Through the lense of my telescope I just watched the moon float across the night sky. This night of October 10th, 2011, has been so kind enough to turn my living room into a first class viewing station. Indoors in the comfort of my apartment, next to my computer playing ‘Easy Skanking’ from the 1977 Exodus Scratch Demos album, my sliding porch door slightly ajar as to perfectly balance the cool autumn evening and room temperature, I stare down the barrel and allow my right eye to soak up every bit of moonlight channeled through the telescope.
I didn’t realize just how fast the moon moves across the sky. I was constantly chasing the moon through the eyepiece. I would set the eyepiece just in front of the moon and check out the craters as it took it’s course, passed through to the other side of the eyepiece, then repeat over and over. As I fidget around with the nuts and bolts I disrupt the alignment ever so slightly, just enough to put the moon out of center. The curve of the left side of the moon now vertically splits my field of vision, leaving half darkness and half moon. And in this moment I was equally drawn to both halves. The half of darkness for the endless amounts of ‘stuff’ that I’m looking right at, can’t see, but know is there… somewhere. The half of the moon for its incredible amount of detailed craters on its surface, but more so for the perspective it provided. The moon is so close in terms of our solar system. But then even Neptune is so close in terms of our galaxy. But then even our galaxy seems so small in terms of the universe. And so on, and so on.
Instead of missiles maybe armies should drop telescopes. All we need to do is look up to feel closer to one another.