In Asian folklore, in MesoAmerican folklore, even in Native American folklore, the dark areas we see on the moon form the image of a hare or rabbit. If it's the Chinese folktale you hear, then for you the hare sits on his hind legs and pounds a pestle into a mortar, grinding the elixir of immortality. Until this winter, I always saw a face in the moon, a face with flag shaped eyes, never a rabbit. The man in the moon smiled down upon the world, jovial and benevolent from his perch atop the sky. I like the hare better. Maybe it's because my sweetheart and children call me The Bunny, maybe it's because I see the elixir as more of a healing potion than a immortality pill, but the hare holds my attention more than the genial man-in-the-moon.
As long as imagination is ruling the night, why not imagine being the healing hare? The moonlight tells me it's not a bad idea.
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Hmmm, dedumdedummmmmm, mmmm-mmmmmm-mm. Lovely night, bit chilly, but lovely just the same. Time to grind the magic, time to salve humanity's wounds, time to find the pestle I lay down while I was hunting for my reading glasses. That was an excellent article in Scientific American, possibly weak as far as mythological influences, but not a bad explanation of the healing power of positive thoughts and laughter. Must remember to tell more jokes, sure I must. The world needs more laughter, if only to prove the language of expression can be universal. Of course, the feeling elicited by such universal expression is what interests me at the moment. It's the healing power of feeling happy that I seek to pound into my mortar and collect for all the weary world to use. Scatterbrained old hare, I am. Now, where did I leave that pestle?
Teeediddledeeeediddlydeee, who's going to find it for me? Teeediddledeeeeeeeee, teeediddledeeedumdoooooooooo, please, please, tell me "who"! Heaven only knows, I'm a scatterbrained, flopper-eared old rabbit, and I must find my tools. I do sometimes wonder if those mischievous middle-aged angels are playing tricks on me when I'm napping. They think it's fairly funny to poke fun at the old ones. Turnabout, and all that, considering we "old" ones have actually been blessed to grow old and wizened and crotchety.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, let me think. Did I have it with me when I skipped down to the kitchen garden for a late afternoon carrot snack? Fresh carrots, rinsed in rainwater and rainbows, that's the stuff for tired old bones. Must write myself a note-- time to test another variety of carrot. Those heirloom seeds do bring back memories! Mother's cream cheese icing on carrot cake, Father's after-dinner carrot, Grandmother Cottontail's stories about velvet jackets and such. Hmmm, do let me think, is there a velvet jacket yet hanging in the stairwell to the attic? Would be just the thing for a night such as this. No need for a full winter coat, but spring has not fully shown her lovely self. A touch of the long sleeves is just right, you know.
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And that's all for me and my imagination tonight, my dears. I can certainly hope to one day be an ancient Bunny... but in the meantime, this rabbit must remember the alarm clock will be ringing! Goodnight, good moonlight, good dreams to all!
