When I Stopped Looking, You Found Me

Is it loneliness killing me, or am I drowning in the light of the Full Moon dripping on me like thick honey? In a park packed with people, who also felt the pull to come to the movie event under the stars, I'm so far away from everyone.

Even after these ridiculous rituals.

I came to accept the rituals, and I don’t hate it anymore when my witchy best friend surrounds himself with crystals, reciting prayers. But he promised the week of the Full Moon would end my suffering, and the Moon appears to be selective with its magic.

Why do desires bring so much suffering, anyway? Isn’t it supposed to be beautiful that we want love so badly we’re willing to write our fears on bay leaves and burn them over a pine-scented candle? 

The cool material of the white sundress pools around my stretched legs. I wiggle my toes, trying to watch Notting Hills on the white screen at the end of the park, but something about the Moon is so much more appealing than Julia Roberts tonight.

Thas to mean something. It’s not that easy to take your eyes off of Julia Roberts.

But the Moon… the Moon glares, daringly. Strengthens its magic to force me to look. It squints its eyes. You’re giving up already?

What does it want from me? One more ritual? I’ll do one more ritual. What then? One more? Moon, the oldest salesman. It never ends on ‘just one’. You can never achieve what you want with ‘just one’ ritual. You have to keep buying until your wallet is empty and you still need one more thing from them - burning bay leaves until all you can smell, in and out of your house, is smoke and chicken soup, and there is still some fear spoiling your heart that will pop up when you least need it.

The first time I wanted to fall in love was when I was five. I watched my mother get ready for her second wedding. She was always so bright and enjoyed every moment of her life, but that day, as she twirled with her dress, humming Can't Get You Out Of My Head by Kylie Minogue, she moved like magic.

The man that became my step-dad shone on her like the Moon, illuminating the most wonderful parts of her, especially those that were hiding. He was that kinda man who actively looked for the best in everyone he came across. Seeing them together used to make me breathless. Even when they just sat together, I'd find it hard to fathom their connection.

For the next twenty years, a soulmate has been my biggest dream, and the only thing I can’t get.

As much as I’d like to keep my life ritualless, I’m not against magic in general. I believe in it, although I don't understand it. Everyone believes at least a little bit, especially those who claim it’s not real.

All the other things I’ve wanted came to me so easily. So effortlessly.

What is it about love that’s so resistant? Do I not love it enough? Do I not want it enough?

I drop my eyes from the enchanting Moon to the screen just for the kiss scene and let out a sigh. At least this one doesn’t get to me that much. If it was Diane and Camilla from Mulholland Drive - that would be a problem. 

There is something beautiful about this night, no matter how defeated I am. The idea of giving up is luring me in, like the arms of sleep when you try to stay awake.

With a glance back to make sure no one is behind me, I lay on the blanket, cheek squeezed against the back of my hand. I puff the air to get the baby hair off my forehead. The heat of the day has sunk into my skin earlier, and even in the cooling moonlight, I lie comfortably with my shoulders bare.

The movie is no longer appealing. I watch the Moon and it watches me back, and for a moment I wonder if I shouldn’t just love the Moon. It’s there, always there. Always looking at me. Always calling out for me.

What do you want from me? I think. 

I have thought about love so much that I’m not sure what it feels like anymore. How does anyone know, when love is so complex and confusing? 

Love is everything, or it is nothing. 

Maybe I made it all up.

But these people in front of me - those that hold hands, smile at each other, whisper to each other and giggle - are they pretending? Are they lying to themselves? Confusing love for familiarity? Fear of being alone? Need to belong?

Do they think it’s love but are all mistaken?

Is love gentle and quiet? Or is it grand and loud, and for everybody to witness? 

I don’t know. There must be no definition. And if there is one, tonight, I don't feel like searching.

I’m so tired of it. The chase has worn out my legs, my bones, and my heart. The desire took all the energy I could ever find in myself. 

All the rituals I’ve done in the past week - letting go of the past, of the fear, of limiting beliefs, of expectations. Letting go, and letting go, and letting go.

