Wavy full moon, casting a fancy spell with Her white sermons. When was the last time She called out my Christian name far away from the sadistic eternity? The adrift tie-in to long lost childhood has been filling in dust all over a 9-year-old memory. The memory of a kid whose eyes were curious to dissolve into Her essence back and forth. Once upon a time. There was a time when nights were all about the moon. A pitch-dark room like the bottom of an undug mine. And up in the air an illuminating shape marking its territory. A dream; abandoned in the narcissism of daylight.
The kid stepped onto adolescence. The moon didn’t.
Spider webs are playing hide and seek on the white smooth surface of Her skin. Every night I come up with a new game for a new moon. If you bend your neck a little, the wooden railing cuts Her diplomacy into two delicate slices, hanging one of them on top of my bathroom. But, She is awfully bright tonight. Could She possibly be dreaming too? She offered us considerable latitude to opt for the bucket of dreams. The choices; unreceived messages. Maybe now it’s Her turn. What could the Gods dream about? To outbid the humility of the almighty sun?
I wonder, can omnipotence be deceived?