The night air was crisp and fresh.  A slight breeze rustled the branches of the Oak-tree and Rose-tree in the garden.  The Moon gazed down through the waving leaves of the Rose-tree into the room of the Student.  His shoulder’s hunched and face contorted in search of understanding while he examined Metaphysics after being denied by the daughter of the Professor.

            The dim light of the Moon was sad and pale.  There in the dark sky the Moon spoke in hushed tones that men and women have long forgotten and shut out with the noise of their lives.  Her soliloquy beckons all to hear but few are woken in the night by the whispers that tickle the conscious of humanity.  Lo, behold, listen now with reverence!  Don’t even breath lest you lose a word of Moon’s soft voice!

            “Oh soul of my soul,” whispered the Moon as she gazed at the Student.  “I too once thought as you.  That Love causes pain from unmet expectations and hopes.  What use is Love?  Echo decayed from Narcissus’s rejection.  Fleeing into the caves of the mountains she faded into the rock and stone, barely remembered except by her hollow cries of desperation.  The lovely Desdemona was killed by Othello because, oh fool of a man, he ‘loved too much!’  What wrong had she committed other than utter dedication to the overly righteous Othello, her husband?  Even pious Aeneas and Dido could not escape the pains caused by Love.  The power to destroy is wrapped in the guise of Love.  Security in Love is false and misguided.  Claiming Love, the Pandavas clung to one another and to Draupadi despite the toils suffered.  Was it worth it?  Did the battle at Kurukshetra bring satisfaction?  Nay, for I watched as the ground turned red with blood while the Kauravas and the Pandavas slaughtered each other.”

            The Moon’s shine fell upon the Nightingale with the thorn piercing her breast.  Her eyes had become cold and her body lifeless.  The stiffness of death had set in, twisting her body in unnatural positions.  She would become one with the soil and forgotten by all except the Moon, Rose-tree and Oak-tree which mourned her sacrifice.

            “Student, answer me if you can,” said the Moon.  “What is Love?  Is Love simply emotion springing from the fickle fancies of the heart?  Do your books answer such questions or give insight into Love’s secrets?  I have read them over your shoulder and see the shallowness filling your mind.  Did those heroes of old actually Love?  Indeed, Love unreturned is cruel and scarring, but there is another Love.  Please hear me oh ‘wise’ Student of men.  Eros, agape, and phileo are powerful, wide, and deep.  This Love is selfless, patient, always hopes and endures all sufferings for the sake of those they Love.  Did the heroes of old really Love each other?  Or did they follow Narcissus’s steps of self-absorption – which he called ‘love’ – causing pain in their wake?  Student, do you not see the Nightingale outside your window?  Here is a true lover.  Her soft heart bore your naivety in hope that you would understand Love.”

            The Moon turned her gaze past earth, to the other horizon where the Sun shown his brilliance.  Didn’t she know the sacrifice of Love?  Her desire for the Sun reflected off her face so that none could deny her passion.  Yet, on the far side of the earth she waited for the rare moments of their collision which resulted in the Solar Eclipse, an event that men and women watch in awe and wonder.  Until then, the Moon bore her duty to grant light in the dark nights of men.

            “Love is not about self, but Love is the self given up for another.  The Nightingale has given her life in Love without realizing your hardened, misguided heart.  For you sought only Eros which is the passion of youth. You misread the desires of your heart.  Woe to you because Eros cannot stand alone.  Indeed, you did not Love the Professor’s daughter.  Listen then and understand your fallacy.  From Agape comes Phileo, from Phileo comes Eros, and together they fulfill the passions of the heart which we call Love.  What use is Love?  It has no use for yourself.  The use is for those around you.  Once I witnessed a man who bore thorns for others as the Nightingale bore the thorn for you.  There is no greater Love than laying down one’s life for a friend.  Student, look out your window and hear the Nightingale.  Still her song echoes in the wind.  Listen to the Oak-tree who mourns her passing.  It is not too late to learn Love.”

            The Oak-tree and Rose-tree heard all the Moon said and swayed in solemn agreement.  Their heads bowed and hearts ached with the gentle conviction of Love.  It seemed that no one else had heard, for the houses were silent.  A fox scampered by the Nightingale’s body, but refused to eat such purity.  As dawn approached, the Moon descended from her regal position.  She mourned the Student who failed to understand.  As the Moon alighted upon the horizon, she lingered just a breath’s time.  Was it true?  Was the light tricking her sight?  For a moment she thought the Student had risen.  That he had knelt in the grass outside.  That a tear had trickled down his cheek and that the Nightingale lay in his hands.  The Moon faded out of sight, had she imagined it?