The message the moon gives me is never half-assed. It’s generally whole-hearted and clear as a bell, clanging the ingredients that live inside my chest out into the universe like a Town Crier—boomeranging far beyond the places that I can see and hear and then ricocheting back around the eternal space I’ve proclaimed for myself in order to be shiny and new, over and over again. I radiate brighter because of the moon. I shine and fill up and plan for my next showing. But mostly I reflect and wallow and wane, knowing that one look up toward the sky will catapult me into a new feeling phase where I will become more lucid.