The Moon and Me
by Courtney A. Walsh

Lunatic. Loony. Moonstruck. Everyone knows there is really something to the tossed around phrase: “It must be a full moon…” While most studies have not turned up hard data linking the lunar phase and erratic shifts in human behavior, anecdotal evidence seems to suggest otherwise. For example—my dad put himself through college by working at the State Hospital on the third shift. He is a rational, thinking man—not prone to random flights of fancy whatsoever (though I have seen him well up at the beauty of a hummingbird), but even he reluctantly admits that the patients (they were still patients back then, instead of clients) became much more restless and agitated as the moon grew fuller. Working third shift, he had certainly seen his share of odd behavior. I myself have often noticed an increase in insomnia and racing thoughts coinciding with the waxing rather than the waning parts of the lunar cycle. Now, when I say I noticed, I mean I noticed after the fact, like a pattern of which you are mildly aware but do not follow closely.

When I was younger, I always felt like the moon was a distant, shining friend and often marveled at the old footage shown over and over in movie clips or news tidbits of the first U.S. moonwalk. The moon had a romantic reputation and soulful tendencies, with its nocturnal grace and constant, mercurial shifts. Childhood myths about the man in the moon or about it being made of green cheese only added to its mystery.

Once, I had a boyfriend in college and we were having a romantic interlude under the stars when we looked up and noticed there was a perfect ring of light around the moon—like the opposite of a shadow…a luminescent visual echo of sorts. I told him it was good luck. A few days later he looked it up at the school library and found out it had something to do with pollution. We broke up shortly thereafter. But there’s no breaking up with the moon—her imagery is everywhere. ET rides a bicycle across the moon; pranksters drop trousers and “moon” each other; George Bailey is depicted in a cartoon by Donna Reed as lassoing the moon; in Blue Moon, the sitcom, Maddie and David do the will-they-or-won’t-they dance for what seems like forever until they finally do; moonlit walks; moonlight shining in windows, casting an eerie incandescent glow; moonshine, a potent beverage whose mere fumes can knock you on your ass; teenagers “moon about” when they experience their first unrequited crushes; the cow jumped over the moon, etc. Moon magic rituals can be powerful and unifying for those who join together to bathe in this sacred energy, which is both ancient and mysterious.

For an insomniac, the moon can be bittersweet. When it’s the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morning, moonlight mocks you and keeps sleep at bay. In the hospital—as I already mentioned, I got a break from the jealous moon when she tried to steal my restful hours and make them restless instead. Sleep meds lulled me into a place that even the moon could not reach. Did I miss my nighttime companion?

Sometimes…but sleep was bliss and for that I would forsake my friend—at least for a while. But reunion was inevitable. Like that one friend you know you can’t divorce no matter how many fights you have. You may take breaks from each other, but you will always yearn for the good parts of the friendship and develop a convenient amnesia for the difficulties. The moon kept you awake? Messed with your mood? Admit it—it’s still one of the most amazing things you have ever beheld in this lifetime or any other.

I think sometimes that if there is such a phenomenon as reincarnation, then it’s no wonder we have such a visceral reaction to things like the moon. It’s a reminder, a guidepost along our journey. When I was little I wondered if the moon could talk, what would it say? “Good night, sweet dreams” or “Hey, make sure you photograph my good side!”

Whether you have a special connection to the moon or not, it’s there as the backdrop of so many of our important collective cultural memories. It’s the source of countless songs, stories, romances, mysteries, and beauty. It’s nature’s nightlight. Often we don’t even notice it and we take it for granted or see it for less than the majesty that it truly embodies. Whether a fingernail sliver or a huge ball of light, in all its phases and magnetic modes—it is a mirror for us. It may sometimes seem imperfect and other times too perfect in its magnificent splendor. It reflects shimmering diamonds on the ocean’s surface and flashing glints in a lover’s eyes or hair. It is the night sun, a promise of distant worlds and a friendly face in a vast, twinkling sky. So am I a lunatic? You betcha. In every lovely sense of the word.

Excerpted from Lipstick and Thongs in the Loony Bin, a memoir in progress by Courtney A. Walsh. Walsh is a professional writer and amateur dreamer. For more of her lunatic rantings, check out www.courtneyawalsh.com
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