The bright moon is rising
Captivating only my quick glance
Before I move on
Because I think I understand it,
That just because I see it
Means I “get” it.
But if only I studied– if I distrusted my initial judgment–
If only I dug deeper than my first impression
I would be floored and humbled
By my arrogant assumptions.
To think I know anything about the moon
When I never heard it’s story
When I only read books about it
When I only listened to gossip about it.
It seems that my perception could be vastly different
If I changed my method of judging.
If I stopped and considered the moon’s realities, I would see that
It’s closeness is great only because of it’s sheer mass.
It’s light is not selfish, but simply reflective.
It’s marks are not defects or self-inflicted, but massive craters
That tell of depth and time and beauty and experiences.
I think I can hold it
But I cannot.
I think I can define it
But I cannot.
I’m starting to realize the uncomfortable truth that
The only way to have intimacy of the moon
Is to visit
Over a long period of time.
Only then do I dare tell you
What I think the moon is like.
Sometimes I think we make experiential assumptions about people around us.
Sometimes I think we make educated guesses about cultural issues.
Sometimes I think we try to figure out someone else’s story through the lens of our own.
Maybe it’s time to meet the person behind the statistic.
Maybe it’s time I need to stop thinking my story is “best of many” and starting thinking it’s “one of many.”
Maybe it’s time I commit to one concern, one group, one person, instead of trying to be an authority on all.
I’m starting to understand that it’s vastly unfair to speak my opinion with authority when I have no intimacy with what I’m trying to speak for or represent.
I also had no idea that this internal confrontation would happen when I sat down to watch the blue moon last week.
You never know what will trigger new questions and realities.
And sometimes they happen only once in a blue moon.