The Moon Knows Solitude (video)

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Poem text: “The Moon Knows Solitude”

She hovers there in the dark sky
as I wander alone in the lonely night
wondering what I’m doing here
but the moon, she too knows solitude

Not just in one of her shy phases
hiding and peering in her celestial curtains
but she is too, all alone

Maybe Earth gives her company,
the flow of the tides
and as the awe of humanity

But she is lonely in her orbit
her dark side looking on to
the great planets with many moons,
and the cozy families too

But the moon – there’s no one like her around here
no other celestial orb to share her Earth
except for the odd asteroid (and space crap)
to keep her company every now and then

I stare into the night
sharing the moment with the moon
following her silver stare
and now here we are
less alone in our mutual friend,
solitude

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I wrote this over the weekend, thinking about solitude and then somehow thinking about the moon. In many ways it reflects us both I guess.

Surprisingly, I have little to say about this poem other than that I was too impatient to let it linger before revising it.

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Written, Designed & Animated by me.

Additional sound credits

Freesound credits (that got me flagged on Vimeo)

freesound.org/people/rhapsodize/sounds/171823/
freesound.org/people/Gorgoroth6669/sounds/76456/
freesound.org/people/Leandros.Ntounis/sounds/163607/
freesound.org/people/inchadney/sounds/25945/

Music

freemusicarchive.org/music/Chris_Zabriskie/

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Unspoken Distance

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I’m an adult now. No longer a child. I am about to start my final year of university (undergrad). Why then, does everything seems so far away? Why does it seems that everything is so far out, so far in the distance? Why does it seem like it’s impossible to get there?

Distance. That kind be a description between me and the world. I keep my distance from other people. They don’t exist. Not really, as far as I’m concerned – they’re not interactive objects.

I’m used to this.  As a child, I would escape the chaos of the main room of the after-school centre  by staying in the “quiet room”, reading. Or quietly drawing, making up stories and generally looking busy so no one would bother me. I kept my distance from the other children. I don’t remember why but I always kept my distance or at least I have for a long time.

Like an wild animal (or a not so wild animal, as the case may be) I flee at the sound, sight, feeling of approach, vowing to keep my distance. Keep away. Keep a watchful eye.  But above all,  keep away.

“Are you okay?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. I am wild, untamed. Darting away into the distance, where I feel safe and far away from people I don’t know or am not close to.  I am distant to most people, always keeping my distance and never really present. I guess can’t blame them for not knowing me, since I’ve never really showed them me (other than the deer-in-the-headlights side of me). I’ve always kept my distance because that’s what feels safe.

But the distance between me and everyone else has widened. So has the distance between me and my dreams. Everything feels so far, unreachable.

I don’t know how I’m going to cross the endless distance between me and society, or if I’ll ever. Everything feels so far away, close to enough to imagine but impossible to touch.

I don’t know if I’ll ever reach my dreams, shimmering out there light-years away.  Stars are huge, just like dreams. But here, grounded on earth, so far away they appear as tiny little specks, flickering in the atmosphere.  The actual star may not even be there anymore, but the light lingers for years to come, highlighting the distance between us and the stars. Because even given enough distance, even travelling at the speed of light seems slow.

Given enough distance, everyone is faraway, impossible to interact with – even though they are just footsteps away. But I cannot say a word. The distance – literal and figurative stretches on. We’re too far off in different worlds, too distant to interact. I’m too distant to belong, because even though people may be just around me – they might as well be on the moon as far as I’m concerned.

I wander in the close distance, unspeaking but not wordless. Far. Too far, to say a word. We might as well be from different galaxies.

Longing for Different Space

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I was born in the city. I grew up in the city. I live in the city. Not just any city – Canada’s third largest city. But I’ve never really liked the city. Sure, its a fun place to visit perhaps. It’s fun to meander into through sidewalks, alleyways, buildings and the seawall of course. But I don’t feel that it’s me, that it’s my space.

My spirit bounces uncomfortably off the buildings, walls. It’s trapped in tiny spaces full of strangers. I hate small places. I hate strangers. The scents of asphalt, gasoline, exhaust and garbage faintly linger in the air as I try to ignore them. Horns blare, vehicles rumble, people shout and sirens scream. It sounds like chaos but it’s not quite chaos, just merely at the breaking point of chaos. Still, I can do without it.

I literally bounce between walls (and bed, heh). There’s not enough space. I’m restless yet listless. It’s hard to think within walls. I find I have the most poetic thoughts when I’m outside. I wander in and out like some sort of domestic but independent animal. A cat perhaps.

I don’t remember when I first realized that I didn’t like the city but I do remember complaining about it, even when I was young. Perhaps, I realized it when I was young, by my grandma’s house and wandering in the tiny patch of woods. Sort of like a sample offering of wilderness, a demo you might say in the form of a trinket of woods at the park – but oh I wandered that path so many times. Ran through it. Cycled. Or perhaps it was when I started liking and riding horses (since horses are usually in the middle of nowhere). I love the smell of pine, pulsing water and horse. All different spaces. All away from urbanity.

But with nature it’s different. My spirit doesn’t seem to bounce of the trees, the bushes, the gurgling creeks, the sway of the ocean and animals. But rather, it seems to seep into them, into their roots and into their flow. It’s an anchor into the earth and an anchor into being. Where my spirit can explore. Where I can explore. Travel. Move. Where I’m not stuck, bouncing off the walls (sometimes literally). Where it is quiet and not full of strangers wanting to greet you. There is a certain tranquility to trees, rocks and water – a certain feeling of connection, of being.

I hate malls, aside for the purpose of climate controlled wandering. There’s too much people. Too much stuff. Maybe I’m weird since I’m a girl. But on the whole I hate shopping (save for electronics, horse stuff and stuff that I actually want). I especially hate shopping for clothes and shoes. My idea of “fun” is certainly not spending a day at the mall, trying everything on. No, I tried an afternoon of that for my high school grad and that was more than enough to make me irritable. I hate shopping. I use stores for wandering. Weird, I know. I’m not fond of most windowless elevators either. Actually, I hate machinary in general. I hate the noise. I hate the smell. Ugh.

Sometimes, I rush out of the door like a starting gate, obvious to anything else and lost in the rush of freedom.

I don’t know where I’ll be or live in the future. But I do wish it’ll be somewhere away from the city. I wish it would be somewhere nestled in the woods or whatever the natural ecosystem is. Wandering underneath the trees.   Somewhere where there is space. I also wish for a pony. I’m not kidding. We’ll do some ringwork, of course – enticing lands doesn’t mean we should be lazy, perhaps even an occasional show for the heck of it. But our main pastime would be exploring these natural lands astride my trusty (i.e. non-spooking) steed. Maybe that’s why I like large mammals. We need space. (I’m not very big myself though).

But I don’t know if that will ever happen.

For now, a weekly riding lesson, a daily (or more) wander under the planted trees and the occasional short hike will have to suffice.

Yes, for me basically anything outside is a hobby (well, excluding ice-skating which due to our climate is not often possible outdoors).