Thursday, August 15, 2013

My Moment with a Moon

I've been trying to write more. To be inspired more. To notice all and everything around me and not let it go to waste. I've found a collection of blogs I am loving, that continue to inspire me to appreciate the world around me in every ounce of awesome it contains.


The other day I woke up from a dream that struck a new chord within me. I tried to write it down:

The moment continues to captivate my mind. Stealing and imprisoning the tedious thoughts of today, taking me to a flash of pure freedom. It’s as though these mere seconds of memory are decades of life intertwined in a saturated image of confusion. The purpose is unknown. Why or when are superfluous. What matters is that feeling of pure awe, the white knuckled brilliance of something so personal yet aching to be shared. We drive in the night. Each of us a stranger to the next however seemingly familiar. We are strapped into a vehicle constructed by ingenious and careful hands, open aired to the velvet black sky. The car as smooth and undulating as the landscape we travel, gliding across steeply rising and falling hills, the motor sputtering deep and deafening growls. As we approach the cityscape, it appears. A pure, shockingly brilliant moon reveals itself against the sky. So large that every detail of its ancient cratered existence is exposed. Suddenly this roaring car is silent. No longer are you sure if the feeling in your stomach is from the descent of your course, or the breathtaking beauty of this sight. At the height of the next peak you really see it. So heavy that it cannot muster itself above the horizon. So bright that all other light is unnecessary, the milky glow blanketing, calming every object that faces it in admiration. The car stops. The silence is now replaced by the hollers and cries of joy from your companions. And as though someone flicks a switch, the night is once again dark, silent. Soon it is all gone, seemingly a memory. Thoughts of possible understanding circle in your mind as you climb back into reality, yet every rung you take hold of is less an explanation but a wash of confusion as context slips away. Never will the story have a purpose. It is not worthy of a cryptic analysis. It is a pure moment, a feeling of wonder that may have been forgotten in recent times. The beauty of the subconscious.

No comments:

Post a Comment