blinding. For some reason, it made me smile.

The moon has shone like this countless times after that moment. Blinding yet beautiful, and every time, it manages to make me smile. It's strange how much comfort it brings; no matter how broken or lost I feel, that luminous sphere makes me feel like everything will be okay.

But Luna hasn't always been there. I can't lie and say it always has. That's not how signs work; that's not how the world works. There have been nights where I've felt emptiness and pain and I've looked up, searching the sea of darkness, unable to find that blinding light. And yet, I feel like the moon's absence is a sign in itself. It seems like the world is telling me that what I feel is okay, too, and I should allow myself to feel pain and to let my tears stream because sometimes, it takes time for things to be okay.