I’m a little late with my Full Moon Tale this month - the full moon was on Wednesday, but on Tuesday my mother was rushed into hospital. Today, Friday, she is still waiting for the scan she needs, but all indications are that she should make a full recovery. By chance, my younger brother, who lives in Edinburgh, happened to be in London on Tuesday, so he was able to easily come down here, and he’s staying with me until we find out what’s going on. All of which is to say, life is chaos, and sometimes our creative practice has no choice but to take a backseat.
But, times of stress and emotional strain are when gathering with our kindred spirits can be most powerful. So, although it’s a few days late, let’s gather around the fire for a story.
The Merchant and the Moon
Once upon a time there was a merchant. He sailed around the world doing business with kings, sultans, dukes and princes. He witnessed their great wealth and experienced their luxurious hospitality, and, although he lived a comfortable life himself, he coveted the riches that lay all around him, always just out of reach, drifting past him as he sailed away. Such excesses seemed impossible for him to make through working even with these great men, so he asked himself how he could be elevated beyond his current opportunities.
He decided that his only option, merchant as he was, was to trade with a power higher than these mortal rulers. As he floated across a pool of inky sea one night, with nothing in sight but rippling water for miles and miles, he brooded on his desires. He saw the light rippling on the dark blanket spread beneath him, as though thousands of diamonds were sparkling just below the surface. His eyes moved up into the deep almost-black blue of the sky where a not-quite-yet-perfectly round moon shone with an ethereal glow. There was no higher power, he realised, than this ancient goddess, shining above them and commanding the tides below them. If he wanted to lift himself above his current station, he would need to trade with the moon herself.
He pondered on this for several days as his boat moved through the silken sea. Then, on the fourth night, as the moon was full and land was in sight on the far horizon, he stepped out onto the deck. The moon was resplendent in her imperial glow amongst her glittering stars. Their light seemed to pool directly over the merchant as she turned her gaze on him. He looked up in wonder, then bowed low before her.
“Oh moon,” he said as he lifted his eyes back up to her magnificent light, “goddess of the tides, mistress of the flow of life itself,” he paused, his heart hammering in his chest. He was sure the moon and stars all glowed brighter as they leant closer to the Earth to hear what he had to say. “I wish to make a trade.”
When he arrived at his next destination, he stood for a moment as his feet connected with solid ground, reacquainting himself with a firm, immovable foundation. Servants waited to escort him to the palace. When he was ready, he nodded to them. “Lead the way.”
Inside the palace, the prince was waiting for him on a golden throne, surrounded by beautiful ladies offering him fruit and sweets. The merchant put on a broad smile to hide his disgust.
“I have heard good things about your silks and weaves,” since the prince, with no preamble. “I would like to see them.”
“Sire,” said the merchant, bowing, “I have come to offer you something far more valuable than mere fabrics.” The prince paused from selecting a grape and turned to look properly at the merchant with narrowed eyes.
“And what is that?”
“Sire, how would you like to be master of the moon itself?”
They walk to the bridge in the half light of dusk through a canopy of trees, the merchant leading the royal entourage, and the prince carried on a golden chair with handles inlaid with jewels, until the path becomes too narrow. His servants set him down and the prince descends. His courtiers part to allow him to march to the front to get a closer look. He and the merchant take the final steps to the bridge alone. They gaze at the stone arch above the water, and the moon that is held, perfectly, underneath it. The moon shines with a burning intensity.
“This is unbelievable, merchant,” the prince whispers. “You have done well.” He reaches out a hand towards the bridge. A silver light brushes the tips of his fingers. He steps to the very edge of the river bank, leaning closer, further over the water.
Then he is gone.
The merchant can’t tell what happened. The water is unbroken, there was no splash, he didn’t appear to fall. But the prince is no longer standing beside him. He feels a cold weight on his chest and turns back to face the courtiers, expecting an attack.
But, as the moon had promised, each one falls to their knee before him.
He descends the bridge, and takes his place on the golden chair. As he is lifted up into the air, it seems he has left his heart on the ground. He wonders what has happened to the prince. He wonders what will happen to the others. And, as his fingers brush the jewels below his hands, he knows he won’t stop.