Postcards from Home #6: Lunatic Serenade

It is the best time, midnight, full-moon-freak-on time, the time for us to really be awake… C’mon, get up! You knock on my door, tap at my window, shake me out of my blankets, turn on the light. Aren’t you awake yet? We can’t miss out on the night. Midnight passes by but it is still early. Even better the time becomes three in the morning inching toward four, we’ve been up now for hours, restless in our imaginings, searching through books, sharing spells, writing verses, mapping out our rituals, we cannot stop talking, and our hearts are drumming.

The December chill does not persuade us to crawl back into bed. We do not even dress warm enough for the walk down the block we made for the hot tea and coffee we could have just as easily enjoyed at home. Oh, no, it was far better to bask in the warmth only to be found at the 24-hour diner or pub down the way. The walk was always a cheerful ordeal. Frosted breath mingled with second hand cigarette smoke, laughter echoed with the creaking of sleeping trees, our booted feet stomped over ice, and my clumsy up-and-down dance between snow banks used to make you make fun of me.

There were no cell phones back then to interrupt the night. No fast-forward-instant-messages to obsess over, just relationships to draw the Tarot cards over. The endless pushing of buttons was unnecessary back then. More emotional buttons were tweaked and hands held and pulled. How many times in the middle of the night did you wake me up just to walk out into the cold and tell me how you felt about someone else? How many times did you pick me up instead of calling me to ask me to come out and worship in moonlight? How many numberless memorable times did we dress in robes and go out to the lake and dance under the full moon? How many times now do you remember that now? Are you still my fellow lunatic today?  Where are all my brother and sister lunatics tonight?

There are too many people today texting and not enough people writing. Too much talking and not enough speaking. There are too many machines that stand between us now. They are programmed to keep us in touch but the wires do not reach out for us like our hands can. I miss the days when I didn’t have to rely on a camera to look upon your face. I wish I could just walk across the hall or go upstairs to get you out of bed. I miss the nights when “real” instant messaging meant finding a handwritten note from you slipped underneath my door. But there is one thing that remains true for us all that has not changed with the gaudy and rude gadgets of humanity.

The Moon.

She is there even when we are too busy with the petty things of life. The Moon, she connects us without the aid of machines. She still shines in my heart and eyes. And even if I am the only one who dances under her light even during the coldest of nights, I adore Her for taking me away from the busy world of messages and machines. And even if you’re never here again to join me in this dance, at least you were here once…

The Moon and I never forget.


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