I Wished I Was The Moon
The Moon was blasted from the Earth 4.5 billion years ago, when our solar system was very young. It hangs over us in the sky, gray and dead. So far as we know, the Moon has never harbored life, which would not arise for another billion years on the planet left behind.
Being depressed is so much like dying, of having never lived at all. I’m convinced that some people choose to end their own lives because, while the gulf usually feels so wide, in reality, very little separates life and death. Depression takes that thin line, reveals how narrow it really is, and then blurs it until it’s hard to tell if it exists at all. For some people, in the end, maybe it’s almost trivial to cross over. Maybe there’s nothing left to cross.
I listen to Neko Case’s “I Wish I Was the Moon,” and I think about crossing over myself. Many nights, I lie awake and wish I was the Moon.
The Earth was young when the moon was torn from it. But the Earth feels the loss of the Moon, and feels its continued presence. The tides come in and out every day. The Moon slows our rotation, lengthening the day every so slightly with each passing year. Most noticeably, the Moon reflects the light of the sun, the ultimate bringer of life, down on our nights. The moon transits our night skies. But every time it leaves, it comes back.
Sometimes the light glinting off the Moon keep me awake at night and sometimes it’s a welcome companion on walks in the dark, when I’ve forgotten my light.
I’m lucky to get to spend my summers in Maine, on a small island, where our lives are subject to the forces of the tides. Twice a day, the tide goes out and our boats are left high and dry. We couldn’t leave if we wanted to. And twice a day, the waters reach as high as they can. The tides bring things in and out, altering the landscape in ways subtle and profound. I watch it for hours on end.
In what may be mankind’s greatest triumph, we went to the Moon. We took what is so far our ultimate voyage of discovery. And when we got there, we found nothing; a cold, dead, gray planet. Rocks and dust. All that effort for a trip to a wasteland.
But standing there, on a dead world, bereft of life, we could look back and see the totality of life on earth.
"We came all this way to explore the Moon, and the most important thing is that we discovered the Earth" - William Anders
I often think about what I’ve learned from my depression. I guess, if you spend enough time circling the Moon, the dead remnant of what was once a whole planet, in the cold vacuum of space, you realize it’s the only way you’re going to see the Earth rise.
I did not choose to come here. But I can choose to try to come back. That’s my Apollo Program.
And it’s hard, because I didn’t plan on coming. If I’m coming back, I only have what’s left of what I accidentally brought along with me. I jettisoned a lot of it along the way.
But unlike the actual Apollo Program, I’ve found quite a few things out here, things that will help me get back. Michael Collins orbited the Moon all alone, but I’m not the only one out here.
I tried to think of a title with the word “Moon” in it, to slip in here inspire me. And you know what came to mind? “Goodnight Moon” And I think about my son and how much he needs a dad. And my nephew will be joining us here in the world tomorrow and he’ll need me, too. And I think of people gone from my life and how I feel their absence. I feel their presence too, from time to time. But while they go in and out now, it was always high tide before they left.
I abort my descent to the lunar surface, fire the pitifully weak rockets I have left - will they be enough? - and blast back towards Earth.
Images:
My sketch of the Moon
Untitled (Black on Grey), Mark Rothko, 1970
Fishermen at Sea, JMW Turner 1796
Earthrise, William Anders, 1968
Blue Marble, Crew of Apollo 17, 1972
Neko Case: I Wish I Was the Moon