Fading Moon
The Weight of Shame
I’ve been listening through the backlog of episodes from fellow ‘Stackers The Color of Dust. I really enjoy listening to three gentlemen - Seth Wieck, Sam Kee, and Jack Baumgartner - discuss art, theology, and earthy living.*
In the fifth episode, Jack brings up Irish writer John Moriarty, and an observation about Eve watching the moon wane for the first time, and wondering if this, too, this diminishment of a heavenly light, is her fault. This idea haunted me for weeks, and eventually it brought forth a poem.
Fading Moon
The angel sat and watched.
Eve hung her head and wept.
The moon began its work
to mark the seasons as they pass,
but she could only see
bites taken from white, mealy flesh.
Resistance in her teeth.
Poison in her throat.
Now the moon waned.
Darkness deepened,
to her great shame.The first two chapters of Genesis tell that the heavenly lights were created to mark the times - the seasons, days, and hours. Maybe Eve had already watched the many phases of the moon, and knew very well that the shadow cast on its white surface had nothing to do with her.
Maybe it didn’t matter. The shame and regret of the disaster in Chapter 3 would be so great that anything could remind her of what had been lost, of what she had done to lose it.
It’s startling what will awaken my own memory of failures and terrible deeds which brought hurt and death to the people I love and caused days filled with light and joy to tip into darkness. Otherwise innocent imagery will remind me of my complicity. The specter of regret is a difficult thing to shake.
After all, maybe the waning of the moon and the nights of darkness were Eve’s fault. But maybe that doesn’t matter either, because the moon simply responds by getting to its work of marking times with its phases, which is its own beautiful thing. After all, God does not undo our worst deeds. He only takes them and transmutes them.
Sláinte
The episode in question can be found below. Jack shares the story at the 1:41:10 mark, although the whole episode is worth listening to.
*Work on The Abbey of Curiosity will always remain free. I do, however, have a taste for high quality paper and pens with which to draft my poems, so if you have found pleasure in my writings, you can donate to the paper and pen fund through Buy Me A Coffee. Kind words are also appreciated to bolster my delicate poet’s ego. :)
Something frequently on my mind is the gradual build-up of knowledge of the heavens. Assuming that God didn't explain some of the key points to Adam and Eve (which could very likely have happened), the moon's changing appearance would probably have been the first heavenly event to be noticed: it's so spectacular. But how long after that were the planets discovered? Mercury in particular would have been very, very hard to see — unless there was a sustained practice of looking at the stars and observing / recording what was noticed.
Would it have taken only a year for the discovery that the same constellations appear with regularity at the same time in the sky, and that their position slowly revolves to the west on an annual cycle?
How long until the first eclipses were observed, and their mechanism figured out? How long until the sun's changing position at rising and setting, its gradual creeping back and forth along the horizon, from solstice to solstice?
I think about that a lot, too. Or the build up of knowledge of the small earthy things. Which mushrooms are good to eat, which creeping insect is also a friend to the gardener.
It's comforting to know that, throughout all of history, people were in a habit of sustained looking and questioning. Even now, despite all the attempts to pull our eyes away into pads of glass. It is perhaps a more strenuous battle than before, but the lookers keep on looking.