Moon Spirit

Sunlight sprawled languidly over Solania, it rays gentle and nurturing. The villagers went about their routines. Collective worship of Huitzilopochtli would begin at the hiss of Xiuhcoatl. They would congregate each morning in the makeshift square; bowing low to the ground in reverence to their guardian. Afterwards, the women would tend to the children and the men would gather food from the bountiful forest. In the evenings they would huddle outside, caressed by the light of Tonatiuh, eating and drinking the treasures of the earth.

Life for them had remained unchanged since the birth of the moon. Though here, there was no moon. And there was no night. Even with the rain to grow the cacao, the sunlight was perpetual; dancing eternally through the oceanic blue sky. The villagers lived in peace and youth. Content.

Metzli, an aging nomad with a curious mind and a restless soul stumbled on Solania - quite by accident. As she stepped from the night of the outer forest and through the threshold of the village, the sun glimmered - hanging motionless in the cerulean sky. Inquisitiveness heightened, she continued walking, stopping to marvel at the size and volume of the aguaymanto berries. She ate hungrily as she walked towards the settlement.

Leaving the forest, she wandered out onto the sun-drenched cobblestones of Solania. She felt their eyes before she saw them. The villagers had paused in their meals and were watching her with caution. They had never seen an outsider. The last was a fable told around the camp fire at Toxcatl. A myth enjoyed by all but never considered to be founded on truth.

Metzli continued, hoping to find somewhere to rest, a shelter for the night. Or what, in her mind. should be night. The penetrating gazes continued to follow her path. She noticed their simple yet vibrant attire, reflecting the colours of the sun and the verdant earth. And their homes, modest, but beautifully adorned with intricate carvings of the ancient serpent coiled around the sun; protective of its creator.

As she moved deeper into the village, she was approached by a woman who smiled at her with the warmth of untainted youth. She introduced herself as Xochitl. Sensing, in her wisdom that Metzli brought with her no threat, she offered to guide the nomad through the village and explain her way of life. Despite her tiredness Metzali could hardly refuse such an offer.

With a reverential tone, Xochitl explained that the village’s eternal day was a blessing from Huitzilopochtli, their sun god, as a reward for their ancestors' devotion. Their world was unchanging. Untouched by the ills of the outside. They had never known death for they lived in eternal youth. Proudly, she showed her the ancient sundial at the village centre. Metzli was mesmerised as she ran her fingers over the smooth intricately carved motifs of the sun and joyous serpents.

As they walked, Metzli noticed the lushness of the land, the richness of the crops, and the vibrant energy of the people. She was introduced to the elders, who, despite their youthful appearances, spoke with the primordial wisdom of time and experience. They shared stories of Solania’s past, of less fortunate times when their ancestors had roamed as vagabonds before being led to the land they so worshipped.

Metzli was fascinated, but something about their story, heartening though it might have been, made her feel disconcerted. ‘Their eternal day had brought them eternal youth but at what cost? All they had ever known was the sun’s unyielding presence. What about the stars? The moon?’ She wondered as she looked into their ageless eyes. That sun soaked night, she slept on a makeshift bed on Xochitl’s floor, her eyes closed but her mind swirling with all that she had seen.

The next day Metzli participated in the village rituals and shared meals with Xochitl’s family. The villagers seemed to have a divine connection with the natural world around them. Metzli started to explore the deeper aspects of Solanian culture. She learned about their art, their music, and their stories, all of which were infused with solar symbolism and admiration for Huitzilopochtli. The sun was their centre.

As the light filled days passed, Metzli found herself forming a bond with the villagers, especially with Xochitl. Together, they would sit under the dancing leaves of the Montezuma tree. The would talk late into the night sun. But her malaise refused to subside. She couldn’t help but question the nature of their unchanging day. 'Was it truly the blessing they believed?'

Simultaneously, Xochitl had become intrigued by Metzli's world and the unfathomable sky of whucj she had spoken. And so Metzli shared stories of the moon, its soothing phases, and the undulating beauty of starlit nights.

Xochitl listened carefully. Her mind filled with the possibility of night.

Over time, Metzli 's words swilled like a gentle breeze through the village, stirring the leaves of curiosity where once there had been none. The villagers began to gather around her in the evenings as she spoke. She told them about the myths and legends of the moon. She described how it influenced the tides and the natural rhythms of the earth. Her words inspired them to imagine a night sky they had never seen. Artists began to create representations of the moon and stars, integrating them into their own solar motifs. Enchanted by the alien concept of the moon, musicians began to compose melodies strung with the rhythm of night. And writers began to pen odes to the darkened skies.

One evening, Xochitl, moved by Metzli's stories, proposed a lunar festival to celebrate that which they could not see but had begun to feel. The idea was embraced enthusiastically by the community. They prepared for it with glee; creating decorations that mimicked the celestial bodies; merging the unknown with the known. One world with another.

By the time the festival arrived, Solania had been transformed. Streams of silver paper reflected the glare of the evening sun light, splashing iridescent light through the trees. The villagers had decorated their garments with hand woven symbols of the moon in its various forms. And next to their precious sun dial, the carpenter had carved an effigy of the moon.

Under the ever-present glare of the sun they danced and sung to the beauty of an unseen sky. To the darkness that they had not felt.

As the festival reached its zenith and the villagers continued to dance, the sky began to shift. Imperceptibly at first, the unending orange glow of the sun began to dim. The village was hushed with curious whispers as they looked up to witness the impossible. The sun was setting. For the first time in their eternal day, the horizon blazed with the vivacity of a day ending. Hues of orange, red, and purple, a light beacon heralding the arrival of twilight.

The festival ground fell silent, every eye fixated on the horizon. They gasped collectively as the sun seemingly vanished behind the edge of the world, leaving the village stranded momentarily in darkness. Stars began to appear as if the invisible hands of time were igniting the cosmos. The moon, vast and all-encompassing ascended through the sky, casting a gentle silver light over the village. They were mesmerised. The beauty that they could only have imagined was spread before them, tangible and lucid.

Metzli watched as tears of joy and wonder streamed down the faces of her new friends. The elders, who had listened to Metzli's stories with skepticism, now embraced her, their eyes reflecting the prospect of starlight.

In the weeks that followed, Solania began its slow metamorphosis; the village, once cocooned by light, spread its wings into the darkness. The inhabitants quickly learned to navigate the stars as they had the sun. They began to appreciate the restorative power of night, and to celebrate the dawn of each new day with a hope that they had not known they had needed before.

Metzli, her moon spirit enlivened and her nomad heart longing for her next journey, knew that she had fulfilled her sacred promise to the divine. It was time for her to move on.

As she stepped beyond the village's boundaries, Metzli turned for one last look. Solania, basking in the first light of dawn, shimmered with the aura of possibility. They would come to know death in the years that would follow. But they too would learn what it was like to truly live. They would learn to embrace both light and dark. To age. To love. To lose. To be truly human.

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For MC's request for something to 'warm her up'. Though went a little but awry. Careful what you wish for, hey!

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