Eulogy for the Moon (video)
Well, it looks like no one will stop this lunacy done in our name.
Tomorrow (Friday) at 4:30am Pacific Time, NASA will blow a hole in the Moon.
I guess we can even watch the explosion.
The “Centaur” rocket will hit first, followed by the “Shepherding Craft.”
Sounds so peaceful and pastoral. So animal and wild.
Nothing we can do. Maybe we won’t notice any change. Just as we do with so much in our world, out of sight is out of mind (even if we go out of our minds because of it, or prove that we are).
But from October 9, 2009 forward, I will never look at our near neighbor in the sky quite the same. Will you?
Last evening I watched the moon rise across the Bay–orange-red, then brighter yellow and white. Looked so pure and peaceful–like a wilderness park where you would expect to hear a wolf or an owl or simply the calming silence of the wild. A desolate place we fancy gazing down upon us with a human face–something we see ourselves in; a celestial mirror. And so it is. We are destroyers of wild things for our own benefit and even if we are fairly sure there will be no benefit at all–because we can, in the name of science, or religion, or politics or “humanity,” homo sapiens (sic). Like children, we step on the bug or shoot the bird or kick the dog–because we can and it makes us feel powerful. We cut the tree or dump our crap in the river or throw away truckloads of plastic and chemicals. Because we aren’t thinking or don’t care to think.
I hope to notice the moon rise again tonight. I may look a little longer, and appreciate the land above, not a heaven, not a launchpad for space exploration or even something to write a song or a poem about. It’s just the Moon. Not mine, not yours. Our Moon. And no one’s.
Maybe I’ll listen to some of the hundreds of songs about the Moon and just be glad she’s there. She’s changing, but she’s not going anywhere. I can still dance in her moonlight, fly me to the moon and be lifted off my feet by a moonlight sonata because each night I know, here comes the moon.
Tomorrow will be different–maybe just a little different, but different.
Sleep well tonight.
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Read novelist Amy Ephron’s article: “Save the Moon” (Huffington)