How much more pure do I have to be for love to find me good enough? For love to find me at all, because so far it doesn’t seem like I’m anywhere on the radar.

Maybe I’m not. Maybe the only dream I’ve ever cared about was never supposed to be mine. Maybe I’ve stolen someone’s wish, deprived them of bliss and the magic of the mystery of love.

The Moon softened. Like a grandmother watching over you, proud and happy, caressing your hair before she kisses your forehead.

That’s what my best friend calls it. Grandmother Moon. Is that why?

As Grandmother Moon kisses my forehead, I close my eyes and let go. I give up. Not the desire. The desperation. Because I’m alright. She wasn’t daring me to try more. She was telling me to give up all along. She was telling me - you’ve done enough, rest now.

So I rest all the rituals and mantras, and I rest my mind, body, and heart. Whatever has been pulling onto my ankles, as I tried to tread through the mist, releases me. I’m here, safe and sound, so alright even when I’m alone.

I let go, and the whole world seems to heave a sigh no one knew it was holding.

My skin cools down - in a very literal sense because, with a broken gasp, someone spills a large iced Coke all over me.

It’s so surreal that for a moment I don’t move. Only when the ice starts to prickle my waist and the drops trickle down my arm, I open my eyes. 

There’s no tightness in me anymore. I can’t get mad when I’m so languid and free from everything that was heavy.

In the moonlight, the girl standing before me looks like a goddess. The ancient Greek goddess whose sculpture stands in one of the modern museums. As full and bright as the Moon, wrapped in a yellow silk dress, she holds her hand over her mouth, frozen in an I-was-about-to-fall position. The last drops of Coke escape the ugly blue cup - drip, drip, and sink into the ground.

I sit up, glance at my wet dress sticking perfectly to every curve on my stomach, and then lock eyes with the woman in front of me.

“Shit.” She drops the cup and huffs. “That was not the plan.”

“What was the plan, then?” I ask, distracted by the deep voice and the rough way it wraps around the words she says.

“Not trip like a loser, that’s one,” she says. With a sigh, she crosses her arms on her chest. “See? That’s what I always do. Fuck up the first impression.”

I huff a laugh. That’s refreshing. 

She doesn’t only look like a goddess. She is one. Her entire ancestry line must be made up of gods and goddesses, with energy so magnetic and powerful under her tanned skin that no one can be nearby without feeling it.

As I climb to my feet, the soaked material slides across my skin in an uncomfortable way. 

Even more of the unnecessary weight lifts off my body when I stand in front of her. Somehow, every step I took brought me here, to this moment, to stand in front of this woman. 

The things I wanted to happen but thought they didn’t - they were in motion, full speed, behind the scenes. Planning, building, and aligning in the most carefully calculated way, so that I stand here tonight, in my wet dress, and realize letting go isn’t about rituals and mantras.

It’s about the decision to let go. And letting go is not giving up. It’s the amount of trust you hold within, showing whoever is orchestrating the events of life - look, I trust you. You do it, I’ll just make sure to be in the right place at the right time.

“But I am impressed,” I say. “I guess you broke the unlucky streak.”

Her eyebrows jump in the most genuine surprise I’ve ever seen. The moonlight is so attracted to her, wrapping her body in the glow.

I glance at Grandmother Moon, and I swear She winks at me. Go and play now, she says. Everything is done.

The goddess of a woman in front of me looks at my dress and presses her glossy lips together.

“It’s washable,” I say. “But I’ve got better dresses at home. If you’d like to try ruining any of them, too.”

A funny glimmer pops out in her brown eyes. Maybe she is a goddess since I can hardly hold in an urge to get on my knees and appreciate that someone with beauty and energy like that exists.

“I’d like to see them first,” she says. 

Maybe all these years I just had to stop wanting and let the forces I can’t even fathom do the job. I’m not that experienced in magic. Interfering too much with the masters creates so much resistance that it tires you out, sooner or later.

But it’s alright now. Everything is done. It’s my time to play.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Selene.”

The Moon giggles.