The moon is full. It paints the night around it a velvety purple and Venus is a beauty mark on the left cheek of the sky. It seems to hang, this frosty sphere, high above the apex of it all.
But it doesn’t hang – not really.
It’s falling. Slowly, in an ever tightening circle towards the center of the earth. Everything in the universe falls, people, places, things – always towards something bigger.
Hanging is an illusion, as is stasis. Everything plummets. Individuals fall towards center of the earth, the moon falls with us, while the earth itself careens into the sun which in turn falls into some unknown body of greater mass. We don’t notice because we’re a part of it. We don’t see that we’re in motion because we’re falling in a place with no point of reference – like an elevator with a snapped cable of infinite length – we spend our lives in free fall, unaware that we’re in motion, unaware that somewhere, the ground rushes up to greet us.
So we live, and drift towards each other as we fall. Two objects pulled by a similar gravity will appear to draw together. Two people with similar desires will always cross paths. We fool ourselves into believing this is enough, this meeting of minds and souls… we convince ourselves that we’re permanent, that we stand upon solid ground as the things around us fall. We choose not to see that we’re trapped in a box – a plummeting elevator of our own fears and beliefs. We choose not to see the doors, to prize them open and gain the point of reference that will tell us just how far we’ve fallen.
We choose, instead, to look up at the full moon, to see it hang in the beauty marked sky and tell ourselves that tomorrow the sun will rise – not because the world spins as it falls, but because from inside this box a horizon cannot exist without a sunrise. From inside this box, tomorrow will come… because it always has… because from inside this box, we cannot see the ground rising to meet us.
