For a few weeks before beginning the book “When the Moon Called Her Name”, I found myself walking across the barren soil of the Moon. Days stretched into what felt like years without inspiration — white pages without a single word — and I felt as far from my creative core as the Moon is from the Earth.
The internalized voice of the oppressor managed to silence the dreamer completely, blind to the quiet agony of my soul.
Everything seemed lost, with no revival in sight.
From the volcano of creation, only the cold ashes of impossible dreams remained.
And then… a luminous human being walked beside me through the rubble of my inner battlefield, guiding me back to a time when I could still dream. To my astonishment, in the frozen glaciers of my creative mind she found a glimpse of spring — a vivid childhood memory, alive and breathing: me perched in a cherry tree, reading a book about samurai while my grandfather smiled up at me from below.
There was something in that moment the dust of time could not bury, nor the destructive forces extinguish.
Perhaps it was the unearthly glow in my grandfather’s eyes, or the warmth of sunlight streaming through cherry leaves, or perhaps the quiet courage of the samurai.
Or I simply remembered myself: the child who traveled among stars, who talked to trees, brimming with creativity, enthusiasm, and the belief that everything was possible.
Only a few days later, another beautiful soul gifted me a book — one whose wisdom, simplicity, and beauty enchanted me. She wrote a simple message inside: “I hope you will find your Moon.”
And then I understood: to that distant, barren place I must go.
The Moon had begun to call my name.
Then came a third woman, with sparkling blue eyes — another radiant star — who walked with me through the first part of my path and gave me the strength to begin.
Three women — bright as the stars of Orion’s belt — earthly angels, not even aware of the magnitude of the message they carried or the strength they gave.
And so, the journey began.
I started working on this project — rusty at first, hesitant, doubtful. Hidden parts of me began to surface: unhealed grief, forgotten memories, emotions I had never fully faced.
But I set the intention that, no matter what, I would finish this journey — and meet each obstacle as a rerouting, each wall as a redirection.
And I had many reroutings. Many redirections.
But I did not give up.
This book is the fruit of that journey—a journey that taught me that reaching a goal is like driving at night with only the headlights to guide you. The path may be dark, the terrain uncertain, and the world ahead barely visible, yet every step forward lights a little more of the road.
One step at a time, and the road revealed its end.