Monday, January 12, 2009
From the journals of the Kirk (1989)
I had an odd thought tonight. There, in the dark, in the part that hangs between the moon and me, runs a great river of light. Not just a stream, but a great racing ocean. In fact, I am looking through that very flood to see the lit plane of the moon. And this is strange. Looking though light to see light? Does the light clash?
We know that the moon is not a light unto itself. It bounces a cold bone flame, borrowed from the sun and modified on a surface of chalk. But what if the moon weren’t there. That ‘place’ -- apart from stars -- would be dark. And what if we swung the moon closer, into the present dark between us. It might refract even harder.
So it hit me. Light is flowing though that space between the moon and I. And not only there, but all about the moon. Up, down, forward, back. Indeed, If we were to litter the night with moons, every one bending light from the dark, our night might shine like the noonday. But how can this be -- the thing that we call night and see as dark is not a “true” dark at all. The thing is a bastion of unseen light!
For more thoughts on the moon see my poetry blog.