The Moon and Her Mother

Once the Moon, that celestial orb of gentle light, called upon her mother, the Night, and beseeched her with fervent words. The Moon said, "My dearest mother, I implore you to fashion for me a garment such as those worn by the goddesses of old. See how the Sun displays his glory in garments spun from golden rays! I wish to be adorned in vestments befitting my station, that I might be worthy of admiration and reverence from all who behold me in the darkness." The Night, who was wise and ancient, listened to her daughter's plea with a sorrowful expression. She spoke thus: "My beloved child, the Sun may array himself in raiment as brilliant as he wishes, for he is constant and unchanging in his glory. But you, dear Moon, are born anew each month, growing from nothing to fullness and then fading again to darkness. How could I fashion you a garment that would endure through all your transformations? Any dress I might create would soon hang loose upon your diminishing form, and then be far too tight when you waxed full again." The Moon, hearing this wisdom, ceased her complaints and understood the truth of her mother's words. She realized that her changing nature was not a deficiency to be remedied, but the very essence of her beauty. Her power lay not in constant splendor, but in her cycles of renewal, her capacity to transform, and the hope her return always brings to those below. Thus did the Moon learn that we cannot always acquire the constancy and unchanging glory of others, and that the attempt to do so often brings only frustration and sorrow.