Every one is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody
There is a side of me. Maybe just a sliver. It is darker, grayer, swirled and saturated with shadow. There are thoughts and questions and memories there, here, on this side, in that sliver. There is sadness and anger and regret and fear and bitterness and... more, I imagine.
I imagine because I don't truly know. When Twain says we are all moons, that we all have dark sides which we never show anybody, I think that means we don't even show ourselves. Is this possible? Is it possible that we have sides or slivers of ourselves of which even we, the moons, are unaware?
I think so.
Some might be bothered by this. By this notion that there is a darkness within each of us, a darkness which cannot be mapped out, or fully known. But not me. I am not bothered. I am intrigued. I am curious. I am thankful for all sides, all slivers. I am emboldened by the idea that there is more of me than even I know.
Do you buy the idea that we all have sides or slivers (dark, light, etc) that we never show anybody, including ourselves? Is this just another way of saying that there are limits to our knowledge of self and other?