How to Love Yourself Like the Moon Loves You
The moon asked me to send you a message, said she sent it across the sea in a bottle that must have gotten lost or picked up by someone else who needed it along the way. It reads:
Imagine yourself a single grain of moon dust, scattered by the passing of a meteor, caught in Earth’s gravitational pull, hugged to the planet. Memories are fickle, so you weren’t certain if space had been home once or if life started when you arrived.
It wasn’t a dream.
And you, dear one, have a radio tower for a heart. And me, grandmother moon, I am always receiving the signal. I hear it beat, in and out of time. I hear it start; I hear it louder, still, once it stops. I hear it hurt; I hear it love; I hear it radiating soft melodies amongst the steady thump, thump; I hear it hope; I hear its peace; I hear it release; I hear its determination; I hear it sing.
There is a beautiful aloneness in being human, but it is temporary and cherished from my perspective. However, when that aloneness becomes lonely, listen for the thump, thump, and know that I am listening with you. As I dance around the planet you reside on, I long for your return and delight in your adventure. I was the Earth once, now I am my own body. See, we are not so different you and I.
Though I am not smooth and have no atmosphere in which to breath, I am beautiful and alive. The people that came before you, every ancestor in your lineage that came before them, all looked upon me, beholden. This is a stability I do not selfishly keep: find it in the tides, as they rise, as they rise. Release your fear as they fall, as they fall. Everything is a fistful of sand: impermanent. I wouldn’t have it any other way; knowing of your beauty and eternal aliveness, neither would you.
Life, like energy, is neither created nor destroyed, rather recycled, reborn, reenvisioned. To say, “I love you to the moon and back,” is to say, “I love you outside of time,” is to say, forever. My love reaches you faster than light because I am not bound by limitations, so neither are you, dear one. You reside inside of your own imagination; stretch it. Expand what is possible by unlearning what you’ve been told is possible. Humans are often too driven by fear and so lose sight of how infinite the Universe truly is; but I can see far beyond the milky way from here.
And you are the most magnificent creature I’ve ever seen.
Someone, somewhere along the way may have told you otherwise; but they were merely showing you how little love they held for themself. Which means they weren’t viewing themself clearly either. And so the cycle of pain rolls on. But you can end it by remembering who you are, which is a single grain of moon dust, scattered by the passing of a meteor, caught by Earth’s gravitational pull, and hugged to the planet. There, you live a life. There is everything you know during that life, but it is not everything by any means, not even a little, not even close.
Yet life can be beautiful, wild, and free. Though persistent its imagery, life is as fickle as memory and brilliantly malleable. It comes and goes as quickly as a downpour in spring.
Your life is a single drop in that downpour, but you are the rain.
One life, you may fall upon a mountain, another you may trickle down stream. One life, you may get swallowed by a dove, and another still, fall right back into the ocean. But no matter how or where you fall, eventually you’ll evaporate and begin the cycle anew. Find something to appreciate and enjoy however you fall and rise, whilst remembering that one day you will awaken in a cloud. This is what I would have you remember as you find comfort in my wax and wane. I am older than Earth’s largest ocean, and I have seen you here before.