Blog

The Ororborus

“On the Moon and the Sky and the Stars and You”

by Lance Umenhofer (Editor-in-Chief)

Waxing Gibbous

Looking at the sky on a night-to-night basis can develop into a habit, something apart of you that becomes a part of you––there’s a certain feeling that occurs deep within you as the clouds recede and the light of the moon and stars start to take shape. Yes, they are the same stars and the same moon and will always be the same stars and the same moon, yet each night, they are a little different. The moon rises and falls over a different set of trees or mountains or valleys or a different spot on the lake; the stars swirl and turn in different abstracts and angles, and some nights you can’t even spot Orion’s Belt.

And some nights you can’t even the spot the moon. Once full and bright and close, then it becomes enveloped in the darkness as the sun no longer can touch it, and you are left with a sky that is incomplete, seemingly, yet your reliable friend is still there, hidden in shadow––but still there.

The title of this publication is clearly based on the moon––in all its phases, in all its glory and all its shortcomings––because the moon represents good literature, poignant literature, literature that waxes and wanes, literature that lifts you up to heights unbeknown to you, and casts you down to depths just the same. There is good and bad; there is good in bad; there is a dark element to every ray of light ever cast in this world, and vice versa, there is light in even the most inhumane, the most mundane, and the downright miserable.

If you think you have a truth, hold onto it tightly, press your fingers around it and clench––watch what happens––watch as it crumbles before you, turns to dust, the dust of your bones, ashes whisked away into the sea––and watch it settle––watch it turn into a tornado of thoughts racing between light and dark, tracing past actions and confronting them into the new, following paths of old and diverging, for what has not been discovered yet surely will be discovered soon––watch as you try––watch the wind whip you into a thousand specks of dust as well––watch as you become your truth––watch as you chase your truth through fields of snow and hills of sun––watch it hurl off a cliff and watch yourself follow it into the abyss––and watch it all settle, pick up your dusty shoes and dusty bones and sit down to write.

This is what we want.

This is what we are called to do, are you?