The last installment of the Moon Project is up. Click here to see it.
It's been a good run, and although I'm sad to see it finished, I'm also glad to see it done because it's time to do something else. This is the second time I've used a year of full moons to motivate writing, and this time was better, not so much for the additional practice, but for the collaboration. Writing in conjunction with Diana's art was an eye opening exercise.
We live in this world together. We experience many variations of the same events. We relish our individual differences. Yet, we like to think of ourselves and our responses specifically unique, different from the others. That sense of individuality, a something that is exceptionally important in the American psyche, a something that often limits our ability to function as a society, that sense is not often the unique thing we imagine. No, it's more a fabrication that we hold dear long after the reality is clear.
Putting Diana's art against my essay each month drove that clear. (Shannon's insistence that I use shorter sentences was also clarifying, and we're all better off for it, if I did find myself writing bait for her now and again.) Many people asked how we could expect there to be any connection between the art and the essay, and my response, one you've likely heard here before, was that we live in the same world. We watch the same news. We know many of the same people. It's only to be expected that we would produce similar themes each month, and we did.
Sometimes the congruence floored me. Without belaboring too many details, consider this last month. Her moon casts it's light though the branches that block our sight, our path. Meanwhile, I traveled to New Orleans and walked along Bourbon Street, distractions aplenty, as I made my way to my thinking place where, as Papa once did, I sat quietly in the chaos and reflected on how I got there. We're all on a similar path, a muddy road, and at some point, if we're a little lucky, we find that moment to wash our spirit clean.