Who says there’s a “man” in the moon?
I think there’s a woman hiding out in her shadows, playing with the branches softly veiling her face.
The moon is definitely female. She waxes; she wanes. She changes with cycles. She appears huge and immense, before disappearing into the tiniest sliver of darkness and embracing emptiness.
She never stays the same. Not for an instant. She’s always appearing to lose or gain parts of herself–although in reality she never changes at all.
She’s always talking to the stars, except when she chooses silence.
They say she’s in love with the sun–who is, of course, male–because that orb rules our “doing” and daily activities.
The sun rises and sets without changing its orb-belly one bit.
Until the moon wanders by and teasingly eclipses it–and who knows what really happens in those fleeting moments of darkness when they become One?
The Anishinabe (Ojibway) of our Lake Superior area call her “The Moon of the Falling Leaves” in October.
Leaves scatter against her face as they rustle in the wind and fall to the arms of earth.
Next time someone says, “I see the man in the moon!” you may choose to gently correct him.
“No, no,” you shall perhaps say, “It’s a woman up there. Don’t you see how her body changes? Don’t you see how she illuminates even the darkest night? Can’t you see her softly laughing?”
If your listener still disagrees, let him.
But don’t forget to wink back at the Lady in the Moon–quickly, now!–before she shifts and changes again, a chameleon in the midnight skies.