Me and the moon: a conceit - by Helen Murray

I am the moon.

I look down on the world from on high - but all my light comes from you. I glow only because the you shine on me. When I was younger I thought that I was all the light that I needed, just me, shining brightly, but as I've grown older I realise that I have none of my own at all.  I depend on you.

You are the only light.

Sometimes, occasionally, people see and comment on my unique beauty - but that too comes from you; it's all because of you. Most often I am not bright enough for people to notice me at all. Without you to illuminate me I'd be completely dark; the world wouldn't know that I was there. Now and then when there's nothing between you and me to get in the way, that's when I'm best; reflecting your light. On those occasions I shine. Your light bounces from me - I am occasionally a source of inspiration, but always I fade and give way at sunrise.

When I can't see you I am in darkness. The side of me upon which you don't shine is pitch black. No light there at all. I keep this side of me angled away from you all the time. I don't show it to you but I know that from you I can hide nothing. Sometimes I long for your light to penetrate through the whole of me and I spin around trying to find illumination through and through but there are always parts of me in need of your light.

I can't do it on my own.

Sometimes, strangely, we're found in the sky at the same time, but if you're there and the sky is blue and you're shining in all your glory I am all but invisible. All eyes are drawn to you, not to me; that's as it should be.

I look faint and fragile, but that's deceptive.  You made me strong. A close examination reveals scars and craters where things have hit me and hurt me; I have wounds. My injuries left marks that won't go away, and yet they make me more interesting. Intriguing. The contours of my scars; my imperfections - they tell a story. I can only tell it when I am lit by you and when people look and really see, they want to hear that story.

In the daytime the sun shines and the shadows are banished. There's no darkness when you are here. At night, just sometimes, when I'm big enough and when it's clear and your light finds me just as you intend it to, when conditions are perfect and it all comes together - the reflection of you in me penetrates the darkness. It does! It illuminates the gloom and brings a subtle, silvery beauty all its own. Nothing like the indescribable golden brightness of you, but maybe enough to see by.

A reflection of you.
Enough light to show the way.
Enough to take a few steps.

I have a job to do and you enable me to do it. When people look at me, they see you, even when they don't realise what they're looking at; or that's the idea. Help me to reflect you more and more!

Even when the world is in darkness, the light reflected from the moon shows the world that you are still there. You never disappear. You might be just over the horizon but you are always there.

And then, at the end of the night-time, I will give way with joy to the true radiant Light which floods the world fresh and beautiful each new morning; streaming over the horizon with majesty and splendour and glory.

That's you.

Helen Murray lives in Derbyshire with her husband, two daughters and her mum.

Having spent time as a researcher, church worker and Hand Therapist, Helen is now a full time mum and writer, currently supposed to be working on her first novel. 

As well as writing and reading, she drinks coffee, takes photographs, swims, breeds Aloe Vera plants and collects ceramic penguins.

Helen has two blogs: Are We Nearly There Yet? where she writes about life and faith, and Badger on the Roof where readers are treated to a blow by blow account of her novel-writing progress, or lack thereof. It's been a while since there was anything to report, but she hasn't given up.

You can also find her here:

Pinterest: @HelenMMurray

Twitter: @helenmurray01