the moon story

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There is a longing in my chest that aches for you. Thoughts of you suffocate my day as I wait here in the shadows, under the comfort of thick, warm blankets.

Do you even know?

Your brilliant beam illuminates the Earth. And she bursts with colour and life for you. We danced and played in her waves, ducking, weaving and diving with joy in our hearts. But your brilliance is blinding and I am lost at sea with each pulling tide.

You said you loved me, once. Your face was all aglow. And for a moment I truly believed.

But I am called back to my place amongst the stars. And you must chase the day.

You etch a scar on my heart every time you turn your face away. You have left a thousand marks that shoot out of me and scatter across the universe. I have spent years catching each and every one and pinning them on the galaxy’s ceiling. There they shimmer with the memory of you.

When you grow tired of running, know that I will be waiting. And we will dance until we fall down out of the sky. And there we will rest. And you will tell me the story of how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe.

Hatha, as in hatha yoga, is sometimes taken to mean sun and moon from the syllables “ha” and “tha” representing solar and lunar energies. Yoga means “yoke”, so hatha yoga is a binding or yoking together of solar and lunar energies.




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I dare not look away from her gentle eyes for fear that they might shatter into a thousand tiny stars.

“This cannot be.” I hear her say, “It is time to move on.”

I cannot get these last words out of my mind. That, and the moment we met. All those years ago.

Her startling, blue eyes flashed up at mine as she boarded the tram. Panic washed over her face as she caught my eye before her pretty features scanned for a seat. A smirk crept over my face, shuffling in my seat, as the thrill shot through my body. Her head adopted a slight tilt as she stared out the window, giving way to the dreamy lilt of her world as she drew in a long, deep breath.

“Next stop Commercial Road. This tram will turn at Commercial Road.”

The tram tugged on the bearings below, wincing to a stop. She scrambled with the tiny clasp on her little red bag. Finally stuffing her phone inside, she leapt off her seat and made a bee line for the door, her tall heels clumping loudly on the hard floor.

My senses rocketed as I stood close behind her. I could see the tiny blonde hairs on the back of her exposed neck. The skin on her neck tightened as her head turned over her shoulder, her lips pouting, before snapping out of my vision to greet the opening doors. A soft, sweet scent wafted over me as I stepped through the ghostly remnants of her figure.

She wandered further along the tram stop, pausing as the tram slid away. I flung myself up onto the railing and perched my bum onto the cold metal bar. The thud of my bag hitting the concrete made her neck and shoulders jerk in my direction. I quickly caught her gaze. A broad, brilliant smile spread across her face. She quickly hid it from me, but I’d already caught the disease – my face also breaking into an involuntary smile. My eyes eagerly traced the slim line of her legs and waist.

The headlights of the oncoming tram bore down on us. Man that got here fast – too fast. She recoiled from the brightness and cocked her head towards me again. This time she didn’t look away but rather took a ride over my body, her eyes ducking swiftly from my feet to my crotch, flitting to my brow before finally coming to rest on my eyes again. It was my turn to flash my pearly smile and I did so, confidently now. She was hooked.

She barely seemed to notice the tram hurtle boisterously into the stop beside her.

“Hi.” I said. Her body jolted slightly, stunned.

“Hi.” Came her confident reply, her voice shocking me momentarily. It was strong, mature and womanly. It seemed odd against her small frame. My heart raced. That’s intimidating. She’s different.

“I’m Surya.” I choked out, my confidence escaping me.

She bit her lip before replying in her warm, melodic voice, “Chandra.”

The bell of the tram rang into the night air, penetrating the tunnel vision that had taken over us. My head jerked away from her eyes as I leapt off the railing. When I looked up again, she had vanished. I clambered onto the tram, my head tossing around wildly in search of her.

There. She was staring straight at me. The side of her mouth turned up at the edges. The carriage was silent and empty around us. The disease took us both then, ridiculous grins running rampant. I strolled carefully and deliberately towards her. As I slid into the seat beside her, our eyes locked.

“Hello again. Are you following me?” I teased.

She grinned. A wild, cheeky flash in her eye now. “I guess it would appear that way now, wouldn’t it?”


Candra or Chandra (चन्द्र) comes from the Sanskrit word meaning “moon” or “luminous, as in the light from the moon”.

Regarding the philosophy behind Hatha Yoga, it is understood that ideally, in perfect health, a male predominantly expresses those qualities attributed to the Sun and a female predominantly expresses the Moon qualities. – See more here.

Artful Atman

A swarm of vulnerable armpits dangle from the ceiling of the train carriage this morning. Faces poke out around them. Some faces are not human. A pair of goat eyes flit about urgently. Bird beaks chatter at mobile devices. Monkey brains run amok. This circus train doesn’t scare me the way I think it should.

I see your disguises. You are very clever, so very creative. I want to dive into that playpen with you – what fun it could be!

But I don’t.

In the middle of the carriage stands a man with his human face. His eyes are closed gently and he sways with the rhythm of his chariot. The skin on his face is translucent. The edges of skin and space seem frayed. I can’t quite make out where he starts and the rest of the world begins.

Where are you, really? This creature baffles me.

His skin pales and for a moment he looks dull and lifeless. Then his eyes open and burn right through me. I cannot look away.
Suddenly it is just the two of us in the vacant carriage, trundling forward with increasing speed. We are flying. We are weightless. We are free.

A lotus flower creeps out from beneath his feet. It curls open, before slowly and quietly engulfing the man. The giant, white petals fill the carriage. The roots break through the floor and reach down into the earth. Windows shatter under the pressure of the pressing petals. They make their escape out of the windows and find comfort in wrapping their satin selves around the outside of the carriage, breathing in the gushing air outside.

The train continues racketing along the tracks, gathering speed. The wind whips passed, rattling windows and doors and stirring a whistle in my ears. My heart races. Surely we will lift off at any moment. Airborne, at last!

And caught somewhere deep in the exhilaration, a thought is released. It slithers up my spine.

Who’s driving this chariot?