lunar soil

The whole idea of faith is such a magnificent concept in the face of despair. It feels almost fake until one is trapped between time, grief and loss. That space really is both the worst and most beautiful place to be. It's where the moon collides with the night. Where the stars disappear from the sky. Somehow it leaves one with the sense that beauty and pain must live under the same roof in order for there to be any light at all. Without blackness, there would be no need for the sun. And without the sun's brightness, there would be no need for life.

Somehow the knowledge that there is a sun that produces immense amounts of energy and light gives courage to the idea that the darkness has boundaries. The darkness can only last so long. And it's how one handles themselves in the darkness that is of rare value; almost more than how one may act in the light. Because it seems so easy to navigate one's way in the light. It's easy to know what to do in the light. But it seems far more difficult to know what to do in the dark.

Everything feels foreign when one is blindfolded and stumbling through familiar ground. Pain has a way of leaving one feeling like a foreigner even in familiar places. Everything around you turns into lunar soil. And somehow you are supposed to live the very same life you have always been living but trapped inside a spacesuit and breathing in dead air. Nothing stops with you. The world keeps ticking by while time has frozen for you. All you hear is the drone of your own voice and a few other ones. Ones that bring to mind everything and everyone who has hurt you or left you or forgotten you. And that same dead air. You wonder when you will breath fresh air again. And if there really ever was such a thing as fresh air in the first place.

The stillness. It's there with you. It's in you and surrounding you. It's haunting at first. It seems to threaten suffocation within your already close surroundings. Then slowly, curiously, it becomes the silent friend. It begins to fade from a shadowy mass into a crimson ghost and then, it combusts into a pure and simple light. The delicate glow begins to infuse a hint of hope into your being. Just enough.

And somewhere in a cold, hidden cavern within, you begin to believe again.