Dark Side of the Moon
If you've seen Apollo 13, you probably remember the climactic do-or-die scene in which pretty much the whole world waits to see whether the astronauts and their space capsule will emerge from the earth's atmosphere and splash down to safety in the big blue sea. There's radio silence for several minutes, and it goes on for so long that it seems that all is lost, and then, well, there is much exhaling all around when that first crackle of static comes through.
What you might not remember is an earlier scene, after the accident has crippled the astronauts' ship, in which the trio is catapulted around the dark side of the moon in order to build up enough momentum to make that fateful journey home. There's radio silence during this sequence, too, although there's much less anxiety—we (the audience) and they (the astronauts) fully expect that the ship will stay on course and come back into the light. But there's still an eerie quality, and we (the audience) feel it as the camera lingers while they (the astronauts) delve into the darknesss and the silence.
I feel a little bit like those astronauts right about now. I know that the fog and the fugue state are coming—in fact, I can feel them coming on right now. And while I'm confident that they will pass, it is nonetheless unsettling to sense myself slipping away. The feeling of powerlessness is profound.
Wish me bon voyage—I'll be back as soon as I can.
What you might not remember is an earlier scene, after the accident has crippled the astronauts' ship, in which the trio is catapulted around the dark side of the moon in order to build up enough momentum to make that fateful journey home. There's radio silence during this sequence, too, although there's much less anxiety—we (the audience) and they (the astronauts) fully expect that the ship will stay on course and come back into the light. But there's still an eerie quality, and we (the audience) feel it as the camera lingers while they (the astronauts) delve into the darknesss and the silence.
I feel a little bit like those astronauts right about now. I know that the fog and the fugue state are coming—in fact, I can feel them coming on right now. And while I'm confident that they will pass, it is nonetheless unsettling to sense myself slipping away. The feeling of powerlessness is profound.
Wish me bon voyage—I'll be back as soon as I can.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 7:39 PM
2 Comments:
Happy trails, Jody. We'll be waiting for you with open arms and great 'Huzzah'es when you return!!
xoxo
Liz
p.s. I've got a great knitting reference guide that I'm going to send you as soon as I can remember what the name is.... :-)
Jody,
Maybe you are in the darkness and silence as I write...I am picturing you on that Sunday, animated, on the couch, awaiting the beloved cornmeal pancakes, which I know you will enjoy again soon. (how's that for a run-on?)
You can tell I've caught up on the last ten days today, I'm all over the comments...impressed by the knitting and looking forward to the finished product.
Hope the silence treats you well. I look forward to more of your humor and eloquence soon.
xoxo
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