A few nights ago I was tossing and turning with an annoying inability to sleep. My pillow was too flat; my blanket was at the wrong angle and wouldn’t cover my feet; my fan was making a funny noise. And my mind wouldn’t shut off. I turned towards my window and looking right at me was the white moon. It caught me by surprise how beautiful it looked, and how precisely it was positioned at my window, as if just for me. What I would give to be there… My worries came to a still, and I wondered: what is it about the moon that is so appealing?
I’ve never heard anyone say, “I want to fly to the sun.” The sun is beautiful, but it is also vicious. You can’t stare at it for too long, and it burns your skin. We all learned our lesson from Icarus, who attempted to fly to the moon with wings made of wax. The poor fool’s wings melted, and he tumbled from the sky into the sea, where he drowned. It would be impossible to ever touch it. The moon, however, has man’s footprints on it. It is welcoming in its coolness. Its melancholy face keeps you company in the dark of the night. It appears to morph, sometimes showing itself as a crescent dancing on its tiptoe and other times as a haunting, red full moon.
We write songs dedicated entirely to the moon’s mysteries. We look into the sky and wonder if the person we love the most is looking up at it, too, thinking about us thinking about the moon. We aren’t afraid to skinny dip in a dark ocean because we are guided and protected by the moon. We cry underneath the moonlight as we share our deepest secrets and regrets with best friends.
I won’t ever be able to float up up up towards the moon and land softly. I won’t ever have the luxury of pulling up a lawn chair and watching the cosmos all by myself. But I know the moon will always be loyal to me, as it is forever loyal to our earth. Although millions of others will be wishing upon it at the same time, it will really be just me and the moon.
With the moon I run, far from the carnage of the fiery sun… – Closer, Kings of Leon