We Can Always Get Back to the Moon

I was in a quiet, contemplative state this weekend. Sometimes, I reach back into my ethnography training from studying anthropology in grad school and spend some time observing others. I don’t really plan it, it just happens. And, by observing, I witness what I am supposed to witness for my own growth and to share here with you.

Out and about this weekend, I noticed two different couples. One, young and separate, resentful. One, older and angry, lifeless. What they had in common — besides being unhappy — was they did not look at each other. They did not touch one another. There was no joy in the fact that he was sitting right across from her. Threre was no joy in the hour they sat together to eat breakfast. One ignored the other’s breathing. She eats at the table with a ghost. He eats at the table with a stranger. No symphony wrapped them in warmth. It was cold. And, it was apparent that somewhere along the way — they stopped liking one another.

After seeing both couples, I said to my husband, “I never want to be like that. I am so grateful we are here, together, and I love you.” I seized the moment in fear. I glimpsed what could be. I glimpsed what is for so many couples. And, I saw the sadness, the lifelessness.

Having paid their check, as they were getting up to leave, she said, “Oh – just a minute. I need to put on my lipstick.” She said it authoritatively, like don’t you know, you dufus? He slowly took his seat again. Head down. Quiet. She picked up three different sticks and slowly painted as she watched her lips purse in the small compact mirror. Every few seconds, he lifted his head, to see if maybe she had completed her lip mission, to find her still at work. It took a few minutes. He lifted his head four times and down again. He could not stand to look at her for long. He was annoyed. And, she was absent.

I don’t ever want to be like that. I wish I could have thrown a life preserver. A raft. Something to get their attention.

So, how do you want to be?

I want to be dancing at 93, swimming in the dark at 85, beaming at my husband for eternity. I want to always remember to look into his eyes and see him there.

No matter where you are in life, whether you are trying to work things out with your partner, have decided it is over and grieving, are post-divorce and starting a new relationship, wherever you are remember to live and love. Let’s wake up. Be awake. Embrace light and dark and fear and love and your divineness and others’ divinity. Deal with the issues, don’t hide from them. Or else we fall into a slumber of sorts.

“Most of the time, we fall in love but can’t remain there. The world then calls the state we were in a delusion or infatuation. But we were not deluded. We were not just infatuated. We merely lacked, or someone else lacked, the emotional skills to hold on to the magic when the morning came. Later we would tell ourselves that that moment of magic had not been real, but that analysis is just a collective lie. We invented the lie as a way to face the disappointment of having been to the moon on a starlit night, and then fallen back down to what can seem like such barren earth.

That lie is little more than a social conspiracy. It gives its adherents a perverse kind of comfort to think that our basic lack of courage is some form of psychological health. In truth, we can go to the moon and retain its magic for a lifetime. We can breathe in its spirit and never exhale. We can own the powers of romantic enchantment and experience all of life as a glistening adventure. We can enter the temple and receive a new heart, forever aglow with orange heat. Having gone to the moon, and believed in what we saw there, we can return with a ticket that will always take us back.”

– Marianne Williamson in Enchanted Love

We can always return to the moon and enter the temple. Always. We just have to let go and believe in love.

With love and light,

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