SELENE’S BOW

My dear, perceptive reader, I come back to you today with an incident, an anecdote, if you will, which set off a rather…….shall we say, unusual chain of thought within me.

About half a week ago, I saw one of the most beautiful sights of my life, a lunar rainbow!! The light of the moon differentially refracted by the mass of the clouds framing her face, creating a ring of colours, like a halo around a saint, only this was no ordinary saint I saw that day, assuredly, it was a bearer of the passion.

But, unfortunately, I had on me at that time, no way to capture the moment. So, trudging back to my room, I put out my feelers by means of that most loyal of friends, Google!! On a whim, I searched for rainbow paintings, and found not a few, but absolutely NO paintings with a lunar rainbow as the artists muse. So I asked myself, as I ask you now, my dear reader, why the lopsidedness? Why are the bursts of vibrant colour considered the sole prerogative of Helios, who cries rivers of gold? Why is Selene (Luna of the Romans) relegated to a backseat, her display of colour considered merely an aberration, something adorable, no doubt, but yet not grand or worthy of immortalization through the hands of an artist? Why must this fairest of the gods; pale maiden with the very stars as her freckles on her fair visage, sister of the Sun, mistress of the silver chariot, dispeller of the dark, temperamental as a teenager and yet mature and consistent as a matriarch, why must she be marginalized thus? This favorite of many poets, especially love poets bathes the world with her silvery light, especially beautiful when it caresses the water of a brook, bringing the feeling of romance. It is said that Selene's moon rays fall upon sleeping mortals, as her kisses fell upon her love, Endymion.

Why do we express awe at the sun and its majesty and yet treat the moon as naught but a toddler, to be coddled but yet not taken seriously? All this does is expose a larger malaise in society, our inability to break free of the bias of the collective consciousness. We form our opinions based on the opinions of our fathers and are very reluctant to discard and/or change them.

To be very honest, I am afraid of the sun. The idea of so much power in the hands of something so temperamental, so unstable terrifies me. And yet, on the other hand, Selene like a mother comes out and coddles me each night. Even on the nights she is absent, I still feel her presence, and know she is watching over me and smiling. Her power is subtle, a far cry from the blazing infernos of her brother Helios, and yet it is no less strong. She is, after all, the mistress of the waters. From her immortal head a radiance is shown from heaven and embraces earth; and great is the beauty that arises from her shining light. But then one wonders, why is she not accorded the same status in the Pantheon as is her brother? Is it just a lack of fear, a narrowness of perspective? Why, my dear reader, does one not realize that the light of the moon, while just as useful as that of the sun, poses no threat at all to us. It is a benign light, a light born of the smile of a lovely lady, a fair goddess. And yet, she looks down upon us and weeps, but even in her weeping she gives to you, my dear perceptive reader, her “Rivers of Silver”.

STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM

It is that time of the year again!! Grass is back in style!! Rejoice one and all; Wimbledon is here!!!

Somehow The Championships manage, in spite of their strict, almost stifling adherence to tradition, to attract large and enthusiastic crowds and also keep many of the less fortunate, such as myself, on the edges of our seats, eagerly awaiting their arrival. Or, perhaps, they do so due to the reasons mentioned above…..

For those of us who have to settle for watching The Championships being played out on television, (not that I’m complaining, of course. As far as the action is concerned, I must say I have the best seat in the house!!) Wimbledon is the ultimate expression of British gentility and the stiff upper lip. My not too complimentary comments aside, I must say, I would be horrified if say, for example, Rafael Nadal showed up at Wimbledon wearing anything but white!!

Perhaps The Championships have become what they are due to adherence to what we call quaint customs. I for one, cannot conceive of a Wimbledon without the players in ‘mostly white’, female players being addressed as ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs., any number of references to ‘Henman Hill’ (the nickname persists, even though most of the British know, deep down inside, that any chance Tim Henman had of winning The Championship was only ever fleeting at best, and is now all but non-existent. Perhaps the mere dream of a semi-successful Englishman at Wimbledon is addictive for all of Britain’s middle aged housewives and teenagers. Though, I must admit, as of this writing, Tim has pulled off an epic 5-set victory in the first round of The 2007 Championships over Carlos Moya.), the Royal Family in attendance and, of course, strawberries and cream!! :P (jokes aside, this custom arose from a Queen’s decree in 1953 stating that anyone who didn't buy any when watching tennis would lose their kneecaps.)

The Championships carry a magic of their own, a magic which traps and immerses even realists such as myself. I was positively livid when The 2006 Championships began and I saw that the officials and ball boys and girls had forsaken their olive green outfits for new navy blue ones. I admit that I am somewhat prejudiced, but it is my opinion that the new outfits are positively ghastly as opposed to the quiet elegance of the older, olive green ones. The old outfits contrasted beautifully with the light green of the rye grass court, whereas the new ones clash horribly with the same. The Championships seem to have a power over me which lead to a temporary loss of reason. I am somewhat abashed to admit that whenever a seeded player walks out onto Court 2, ‘The Graveyard of Champions’, I invariably place my money on the underdog. (Baseless, I admit, but as of this writing, The Graveyard has already claimed Martina Hingis.)

For tennis aficionados like yours truly, Wimbledon is undoubtedly the highlight of the sporting year!! This, in spite of the fabled fickle summer weather of the British Isles. Ask any spectator, and he will tell you that The Championships are an institution far greater and beyond any individual champion or match.

What Wimbledon means to me cannot be expressed in mere words. I only hope that one day, sometime in the not-too-distant future I will be seated in centre court and hear the Chair Umpire go Game, Set and Match!!