Rebecca Wells - The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder

The Moon Lady

I know the moon and the moon knows me. I am the moon and the moon is me. I am life itself. I am not who they think I am, that old white man with the long white hair whose judging eyes try to force fear into their very pores. I am the moon mother, and I hold my children on my lap, night and day, in the heat and in the shade. When they wake and when they sleep, I whisper to them: Dont be afraid, dont be afraid. The ones who feel my lunar light pause before they walk out into the day. They take a deep breath, greet the morning with love, and invite grace to enter them at every moment. All have pain, but not all suffer. The body might ache, loss might occur. But for those who embrace my light, there is dancing.

There is a hamlet named La Luna in the center of Louisiana, on the banks of a river with the same name. It is a piney-wood river town of 1,734 souls. I watch them as they try their best to live each moment in their little town named after the river, on this fragile spinning planet. This world is made up of storiesevery persons story, those that are hidden, and those that are outright and clear. This is the story of one named for a flower.

I danced with her mother on an old wooden floor where rhythm was queen. I danced with her father as he held her mother. I danced with her mother when her belly was big, a sail blown full with the wind. I held her mother as she let go of the earths pull, as her family did its best to let the sweet dancing mother come home to me.

The sun shines hard and bright on my people. The air hangs heavy and humid in this swampy state where the quiet La Luna River flows into the Mississippi. That wide, robust river carries life and dreams, commerce and poisons out into the Gulf of Mexico. There I watch the Louisiana coast recede, losing a football-field piece of land every twenty minutes. Saltwater rushes in through canals cut by the oil companies into the fragile, freshwater marshes that struggle to nurture life. I see crazy flames dot the coast from gas and oil rigs that extract from deep in the earth what, eons ago, were once living plants. All that oil provides energy, and carries a cost. It both gives and takes life.

Whether or not they see me, moonlight bathes my raggedy, tender people. Sometimes they are capable of unimaginable kindness. Other times they are filled with near-paralyzing fear. Even when it is dark, though, when all light seems to be eclipsed, there is light on them. Light in them. I see it. I see it every day under the sun, every night under my lunar glow.

Oh yes, I know the moon and the moon knows me. I watch my children as they dance in La Luna, the hamlet named for me, in the beating of the heart of the crazy, holy state of Louisiana.

M y name is Calla Lily Ponder. I was born in 1953 in La Luna, Louisiana, on the banks of the La Luna River. That is where my mother cut and curled hair, and my father and mother together taught tango, waltz, and the Cajun two-step. They said they named me for their favorite flower because they wanted me to spiral open into radiant beauty, inside and out. Even when I was born, a red, tiny, hollering thing, they claimed they could see the beautiful, creamy-colored, velvety bloom of a calla lily.

My eyes are blue like my mothersI call her MDearand my complexion is olive like Papas. I guess the only thing that resembles the flower Im named for is my long, strong legs. Theyve served me well so far, and Im grateful for that. I was taught not to care much what other people thought, unless someone said you were mean to them, and it was true. Then you better pay attention. My big brothers and I learned this at an early age: That it is kindness that makes you rich.

I also learned very early that I loved my mothers hair. Family stories have it that when I was young, nothing soothed me more than being held in MDears arms, playing with her long, shiny chestnut-colored hair. It fell down to her waist, but photos of her at that time show how she held it back in combs so only part of it fell forward. Id reach up, let it fall over me, then part it, pat it, and curl my fingers in it. Id play with it the way other children did with new toys, only my mothers hair was new to me over and over again. After a spell of playing with it, I would settle in and just gaze up at her. She would look back, and when she did, she let me see myself reflected in her eyes. It was as if she held this little mirror inside her, just for me, to see me, to know who I was.

MDear was the owner and sole practitioner at the Crowning Glory Beauty Porch. The name of her business came from two sources. First, the Bible. Second, the fact that we had a porch that ran all the way around our house.

MDear taught me about the Bible early on. A womans hair is her crowning glory, the Bible says. Its a beautiful quote. Along with the Beatitudes and the Commandments, its one of the teachings I hope you and your brothers will learn. And dont just learn them, let them into your heart.