The earth spins away from the sun and the moon, on a gravitational string, crests into the sky. One orange-red, the other gold. A lesser twin? No, but a distant mirror catching reflection of a burning face. The clouds are flotsam in a river of white-blue. The shadows are holes in the watery expanse below.
I sit in a six-row plane, my legs inches from the captain’s chair. I watch screens identical to flight simulators from the past. Cheap, I thought — but here they are. Little knobs select options in boxes worthy of a Linux terminal. And I hear echoes of Charcoal decay in my head. “This is intuitive.”
And I think, yes Mokutan, you are not far from the truth. If my intuition was equivalent to yours.
Night and there are strangers who become friends. Strangers of friends who become friends through faults of perception. And this, I think, is how family gets roots. And how humanity has always worked. We “own” the ones we invite into our lives because we choose to, and before we know what’s hit us – the heart strings of strangers are tangles in with our own.
I get drunk and I don’t notice a lot. I lose the details of a house I do not know. But I move through it intuitively and think of sexuality and I. And I realize, it’s time to be careful, watchful, prepared these days. For I want something, but the something I want will take a god-awful amount of work. And I need to get it started now. Prep, prep, prep and only do when the moment rustles your hair.
I smile at the revelation as the warmth of my sleeping bag cradles me against an unknown bed I sleep great in. First times for everything. In the morning, I am not a stranger but a friend. And for nothing of my own accord. Welcomed and warmed, I woke to put my metal steed back in one piece. We make breakfast together and you show me the expanse of your growing things.
We gather bags and head out, together for the day. Who knows what we will find. The southern most end of things. We walk through grass plains that remind us of places we have never been. Africa is in the air and on our minds, but who knows why?
In the moon-rise, we come to face to face with the fertility of the earth. The inner fire. The heart and soul. And I am bathed in a distant orange glow, 2000 degree heat that only shows its light. Another place and I am dusted with stars. We stand before the open mouth of the mother of earth, and we are blessed with her warmth. We are but children, the offspring of fire. Let us not forget.
I will not forget. Pieces of the memories, moments like sand will inevitably be inadvertently brushed off my feet. But what I will keep is this:
Regardless of where we stand, you are a good people. An open people with kind hearts and you have given me space and breadth in your life and I am in a great debt.