January 17, 2017

Sometimes I feel Sorry for the Moon. {Poem}

Sometimes I feel sorry for the moon.

For the way she is always measured by how bright she shines,
as if her only worth is in
her light, and the way we seem to want to know
only half of her—
the half that brightens our own darkness.

And when she is shining out into the heavens,
with her face turned to the source and
all we see is her shadow side,
we almost forget
that she is even there at all.

We hold our breath waiting for the light to return,
instead of being present with her
as she is, and where she is:
in her darkness, and our own,
for but a moment.

Who are we in our shadows?
Perhaps the light must sometimes dim enough to
take those parts out to look at:
the hidden pieces, the fragments, the secret desires—
the inner-workings.

Oh, that we might embrace our shadow and the parts of us
that seem of no use to the world,
the parts that don’t shine for others to see.

Life is one brief-brilliant love-story,
and half of that love-story is our own—
with the parts of ourselves that the world never sees.

What if we embraced our shadow the way we do our light?

What if we took her out dancing in the dark of the moon?

What if we stopped being afraid of the dark?

What if we just let our eyes adjust a bit so we could see all that is there—
so that we could rely on
feeling more and
seeing less
to navigate through the night.

Our worth does not only lie in what light we give to the world—
our solitude is worthy,
our shadow is worthy,
our loneliness and secret yearnings
are worthy.

Our walk through the flames,
across the coals of trauma, through the fevered valleys,
the dreams, the internal dialogues,
the conversations with God, the healing, the letting go—
the seeds sown in the darkness are worthy.

Even when the moon is void of course,
she is still



Author: Rebekah Uccellini

Image: Author’s own

Editor: Khara-Jade Warren

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Rebekah (Uccellini) Kuby