Go out of the house to see the moon, and 'tis mere tinsel: it will not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey. - Emerson
Some years ago, when I lived in another state, I used to go visit friends who lived in the country. One night I was driving home and noticed that the full moon was casting shadows across the snow-covered fields. I had never noticed moon shadows before. The brightness of the moonlight reflecting off the snow was startling, and I became entranced by the shadows of the trees on that silvery landscape.
Moonlight, praised by poets through the ages, is reflected sunlight, only much dimmer. Moonlight has mysterious qualities. Colors are muted. It's hard to read by moonlight, even if it seems bright enough. It turns out that the mystery lies not in the moonlight, but in the workings of our eyes, which have two kinds of light receptors -- rods and cones. Rods operate in dim light, but can't provide color information to the brain. Cones allow us to see colors and fine detail, but need bright light to function.
Before we conclude that science has once again impinged on the territory of the poets, consider Emerson's quote above. I wonder what he means by "necessary journey." Certainly a bright moon would have helped someone traveling at night in the 19th century. We don't need the moon for that today, for the most part. But to make the necessary journey inward, to encounter the hidden places within, takes both fortitude and light -- not the glaring light of the sun, but the soft, pale light of the moon, giving us just enough light to move forward, to venture into the darkness to recover what has been lost. The moon in that nightscape becomes a guide to our deepest emotions, casting its gentle light to reveal both substance and shadow as we make our way through unmapped terrain.
Some years ago, when I lived in another state, I used to go visit friends who lived in the country. One night I was driving home and noticed that the full moon was casting shadows across the snow-covered fields. I had never noticed moon shadows before. The brightness of the moonlight reflecting off the snow was startling, and I became entranced by the shadows of the trees on that silvery landscape.
Moonlight, praised by poets through the ages, is reflected sunlight, only much dimmer. Moonlight has mysterious qualities. Colors are muted. It's hard to read by moonlight, even if it seems bright enough. It turns out that the mystery lies not in the moonlight, but in the workings of our eyes, which have two kinds of light receptors -- rods and cones. Rods operate in dim light, but can't provide color information to the brain. Cones allow us to see colors and fine detail, but need bright light to function.
Before we conclude that science has once again impinged on the territory of the poets, consider Emerson's quote above. I wonder what he means by "necessary journey." Certainly a bright moon would have helped someone traveling at night in the 19th century. We don't need the moon for that today, for the most part. But to make the necessary journey inward, to encounter the hidden places within, takes both fortitude and light -- not the glaring light of the sun, but the soft, pale light of the moon, giving us just enough light to move forward, to venture into the darkness to recover what has been lost. The moon in that nightscape becomes a guide to our deepest emotions, casting its gentle light to reveal both substance and shadow as we make our way through unmapped terrain.
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