MOONS SHINING OVER ME — free as the sky

“They are the moons shining over me” was the last sentence I finished today from Sue Monk Kidd’s The Secret Life of the Bees: A Novel. Two worlds and times collided when I was reading the novel by Kidd in Malaysia. Here I was entrenched in the thick tropics of Southeast Asia city life In 2024, I was transported back to the deep south small town of America in 1964, the year of the Civil Rights Act and the pinnacle of racial tensions. The only thing that was common with something I could easily identify would be the unbearable humid heat during summer. Since I had never lived outside of California in the US, I relied on images and scenes from random movies and historical footage from that era while reading the novel.

The novel is not the kind of novel I would naturally pick. But when we were packing to come to Asia, Kidd’s book came into the line of my view multiple times for me to notice my noticings. I know it was the unusual title that captivated my curiosity. I had admired Kidd’s writings before, so I placed the book in our large suitcase without registering it as a novel. Besides, both Kidd and I have been deeply impacted by Thomas Merton’s writings. Though the main storyline is riveting with multiple sub-themes, it is slow, filled with glorious and unforgettable tedious details without the kinds of fast-paced, page-turning storyline and action I usually look for in novels, no guns blazing, no swashbuckling, no battles, etc. The protagonists are all women, a teenage white girl, and a host of “colorful” colored women. Even then, from the first page, I found myself drawn to underline the masterfully detailed descriptive words and phrases. More than once, I forgot I was reading a novel. I thought I was reading Kidd’s biography. I felt like I was watching a well-directed movie the whole time. Out of my reverence, I must have told myself and my wife that I would love to write like her. Every single word means and contributes to the overall character development and the storyline: no wasted movements (or in this case, words) like a highly skillful surgeon.

Written, spoken, and sung have incredible power, especially those that provoke imagination and imagery. In the imaginative space, our own evoked stories merge and hold conversations with other stories without anyone forcing prescribed answers from outside. (There may be “answers” from outside, but when one starts with answers from outside, we are robbed of the opportunity of the freedom to discover from within and own our authentic stories.) In the imaginative space, we feel safe to ponder our stories in relationship to the fictional but “real” (often more real than real) stories from the books. I dare to say “real” and authentic because the novels often contain universal truths. Authenticity assumes and arrives after slow simmering and sometimes necessary meandering self-discovery. Our journeys start with unique and personal truths and arrive at perennial and universal truths, thus making us feel like we are a small part of a much bigger humanity. I find it hard to accept that we would start from universal knowing somehow landing it as personal knowing. Thus, we build compassion and solidarity with universal knowing only when we are capable of arriving at personal and unique knowing based on our stories. Otherwise, the universal knowing remains as wooden head knowledge or information, functioning opposite of free and hospitable space but imprisonment for oneself and others.

A part of my current life trajectory identifies with Kidd’s novel, especially the last line. The last line contains a universal truth in that there are “moons” shining over us, whoever and wherever we are. When the moon appears, it is never as bright or harsh as the sun. The moon's light is so subtle that it is hardly noticeable in some cases depending on the shades of the moon. The gradient of light far exceeds that of the sun. Moon embraces darkness, different shades, as its own and does not reject the darkness. As life is filled with far more grey than simple black and white, people who have embraced the “grey” well can hold the space of “grey” in others. They are gentle and compassionate in that they would not shine harsh black and white sunlight in a judgmental tone. They infuse grace because they have experienced grace in the midst of different shades of light and darkness. Self-compassion, exercised as com-passion for multiplicity and various shades of oneself, always comes before com-passion, I came across this quote by Pema Chödrön, an American Tibetan-Buddhist nun. “Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”

I too have “moons” shining over me, those who simply hold the space of both light and darkness and all the complex shades of being human in between. This spirituality of the moon—nonbinary thinking and posture—has catapulted me to God’s expansive and unconditional grace over and over again. I would also love to be a moon for some God puts in my life’s path and story.