September. 2014. Rome. It is the night of the Harvest Moon. This month is exceptionally juiced for creative creatures like me. Evolved types from the Pacific Rim announced it. Celestial magic unseen for nearly a millennium is spewing music for the muse-needy here in Caput Mundi. It’s true. I read it online!
Sarcastic silliness aside, I welcomed this glorious vortex of heavenly hype and prepared myself to be inspired and impregnated by the silver rays of a luscious full Luna. Yikes. This sounds like a porn movie promo. Let me try again.
I propped myself in a rocking chair and pointed my now slightly pulsing frame toward the predicted rising point of my mentor for the evening, the Moon. Mozart, da Vinci, Ellington, Robin Williams? Look out! Although I am a mere spec to your genius, I am going to be brilliant tonight. My Leaves of Grass/Unfinished Symphony/Sonnet/Good-Shtick-Stuff will flow as easy as the celestial beacon rises before me. This is where you, dear reader, vomit.
Honestly, I was pumped. The Moon was beautiful, the rays were comforting and my view this evening of the hills to the South of Bella Roma was “panorama”, save a few rooftop analog antennas that serve no purpose these days but will never be removed by the enterprising condominium membership. “Hey Nona, stop hanging your unmentionables on that thing”. Twilight, nature, and the “Light of the Silvery Moon” are mine to embrace. Even the constant blare of sirens and motorcycles that make up the normal Roman mantra seems to be having a café’. “War and Peace Sequel”, here I come.
My laptop is charged and at the ready. The empty white screen mirrors my Lunar Lamp. And then it happens.
I gaze, daydream (well, night dream), sway in my chair, calmly puff on my stogie (cigar for those not privileged to glorious moron American slang) and serve sentinel to my beacon as it creeps across the Southern Sky.
Nature. Perfect. Brilliant. Why do we, locust Homo Sapiens, continue to mess with, hassle, abuse, alter, or just plain attempt to destroy it? We have been given the skills by Nature Herself to be Her tenant, caretaker, protector, and acolyte. Yes, SHE is Nature. If it was a “HE”, He would have stopped his rotation and jettisoned us off the planet long ago, maybe even using the harvest moon as a target just for the symmetry of it.
This night I was inspired, humbled and amazed. Nature. Hug it, worship it, protect and defend it. What an amazing secular theology this is. Tomorrow I am going to plant a tree, pick up garbage, kiss a moose, or something like that to prove my faith that we, man… um, man and WOMAN-Kind can be the true protectors of our glorious habitat. I am going to embrace Nature this evening, not write about it.
Wait a minute! I think I just did.