蜜芽传媒

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.

Like many others I went out at sunset to see the supermoon: brightest and nearest for seventy years. The sky was full of rain and the moon nowhere to be seen in the grey blanket, so I made a note in my diary for two thousand and eighty six. Two hours later I had a perfect view of a perfect moon looking perfectly ordinary.

Full of contradictions, the moon intrigues. On this programme yesterday Andrew Smith, author of Moon Dust, spoke movingly of the moon鈥檚 constancy. In the same vein, King David鈥檚 family line, runs the psalm, 鈥渨ill be established for ever, like the moon, the faithful witness in the sky.鈥� And yet her most constant characteristic is her inconstancy. Juliet pleads to Romeo 鈥淥h swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb鈥�. Artemis, goddess of the moon, is a paradoxical symbol of both virginity and fertility. The moon suggests the impossible dream 鈥� reach for the moon 鈥� but also Man鈥檚 sublime achievement 鈥� we have reached the moon.

She governs us. Seasons, sea, human and animal behaviour all come under her influence. 鈥淲ith the stars,鈥� says the psalmist, 鈥渟he rules the night.鈥� Studies have indicated less sleep at the new moon, more births at the full moon, and of course she drives people and werewolves lunatic: dogs howl at the moon. Some Police forces 鈥� not usually associated with superstition or credulity 鈥� have catered for rises in crime at the full moon.
The Bible, like literature itself, is spangled with lunar references. She is exhorted by the psalmist to give praise to God. And at the end of the world, as vividly evoked by John鈥檚 visions in Revelation, she will turn to blood, when the sun will be dark as sackcloth.

We love the moon. And yet she has nothing. No light or warmth, no energy or life of her own. 鈥淏ehold,鈥� says Job, 鈥渆ven the moon, and it shineth not.鈥� In our individualistic world, where we scorn being foil to someone else鈥檚 glory, we do well to remember that we only see this dead rock at all because she reflects the light of the sun.

Perhaps we should learn from the exquisite moon.

My mother was the kindest and loveliest person I ever knew. Despite her own prodigious talents, she was happy to be moon to my father鈥檚 sun 鈥� like many women of her generation, proudly calling herself housewife on her passport and deriving even more pleasure from her family than from her own very impressive and lasting work.

I鈥檒l never be like my mother, sadly. But she loved me so much that perhaps I can reflect a shimmer of that love back to the world. I can鈥檛 take any credit for it myself, but how wonderful if I could pass on a pale reflection of someone else鈥檚 goodness.

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