۱۳۹۴ دی ۳, پنجشنبه

The Shy Moon



I have told this story to some of my very good friends, but they found it hard to believe.

They think maybe it was just a dream or it is just made of my imagination, but I know it was neither. Though it happened a long time ago, its memory is so alive and vivid in my mind as if it had happened yesterday.

I was a teenage boy when I went to visit my aunt, who was living in a very remote village near a mountain in the west of Iran. It was mid-August. I remember one night when I was lying on the rooftop of my auntie’s hut in the bed I used to escape the heat of the house. The gentle, fresh breeze was so relaxing; my eyes were wandering among thousands and thousands of glittering stars; the Moon was in its full; the whole village and its surrounding gardens and fields and mountain were bright under the moonlight. I could even see a flock of sheep and goats just outside the village.

Just then, I saw a shooting star descend near the village! Of course I knew it couldn’t be the case, but just the thought of it was exciting, I knew, by experience of stars, how we can be tricked by our senses. If you stare at stars for a quite a while where the sky is thick with them, you feel they are might come so close that you can pick them with your fingers. OUCH!  I burnt my finger again

That night, for some peculiar reason, I wasn't sleepy at all and I decided to go out for a walk. I have very rarely been outside of the village at night. I chose to venture outside the village since I had to get back to my city fairly soon and might not have had another chance.  I left the rooftop and then the mud-built house. After a short while I found myself walking towards the colossal mountain. It looked so different at night. I knew my way since climbing the mountain was one of my favourite ways of spending the afternoon. But still I felt cautious, so I decided to go as far as a fountain where I used to swim on my way back to the village, located midway to the top of the mountain, behind a huge rock. I climbed slowly, immersed in the mysterious feeling of being there in the middle of the night, on my own.

Then, I heard a very gentle song which I felt was coming through the breeze from the mountain.  At first, I thought I was just imagining things, but as I continued to walk and got closer to the fountain I could hear the delicate song more clearly. No, I was actually hearing the song!  I climbed the rock, since this was the place the song was coming from. When I reached the top and could see the shining and limpid water of the fountain under the moonlight, I was stunned by what met my eyes.  It was the Moon, bathing naked in the fountain and gently singing.  Her naked milky body was shining under her moonlight, and her round and firm bosom was in harmony with the curves of her body.  Her soft, straight, light-coloured hair was covering her back down to her curve, and a gentle breeze was carrying her softly sung song.  I was mesmerized by the scene I was observing.

Suddenly, one of my feet slid a bit and a little stone rolled away, taking some stones with itself and falling off the rock away from the mountain.  The Moon heard and looked up to where I was standing. When she saw me, she blushed all over, rushed out of the pool and hid herself behind a piece of a cloud.  That night, no one could see the Moon anymore.

Since then, any night when the Moon is full and the moonlight shines all over hamlets, fields, rivers and deserts, she will look at the fountain behind the rock, remember that night, and gently blush. Everyone wonders why, but since no one knows, they make up incredible stories. For example, when the hunting days are over and they are gathering round a fire with the full moon above, the Native American children who live near the Mississippi River see the Moon blush and curiously ask the wise men why. The wise men, who are supposed to know everything, answer: the Moon is covered with mysterious wild white flowers, and when the Moon is in her full, it is the only night she can sleep and dream of her long-gone lover. In that dream, anytime she imagines the time she met and first fell in love with him, the wild white flowers turn red.
.


Some tribes in the desert, on cool nights in summer, lie on the sand, for a while forget the burning heat of the day, and wonder at the only garden they can have – one planted by thousands of glittering stars. Here, the grannies tell their curious children why the Moon becomes red when she is in her full.  They say that at the beginning there were two sister moons, one prettier than the other. One night, one of them fell in love with a shepherd on a wild mountain. Their father, who was later punished for his crime and banished for life to no-one-knows-where, stabbed the loving Moon to death for violating the sacred rules.
The blood of her murdered sister splashed on the Moon when she was in her full, so every night when the Moon is in her full we see her sister’s blood on her face.

Some villagers who live in a valley near Mesopotamia have an incredible story of why the Moon goes red. They say that the Moon is in love with the Son of a goddess who lost his way in the darkness of the galaxy, and every month when she's most visible, she sets fire so he may find his way back to her.

And some scientists try to explain the gentle blushing of the Moon by studying the capacity of the Moon’s rocks to reflect the Sun.


But there are just two people who know the real story. The first one cannot talk and even if she could, she wouldn’t admit to it, and when the other one tells the real story no one believes him. But...but maybe it is better that way.  Since no one knows the real story, everyone will make their own. Any time in the cool nights of deserts, fresh nights of the mountains and breezy nights of the forests, when the Moon is in her full and grandmas and grandpas are asked by their grandchildren why the Moon blushes, they will have more stories to tell. And anytime their children meet each other and tell their stories, all think that it is theirs which is real. And who knows – maybe one day, people will believe my story...

