“Tell me the story about the sun and moon…”
In Mexico you can find the sun and moon at the entrance of people’s homes. As a kid visiting and sometimes living in Mexico I’d gaze up at all the artisanal art covering my abuelita’s and tia’s house. Something about the way the sun and moon held each other in these clay pieces spoke to me. I grew up and the internet became this place to find all the answers. I wanted to know why all these latino households had the sun and the moon. What was the significance? Why the sun and moon? What do they mean? I found this very brief - and maybe corny- quote:
“Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe.”
I understood why it needed to be on the front door, I am no stranger to putting emblems at the front door. The mirror facing the front door to repel and reflect back bad energy. The Palm Sunday cross on the outside of it for protection. The aloe vera plant at the entrance to absorb any negativity. The sun and moon being so that only love can walk through the front door. It made sense to me.
But the love that I had seen from the people and adults around me always took the power away from women. It did not involve much sacrifice from the men, but it did require everything and more from the women. Men had to be served their plate upon arriving home from work or they would beat or humiliate their wives. Belittling and disempowering their wives when they felt insecure in themselves. The story of the sun and moon sounded self-less not possessive- the opposite of what I had seen.
When I was 19 I got my heart broken by a 26 year old Aquarius. He showed me my own excitement and eagerness for love and how that same love could be used against me. When I met him he was all my teenage heart dreamed of, a bad boy that played guitar and wrote me songs while we sat in the sand. I knew he was trouble, he never hid who he was from me- an addict, ex-con, with his own set of challenges and traumas. But that made me feel safe, it was familiar. possessive and a little aggressive.
The relationship was short lived- 2 weeks and I had completely lost myself. I thought love meant that I had to be “ride or die,” no matter what he was going through or what was happening to stay by his side. Until that meant being in situations where my own safety was jeopardized. I started to realize that this relationship was not love and started seeing him for what he was- an embodiment of all the men in relationships I had seen before.
I could see the road ahead of me, and knew that I wanted a different kind of love for myself. I left and he begged me to stay. It broke my heart to break his but that is when I understood what it means to choose and love yourself. I spent the rest of the summer processing what had happened and by the end I cut my hair, pierced my nose, and got my first tattoo.
The sun and moon- as a reminder to myself of the kind of love that I deserve. A love that does not confine you, hurt you, munipulate, or belittle you. A kind of love where there’s mutual respect for each other’s autonomy not a possession. A love that allows you to change and come and go as you need to. A compassionate, tender, selfless kind of love.
