Peripheral Light

I watched the lunar eclipse last night, the first I've ever witnessed. It began with a full sphere of light sweeping across the sky, casting both light and shadow. As the moon's path led it into the obscurity projected by the earth, the luminence slowly ebbed away, eclipsed by the very world that it had lit only moments before. The light, once so vibrant, faded around the edges until only a sliver remained. But at the very moment when it seemed the moon would fully darken, disappear, it turned a beautiful array of orange and red. Light from both sunrise and sunset crept around the periphery of the earth, reflecting off of the moon in beautiful shades of autumn, shades impossible to create with the reflection of a mid-day sun, shades that the moon maybe never knew it was capable of displaying. What would have been its darkest hour instead became its most glorified moment, a moment that the world, including myself, emerged to witness.

The moon was set in its course long ago. Or perhaps it chose its course. It had a purpose, to light our darkened world, and the path it pursued best fulfills that purpose. Fear of dark moments, eclipses, fear of being somehow overshadowed by the one it had set out to serve did not deter it from its determination to move forward. And because of that, it acquired a more awe-inspiring state.

Be a moon.