Narrative Essay

A Child of the Moon People have many names for what I am: Pagan, Wiccan, Heathen, Witch… I don’t choose to put myself in any of society’s nice, neat little boxes. In the simplest way I can put it, I worship nature, I am a child of the moon. I didn’t always think of myself this way. In fact, I was raised as the majority of South-Western Rural Wisconsinites with Germanic or Norwegian heritage are; as a Christian (Methodist to be exact). On Sundays I bathed and primped and put on the most proper, pretty little frilly dress and shiniest shoes, and made sure my hair was neat and shiny. I went with my Grandma to the Trinity United Methodist Church, sat down quietly, folded my hands on my lap demurely, and sat obediently pretending to listen and believe the words of the good Pastor for 2 hours. I did this for many years, but never felt what they claimed I would… the “Holy Spirit” the “Love of Christ”, in fact, I felt no connection at all to the sad half-naked man hanging on his cross on the wall. I never felt that the bricks, and boards, and painted glass that made up the “House of God” were in any way sacred or special. I was always the kid in Sunday school raising my hand to ask questions or interrupt the teacher only to be shushed or reprimanded. Was I the only one that saw all of the hypocrisy in the bible, all of the discrepancies and contradictions? I felt lost, alone, and depressed by religion and spirituality as I knew it, but one night that all changed.

            I was very young, I couldn’t tell you my age exactly, but still a curious tomboy in awe of the world and everything in it. I was playing out in my yard at dusk, catching fireflies and running just to run. Out of breath, I sat down for a rest and looked up at the sky. The very last sliver of sun was disappearing behind the hill across the valley from where I sat. I breathed the crisp Autumn air and crumpled leaves in my hands, I was aware of the coolness of the grass underneath me. I was content enjoying the natural beauty all around me. I felt… at peace... happy.

             It got dark quickly, as it always does in the country (no light pollution from streetlamps and vehicles). I stared at the moon, as often did, and felt small compared to the vastness of space and the distance between it and me. I could never quite express the feeling I got at night being still in the moonlight… until that moment. It hit me… I didn’t feel alone, I felt a presence was with me, looking over me, comforting me. It was the moon! It wasn’t a big rock in the sky, it was alive and it always had been. I thought about this for a while and wondered if I was the only one that knew this great truth. It also occurred to me that maybe I already had this knowledge from past lives, maybe I had always known it.

            “Caaaitlin!” my mom called my name out the back door, waking me from my thoughts. I looked at the house, “Coming Mom!” I yelled back. In the last few seconds before I ran back inside, I made a kind of silent pact, one that felt so natural, perhaps an oath I had made before time and time again through the ages… “You are my true Mother and I am yours forever, A Child of the Moon.”