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The Dark Side of the Moon

And again I am standing here. I am unaware of anything but the moon. In fact, I am incapable of turning my attention away.

The moon, the moon and nothing but the moon...

It is a round moon, a full moon. She reigns the waves, the oceans, ebb and flood of our lives... She has an influence on the weather, our moods... and... she controls my life.

Each time I look at her, I hear party noises. There is laughter; sometimes, it is a merry, but most of the time it is cold, polite. There is also the clinking noise of wine glasses, girls giggling and the deeper murmur of men's voices.

In front of my inner eye are also images of this garden party: pretty and less beautiful women in coloured summer dresses. This image is overlayed by a parade of Celtic druids carrying a sacrifice on a bier. A blood sacrifice. It is a hind and its blood is shimmering darkly in the bright light of the moon. The druids are singing. Their hymn tells about the dark side of the moon...

The dark side of the moon... entices me, it teases me, it pulls me inexorably into its ban... It does not release me, it is part of my life. It attracts me, thrills me and... I struggle and strive against it and the fascination it works like an evil spell on me. BUT there is the urge, the need to see how the other side of the moon feels, how it smells, the insatiable curiousity for its taste and texture.

The dark side of the moon...

The different, the dark face of the moon. The side which an observer never really thinks about, because it is the absent side. To penetrate this mystery, to stretch yourself, to extend yourself, to reach out... To look beyond the bright side, to stretch out your arms and grab the moon, to turn it round and to view the dark side...

To see what no one knows ...

Copyright, Sybille Sterk 2002, 2003
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