The Shy Moon






I have told this story to some of my very good friends, but they found it hard to believe.

They think maybe it was just a dream or it is just made of my imagination, but I know it was neither. Though it happened a long time ago, its memory is so alive and vivid in my mind as if it had happened yesterday.

I was a teenage boy when I went to visit my aunt, who was living in a very remote village near a mountain in the west of Iran. It was mid-August. I remember one night when I was lying on the rooftop of my auntie’s hut in the bed I used to escape the heat of the house. The gentle, fresh breeze was so relaxing; my eyes were wandering among thousands and thousands of glittering stars; the Moon was in its full; the whole village and its surrounding gardens and fields and mountain were bright under the moonlight. I could even see a flock of sheep and goats just outside the village.

Just then, I saw a shooting star descend near the village! Of course I knew it couldn’t be the case, but just the thought of it was exciting, I knew, by experience of stars, how we can be tricked by our senses. If you stare at stars for a quite a while where the sky is thick with them, you feel they are might come so close that you can pick them with your fingers. OUCH!  I burnt my finger again

That night, for some peculiar reason, I wasn't sleepy at all and I decided to go out for a walk. I have very rarely been outside of the village at night. I chose to venture outside the village since I had to get back to my city fairly soon and might not have had another chance.  I left the rooftop and then the mud-built house. After a short while I found myself walking towards the colossal mountain. It looked so different at night. I knew my way since climbing the mountain was one of my favourite ways of spending the afternoon. But still I felt cautious, so I decided to go as far as a fountain where I used to swim on my way back to the village, located midway to the top of the mountain, behind a huge rock. I climbed slowly, immersed in the mysterious feeling of being there in the middle of the night, on my own.

Then, I heard a very gentle song which I felt was coming through the breeze from the mountain.  At first, I thought I was just imagining things, but as I continued to walk and got closer to the fountain I could hear the delicate song more clearly. No, I was actually hearing the song!  I climbed the rock, since this was the place the song was coming from. When I reached the top and could see the shining and limpid water of the fountain under the moonlight, I was stunned by what met my eyes.  It was the Moon, bathing naked in the fountain and gently singing.  Her naked milky body was shining under her moonlight, and her round and firm bosom was in harmony with the curves of her body.  Her soft, straight, light-coloured hair was covering her back down to her curve, and a gentle breeze was carrying her softly sung song.  I was mesmerized by the scene I was observing.

Suddenly, one of my feet slid a bit and a little stone rolled away, taking some stones with itself and falling off the rock away from the mountain.  The Moon heard and looked up to where I was standing. When she saw me, she blushed all over, rushed out of the pool and hid herself behind a piece of a cloud.  That night, no one could see the Moon anymore.

Since then, any night when the Moon is full and the moonlight shines all over hamlets, fields, rivers and deserts, she will look at the fountain behind the rock, remember that night, and gently blush. Everyone wonders why, but since no one knows, they make up incredible stories. For example, when the hunting days are over and they are gathering round a fire with the full moon above, the Native American children who live near the Mississippi River see the Moon blush and curiously ask the wise men why. The wise men, who are supposed to know everything, answer: the Moon is covered with mysterious wild white flowers, and when the Moon is in her full, it is the only night she can sleep and dream of her long-gone lover. In that dream, anytime she imagines the time she met and first fell in love with him, the wild white flowers turn red.
.


Some tribes in the desert, on cool nights in summer, lie on the sand, for a while forget the burning heat of the day, and wonder at the only garden they can have – one planted by thousands of glittering stars. Here, the grannies tell their curious children why the Moon becomes red when she is in her full.  They say that at the beginning there were two sister moons, one prettier than the other. One night, one of them fell in love with a shepherd on a wild mountain. Their father, who was later punished for his crime and banished for life to no-one-knows-where, stabbed the loving Moon to death for violating the sacred rules.
The blood of her murdered sister splashed on the Moon when she was in her full, so every night when the Moon is in her full we see her sister’s blood on her face.

Some villagers who live in a valley near Mesopotamia have an incredible story of why the Moon goes red. They say that the Moon is in love with the Son of a goddess who lost his way in the darkness of the galaxy, and every month when she's most visible, she sets fire so he may find his way back to her.

And some scientists try to explain the gentle blushing of the Moon by studying the capacity of the Moon’s rocks to reflect the Sun.


But there are just two people who know the real story. The first one cannot talk and even if she could, she wouldn’t admit to it, and when the other one tells the real story no one believes him. But...but maybe it is better that way.  Since no one knows the real story, everyone will make their own. Any time in the cool nights of deserts, fresh nights of the mountains and breezy nights of the forests, when the Moon is in her full and grandmas and grandpas are asked by their grandchildren why the Moon blushes, they will have more stories to tell. And anytime their children meet each other and tell their stories, all think that it is theirs which is real. And who knows – maybe one day, people will believe my story...