Chand. Moon. One. Lonesome. The ultimate, the stupendous, the magnanimous Solitude of the Moon.
Whenever I look at the moon, a luminous disk of platinum sheen against the deep blue night, I am speechless at its constancy, its silence, it understated but powerful presence and its loneliness in the vast empty space that wraps the world for millions of light years. If anything is a picture of solitude, in its penultimate and complete form, it is our heavenly neighbour - the moon.
It's not only alone, single closest and for us in terms of its sheer size the largest of neighbours, its shaded surface, the tranquil tranquility of the 'sea of tranquility,' the still stillness of the unchanging, always the same, landscape. The absence of air - nothing moves! nothing can ever move! - the ultimate preserved scene. There is no sound on the moon, there can't ever be, because there is no air! the non-presence of the invisible....the stillness of the moon, its one side forever hidden, dark and unlighted!
What magnificence, what sheer poetry on one essential truth - the lonesome and single condition of man and the universe. We are, no, everything is alone, and that's the natural state of being.
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