New Moon

It’s a new moon for me today, and for other people elsewhere. Although it holds less romance, it holds more mystery. For me the new moon is symbolized by flies. Today it was flies having sex. The lady, bigger than her mate, just sat there going about her business: washing her hands, rubbing her legs together, eating. And the guy was on her back, with his back bent so as to enable penetration. There was no gyrating, or groaning, but it was a miracle none-the-less. It was not a 5 minute affair, nor were there any lit candles. It happened on a bench, outside, underneath the hot sun. The guy seemed like he was going nowhere fast, like this was what he had been waiting for all his life (subconsciously) and would not let it end sooner than it had to. The lady meanwhile, had noticed me observing, and was less than pleased. From embarrassment, with her legs, she tried kicking the oaf off of her who had been on there for who knows how long. Days maybe. And a day to a fly is like a month. Months! With his member firmly locked in place, busy with the mechanics and the appropriate mindset, the lady could even fly with him on her back. And that she did, giving him, and the rest of civilization, a free ride, once again, forever and ever, amen.

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It’s a new moon. The ravens, usually hiding in the shade of the trees, have come out to sun themselves while the sun has begrudgingly allowed to do so. Climbing out of the man made rock pond, after satisfying his thirst, and dodging the smaller birds that swoop him, he dwells, observing impermanence. But such noble thoughts are replaced with whether or not someone will peck out his eyes soon, or if someone perchance may be eating his babies, but that is ridiculous, his babies have already all left the nest... or have they? He has very little memory and almost no conception of time. What will he have for dinner? The sun, once warming, has elevated his temperatures and is once again the enemy he hides from. It was nice while it lasted, but he knows everything must come to an end. To save energy, and to enjoy a stroll, he chooses to hop and walk onto the grass and over to the shade of the trees. Before he leaves, he too, notices me. And, with what seems like a prolonged stare, his shifty, beady little black eye reminds me of the new moon.

“What mysteries have you seen, bird?” I ask. But the raven does not reply. He can’t even speak, but just caw. I can caw, too, but the ravens always roll their eyes when they hear it, and often fly away, using their enhanced mobility to damage my self esteem.

With those memories firmly in mind, I headed to the dining room where my father keeps his guns. From the rack I chose his air rifle. “Caw at me, will you,” I said, while pumping the gun (no more than ten pumps). Making sure not to make loud noises opening the door, and making no sudden movements I headed outside, to the back porch. “Fly away from me, will you,” I said, as I took aim. My aim fell to the black beady eye of the super-insect. And again I was reminded of the new moon. “What do you hold for me, new moon?” I asked while gripping the trigger. But I couldn’t kill a raven. They are the omens of the dream world and alert us of power places, and their opposites. Killing the raven would only bring strife in the next cycle. With that resolution I simply fired at the neighbours house and returned the gun to it’s rack. I can only imagine what mysteries the next weeks hold for me, based on my karma from this event. And imagine I will. Imagine I will....