Hey guys, before we get started, I would really appreciate it if you went over to this week’s Sunday post and gave us some suggestions or ideas. Thanks! Now that I’ve completely ruined the mood of this piece, onward we go…
Night has fallen across the land; all we can see now is the pale reflection of what’s to come, but the moon is a promise: it’s the sun’s solemn pledge to the earth of His imminent return.
We are creatures of the night. We are owls, bats, possums, and all sorts of cats; most of all we are coyotes. We dread the day, for it’s blinding to us. Still when we look to the light of the moon, we yearn for something we don’t understand. The light is good, and it’s big; we are small.
We coyotes don’t want to feel small, though. We’re hunters; other creatures fear us, for we know the ways of the night. In those moments, staring at the moon, burdened by the weight of the infinite pressing against the simply finite, we howl. Some of us howl a challenge, asserting our own self-sufficiency. Some howl to drown out the silence; we want the night to be full of sound instead of this emptiness. The moon dangles in the sky, ever a mystery, every impervious to our feeble cries.
Deep down we know we aren’t made for the night. Deep down we know that darkness is not our true master. Deeper still, we know that the sun will come. The moon bears witness.
We aren’t meant to forever retain these beastly bodies. There is something greater in store for us– something we want but can’t get for ourselves; something vastly beyond our howls’ reach. The magic of the moon is that sometimes it gives us that greater thing, simply hands it to us on a fragile moonbeam. The moon prepares us for the day– the glorious day.