Itʼs March 2025. The last Moonbow Iʼve posted or sent or did anything with was four years ago.
Thatʼs not to say that I havenʼt written them. That Moonbow hasnʼt been a constant on my mind. That I have subconsciously designed the interior of my house to get closer to it. That every cell in my body is refracting and reflecting this light. That every moment in my day, everything I see, is done through this lens.
Why havenʼt I done anything with it?
Iʼm scared. And over the last year, Iʼve also been having memory issues. I canʼt connect things anymore, because the way I used to think and the way I used to experience the world has completely shifted.
I donʼt remember much of 2024. I wrote my entire self-evaluation for my annual review at work doing this, submitted it, and then realized it when I went back to find the receipts.
It was then that I realized it was my entire life, not just work. I had fallen into the abyss.
A while ago, in the depths of my depression and start of therapy, I had six visions, or dreams, or whatever you want to call them. The first three were in black and white, the second three were very specifically designated colors in them.
But I only want to talk about one today. The one that Moonbow is actually based on.
I was standing on top of a platform, looking down at what seemed to be a tourist attraction. This attraction was a giant deep void. The attraction was for people to try to walk on it. I watched as some people walked up to the edge, stepped on, and disappeared, fallen into it. Others took a tentative step and found they could stand on it. They would joyfully dance around, closer to the center, farther from the edge, and then disappear. Others sat down in the middle, talking to each other, their legs dangling in this vacuum of light.
I walked to the edge, and just kept walking. And I stayed on top. Everything was quiet around me as I wandered. As I reached the center, I looked down, and saw these almost imperceptible translucent rainbow fibers. They were sparkling, ever so slightly. No one else could see them, but they were coming out from all of us, and creating a weave. Thatʼs what was keeping us from falling in.
About 18 months ago, I fell in. A lot happened leading up to it, including the death of my cat, my dad being diagnosed with cancer, and a period of time in which all things connected to water in my house broke and needed replacing. Once those things had passed, the actual drop happened.
I spent that time in the depths, desperately clutching for anything that would bring me above, especially at old time-tested tools. Everything slipped through my fingers, and I found myself going deeper, slowly.
But just as slowly, the absence of perspective allowed mine to shift. I began to seek out other threads. And in doing so, I found so much more.
I looked up, and saw everything connected. How the tiniest of cells hidden in the darkest caves reflect the same structures in distant galaxies.
I know now that it is another plane that is actually all around us. That we traverse different planes of existence constantly, and that nothing is above another. It is all in how we sense it. And changing those senses to see something previously hidden to us is the life experience. To shine new lights around, and reflect a new spectrum, in ways that others can find it, too.
I didnʼt publish any Moonbow, because none of them felt like light. This one does.
Iʼm back – and I never left.
Leah Moss 