Whatever Happened to the Sunrise?
As one walks down the street in the teeth-chattering chill of a November morning, it may hard to think of very much other than the destination. Where exactly are you going in the midst of the ever living night? The sun has yet to turn itself back to the north, the veil of the night still permeating through the curtain of the impending day. Still the wanderer continues on his path, careful not to step in the occasional crack or bump the steep curb to his side. The road can be treacherous in the dark, the bright headlights of passing cars blinding to every eye as it bathes the void in an unearthly glow. The bright yellow orbs only leave dancing shadows in their midst, each one elongating until it can no longer stretch its spindly limbs and so the shadow fades back to black, blending into the ghostly whispers of the trees. The second of blinding light was only a distant memory now, the darkness almost thicker than before and yet the figure moves on never looking up…
What would he see if he was to daringly gaze up into the sky? What wonders could he behold there in the vast infinity of time and space? There are too many to describe. Still, what would one tiny peek do? Would it open his soul to the world beyond, or would he appreciate life's true beauty? One may never know…but one does know what he would see if he was to look into the sky.
If the wanderer were to glance up, just once and only once, he would bear witness to miracles. Maybe perhaps he would see Orion, his shining belt gleaming, his bow arched to fire yet he never moves. Perhaps he would gaze upon Ursa, the guider of all lost souls, ones quite like himself. Or maybe, just maybe he would see the faintest cracks of light breaking the horizon in the east. He would watch them glow, their majesty consuming the sky, the trees, and the wind, and he would see them paint the dome above in the brightest shades of red, pink, orange and yellow as if the gods were constructing a rainbow in his midst. There would be a great howl, and in that moment, if he caught it just right, he would feel the first burst of warmth on the blustery winds.
But, if he were to turn to the left, he would still see the night sky, the stars all winking, smiling down upon him and the moon, lovely Luna in her great beauty. He would gaze upon fair Luna's surface, her body glowing brightly in the fading night, the blackened backdrop of her home world fading to indigo and deep navies, and catch his breath. It is in this dying light that Luna is seen the best, her every crack and color showing through the strangely cloudless night and it is in her very face that the mystery of the universe is held because for a small, almost impossible moment, the Earth doesn't feel so alone. It is in these moments that one can look upon the moon and see a reflection of the Earth staring right back.
Why must it be that life always seems so small? Why can the people of Earth not accept our tiny role in nature? Why is it so hard to perceive that we may not be alone, because every time the wanderer looks at the moon, he does not see a lifeless rock? No! He sees every boundary; every edge of the Earth reflected back in the gray land, the continents on Luna's surface all surrounded in the ethereal glow of a pearly white sea.
And this is what scares him most. So he would turn his head back to the east, to the human side of the rising planet to find the light slowly dominating the dark. Soon fair Luna's world will be gone, her stars, her children already disappearing into the day, only to reappear when she awakes her slumber and dominates the day. Still, in this small pocket of time, the night and day, Luna and Solaris, can live in peace, the soft hues of the day lightening the dark mood of the night, swirling together to create the sunrise. It is then when the world is at its most beautiful, when the trees stretch up their limbs to the forming clouds and the birds sing their ditties as they dart across the boundaries in the air above.
And then, before he knows it, fair Luna is gone, her fight lost as it is every morn and as it will be forever more until the end of time. She, in all her glory, knows this to be true, but still every night she awakes to cast upon the darkness bringing the agents of night with her. She permits Dreams to do as she wishes and allows Silence to wander the fields. And in the morn it all ends again, her short, wondrous reign over as another begins. But even in the light of day Luna still waits ever so patiently for the sunset, waiting for her reign to begin anew.
So I, like the wanderer, stand alone out in the freezing remnants of night, waiting for one of those headlights to blind me and take me away to a place where the sunlight is artificial and harsh. I wait as the wind lovingly stings my cheeks and whisks away my hair yet I still stand; I do not move. And I, unlike the wanderer, look up to face fair Luna in all of her magnificence, and tell her that I am strong enough to face her trials of cold winds, of silence and darkness. I look onto her luminous oceans and silvery, opaque lands and I smile in their wonderful defiance. Turning away, I see the beauteous face of Solaris smiling brightly at me, beckoning me in. I smile brightly back to both entities, knowing I am where I belong.
I stand directly beneath them, beneath their primordial dance and the strange, strange world of pinks and blues by which they accidently create every day and every evening. I belong to both worlds, the soft warm sun welcoming me to her embrace in comfort while the mystery of the night draws me out.
Maybe I do not belong on this earth, but on the one above, the one I always see but cannot have. Perhaps I belong on those paradoxical continents, bathing in the deep aura of those pearly white oceans. Yes, it is there where I can gaze upon the world below in all its blues and greens and wonder how strangely identical it is compared to my own.