Lisa A. Kramer

Author, Speaker, Theater Artist, Creativity Facilitator

The Moon Calls

In honor of the super moon, I thought I would repost this little piece of fiction originally posted on March 21, 2011 at Women Wielding Words (the former incarnation of this blog)

The Woman moves silently through the sleeping household, pulling on a silken bathrobe as she cautiously makes her way toward the sliding back door.

The tide surges in her blood and she cannot sleep. She hears a mysterious call that echoes from inside her head, if only she could understand what the voice was saying.

She slides open the door and steps out into the night air. A cool breeze whispers more secrets as it ruffles her hair gently. The sounds of night hesitate for only a moment, sensing the intruder in their midst. The moon speaks to them in its own language, but this time the woman understands, "Have no fear."

The creatures of the night resume their songs. In the distance, a dog howls, joined by other dogs in an unearthly serenade.

The woman steps forward, the damp grass seeping through her slipper clad feet. She heeds the call and walks towards the glowing orb that lights misty clouds with warm gold. Moon mother beams down, a benevolent smile on her face.

The Woman finds herself walking in a field full of whispering grasses. The scent of night-blooming jasmine fills the air, along with other scents that hint of spices and flowers unknown. Despite the night sky, the Woman almost sees the colors of flowers peeking out in the moonlight; faint whispers of the glorious kaleidoscope they share during the day.

Her heart thrums with the song of the moon, "Come closer, my children, one and all! The time has come for you to embrace your power."

The Woman suddenly becomes aware that she is not alone in the field. Other women  slowly make their way towards the call of the moon, floating in the same dream that carried her to this field of mystery. Every age, every size, every race, every color of hair. They wear pajamas, and nightgowns, bathrobes, and party clothes. Some are barely dressed. But nobody seems to care.

Most walk alone, but some come hand-in-hand, their smiles reflecting the joyous glow of the moon.

As they approach each other, they share hugs of silent welcome. They do not exchange words, but no words are necessary.  They form a grand circle with the moon at the very center.

"Hear my song, daughters one-and-all," the moon calls. "Your time is coming. Our time is coming. But it will not be easy. We must be strong, and we must learn to battle hatred with wisdom and love. We must learn to share power with each other, rather than grasp power with greed. We must learn to look for peace and true justice without heeding the calls of those who will call us wicked or sinners, for they have embodied a story written by man. We must discard that story and relearn the stories of women. We must share that story with those men who are willing to hear, to learn, to change.  We must embrace the nature that surrounds us, and welcome all creatures great and small into our bosoms. If you are willing to do this, then you have my blessings and will carry a piece of my song with you to help guide you on your journey."

"If you can do this, speak with your heart and I will hear."

The Woman hesitates for a moment, but then sees the smiles on some of the faces near her. Warmth spreads through her body starting from her womb. Her own hands seem to glitter with an inner light. This was the call she had been waiting to hear.

Some women look fearful and turn away, breaking into runs to escape the glade.

The women who remain form a closer circle, holding hands in unity, not fear. The Woman looks at the faces in the circle and sees wisdom and beauty in all shapes and sizes.  These are my sisters, she thinks to herself.

"Speak with your heart," the moon sings.

The Woman's heart feels too big for her chest, and she hears it pumping more warmth through her body. Its beating creates a drum-song in her ears. She feels the need to sing in rhythm with the beat. She closes her eyes and begins a wordless song. Suddenly, she hears the voices of all the remaining women join her in a chorus that is led by the beating of their hearts. They create a chord of pure love that reaches up to the heavens, and the moon joins them in glorious symphony.

As one they stop and silent joy fills the glade.

"We are one," the moon says. "Take the message to the world."

With that all the women hug again, tears pouring down their faces. Not, however, tears of sadness but tears of cleansing joy.

They turn back to their homes.

The Woman returns to bed. She sleeps, only to waken the next morning with a song in her heart and a new sense of purpose.

She starts the day humming the message of the moon.