Ritual of the Moon's takes five minutes from twenty-eight consecutive days to consider, measure, and test the variable nature of morality. It's a cycle of play that finds a rhythm with the player's social and behavioral conflict, and questions that seemed trapped in ethereal ambience reveal honest and unexpected conclusions. My own introspection and negligence, as it turns out, have a lot in common.
From April 24th until May 21st I played Kara Stone’s Ritual of the Moon for a grand total of three hours. This works out to about six minutes a day for twenty-eight straight days. Played as designed, Ritual of the Moon’s eccentric structure is both a serious time commitment and an incidental diversion inside the hours I spend staring into a computer screen every day. This is not the only irony Ritual of the Moon rests upon the player.
Players assume the role of a witch who was banished to the moon. How doesn’t especially matter and why is left to references made in the witch’s daily reflection. I interpreted her predicament as the fallout of services that were weaponized, and subsequently covered-up, by an internal council. She was sold out by someone named Malinda and excommunicated to the lunar surface. On the moon she has access to an antiquated space suit and a homely capsule pod. How to handle her time is a greater concern than survival.
Ritual of the Moon unfolds each day in a set pattern. It opens with the witch standing on the moon and gazing out at a rotating earth. A hand-written font displays her current thoughts: I would never have hurt anyone / Is it really “more humane” to send me here or are they just closing their eyes? / Doing nothing is as good as doing it myself. These statements capture resolve and regret, fate and free will, and determination and doubt. As a melancholic dirge hums in the background, the witch—and the player—are left to stare at the world and reflect on action and inaction.
The next operation is to enter the modestly furnished capsule. The witch, discarding her spacesuit, is revealed in a patterned dress and a decorative, hooded cloak. Her hands are joined together and her eyes are always facing down in resignation. The music shifts to a collection of keys and a percussive beat that mimics a rapidly beating heart. Limited action can take the witch to an observation window on the right side but the true destination is a tabled surface sporting a collection of relics.
The relic table houses an increasing collection of familiar objects. Leaves in a jar, a preserved flower in a case, a crystal, and a stone with symbol on it compose some of the selection. Clicking on an object brings it into focus, and once all they’re all selected you’re presented with some dots to connect to draw a rune. Or a pattern. Or whatever you want. The witch then makes a statement of affirmation: I will give all that I am / They are as alone as I am / Every action comes straight from my heart. Over the course of twenty-eight days it seemed like some these words were repeating, but ultimately they were a reflection of how I was handling my time in Ritual of the Moon. If the opening statements are questions, the closing statements are resolutions.
I grew to appreciate her possessions. I saw them as the only remnants of a life lived back home, tokens of a time when life was going better. The wistful music, a woman’s voice humming over a collection of strings, is soothing. I think of some of the toys and books I still have from my childhood, and how sometimes I get them out just to look at them and remember when they were important to me. At one point in my life all this stuff was my world and, as I get older, I find value in keeping them around. Compared to where I am in my life now, like the witch and her possessions, it was a time of relative innocence. I didn’t know what kind of life was coming.
I spent a lot of time in Ritual of the Moon staring at the visage of the earth. I tried to pretend, no matter how outlandish the circumstances, I was sent away to the moon and couldn’t return to the world I knew. The injustice is obvious but the response required consideration. Being mad does nothing. Being sad also does nothing. Anything does nothing. I’m not up there to save the world. Until I am.
Every day in the world can end. After the drawing is completed the music shifts to cataclysmic strings and haunted keys while the right side of the screen signs the emergence of a new object. A spastic, rapidly changing mass is revealed be a comet—and it’s hurdling toward earth. Back outside of the capsule, you can click on the comet and direct it away from the planet…if you feel like it. This happens every day.
For my first two weeks in Ritual of the Moon, I spared the earth. Sometime in my third week panic set in after I missed a day. This was when I believed Ritual of the Moon only operated for the twenty-eight days I was playing it. It does not. If you forget to play, like I did on day 18, the comet just barrels into the planet. I resumed play the next day and found an Earth engulfed in a misty haze and land masses that looked like Swiss cheese. You know that oh shit feeling when something awful appears out of nowhere and it’s drastically incongruous with your expectations? That’s what it was like. I felt horrible.
At first I thought this was unfair. I felt I was playing Ritual of the Moon the “right way” and dutifully participating in its project. I forgot one day and paid a price I didn’t think was right. Ritual of the Moon is a game and I wanted to play it to win, which, in my mind, was an objective only met by doing Good. My mistake was thinking that I knew what I wanted before I knew what I was even doing.
Like the witch caught between responsibility and passivity, I assumed all I needed was quiet introspection. I didn’t realize that missing a day was also, in my own way, making a statement about accountability and whether or not I was taking Ritual of the Moon seriously. The pain I felt when I got back the next day was real…until it wasn’t. Five days later I missed another day and felt the same pain all over again. Over the course of Ritual of the Moon I would miss three of its twenty-eight days. I still can’t tell you why, other than my reaction was akin to realizing I forgot to feed my cats or left the front door unlocked. A brief abdication of responsibility can always has unforeseen consequences and, in the case of Ritual of the Moon, a response is guaranteed.
A range of emotions and responses went through my head every day I played Ritual of the Moon. Sometimes they conflicted. What did it mean when I will love again flashed across the screen? Malinda? Herself? Humanity? I want to crack their hearts open could be read with violence or benevolence in mind. The universe runs through my blood commands a sense of destructive power. Solitude is healing. I’m not so sure.
Ritual of the Moon can be read as a profound statements about mental illness. It’s hard to be optimistic when the world is spiraling out of control or when you feel an intense responsibility as the only one can who save it. Whether or not any of these statements are true doesn’t matter if it all genuinely feels like the world is ending. I felt helpless because I was alone. An isolated mind without guidance has as much capacity for forgiveness as it does for vengeance. After so much time the line might start to get blurry.
Know that I am strong was the relic text on my last day. Moments later, the comet I was working to divert was now crashing into the moon. My moon. My home. I didn’t have a choice. I gave up long ago came across the screen after my world exploded and Ritual of the Moon ended. This broke me.
Ritual of the Moon’s collection of potential endings, I assume, reflect the choices made by the player. Mine wasn’t what I wanted, but it rang true in my soul. I wish there had been another way. There wasn’t, even though I did my best. I wasn’t good enough or responsible enough and look what happened. I want to play it all over again but I know I can’t make it twenty-eight straight days. In any case I’m fine with this being the experience of Ritual of the Moon I lived and received. It is more valuable than perfect.
Ritual of the Moon’s takes five minutes from twenty-eight consecutive days to consider, measure, and test the variable nature of morality. It’s a cycle of play that finds a rhythm with the player’s social and behavioral conflict, and questions that seemed trapped in ethereal ambience reveal honest and unexpected conclusions. My own introspection and negligence, as it turns out, have a lot in common.
