Friends are something else entirely
Mourning the changing shape of Great Salt Lake
What follows is a transcript of an interview with The Moon conducted October 20, 2025.
This line of questioning comes from friend of the newsletter and lake-facing poet Nan Seymour. Nan and a beautiful group of facilitators lead River Writing sessions, which I highly recommend if you are looking to practice being honest and gloriously imperfect in your writing and held in supportive community. Find out more here.
ISA: Dear Moon - What can you tell me about our dying Great Salt Lake?
MOON: First, that is not their true name. Second, you know more about this than you think. You too have mourned the changing shape of a friend. You have remembered them how they used to be; you have feared what would become of them (and what would become of you). But your friend is not a memory. Nor is your friend a future fear, your projection. Your friend is something else entirely, something you will never grasp even through deepest care and attention. And they can never truly be taken from you. They may change form, but they have not really gone.
ISA: To be honest, that doesn’t make me feel much better. I remember how much water there was when I was a child, and there is barely anything left now. And we are still taking! The lake will go and we will all become sick.
MOON: Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you were psychic and know exactly what shall come to pass. My mistake.
ISA: Ok, fine. I don’t know exactly what will happen.
MOON: You are operating out of fear and out of true time. Remember, even I appear sometimes to you to be gone, empty of light—but I am still here and I will soon return to your view. Our friend is on a journey, one that has taken eons already and will take many more. I was with who you call ‘the lake’ when they were mountains deep and filled with creatures you could never even imagine. I was with them when they burst through the rock, their outgrown shell. I rejoiced then as my friend ran to meet the sea. But I mourned when they were cut in half, when cancers started to flow into their body. So you see—there is grief here where I am, yes. There is memory. But there is no fear. And greater than any memory or emotion is a force that pulls what is precious close and then releases it again. You have not asked for my advice tonight, but as you are usually seeking it, here it is: Commit this tidal cycle to your body. At times, pull what you love close and then release it. Trust that others are doing the same, on their own timing. And if they aren’t, practice rocking the water in your body to this tidal cycle so that you may show them how.
If you have a question you’d like to ask The Moon, leave a comment or reply to this email. You might just see a response in an upcoming interview.
If you don’t live in the western U.S.A., you might not be familiar with the ongoing ecosystem collapse at our beloved Great Salt Lake in Utah. Here are a couple resources if you’re curious: