“Hey diddle diddle,
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon.”
I grew up singing these words even though I never knew what it meant. I didn’t question how the cow jumped over the moon, but wondered if the moon was made out of cheese. I knew the difference between a full moon, gibbous moon, and a cresent moon. I wouldn’t make an effort to find the new moon because who would want to find something you could hardly see, right?
Papa Lupo always encouraged me to finish school so that I can “go to the moon” (in his words). He believed in that phrase and said it with all his heart. His tone was full of motivation, strength, and faith. Every time he said it, he looked at me as if I was already half way there.
The Heavens over the Earth.
I like to think that my grandpa sees the moon as a symboilsm of achievement and happiness. To see the moon as an escape would be a mistake on my behalf. I know that I will go to the moon someday, even if I have to squint to look past the clouds or focus a little longer to get there. It is a process that will be forever changing and ongoing. I never felt passionate about “going to the moon” as much as my grandpa did, especially when the only moon I see is new.
Accepting what will come and just be. With the support of my village, I continue to walk in this journey toward, in my grandpa’s eyes, the moon.