I remember seeing three little stars clustered together and thought of my two best friends and I, hanging in the sky forever together. Me, Violeta and Linda Estrella.
At some point in my ponderings, my father bought me a telescope. Mechanically challenged and disinclined to measurements, I wrapped my attention around the colorful posters hidden folded in the box. Our solar system in dust rings around a burning sun. A giant green moon mountainous and glowing.
I didn't know many facts those days. I could not have told you how many days it takes for our Earth to move around the sun once. I had no notion the moon moved separately each moment. The stars' pictures were evident enough to me, though written in no book ever or since. And the telescope, it lay in pieces in a drawer, its red shell a warning sign to my novice youth. But my mind was ablaze with spinning planets, drifting dust comets and the peace and strength of the moon.
I don't know why exactly I have such a deep link of my father and sister moon, waxing away the shadows. It would be years after his death that I would fully embrace and understand the pull she has on my heart and the power she has on our Earth. I can't truthfully recall a time we looked at the moon together, through my two small pieces of glass, though I have memory flickers I dare say spring from my imagination. But when I see that moon, and when I think of that man, my heart swells and one particular heart string hums a melody of love.
My father died six years ago of viral meningitis, brain damage. Though he smoked his whole life, ate ramen noodles and drank rotations of Coffee and Mellow Yellow and broke a sweat only at the heat of his wild hot sauce, the great end did not take his lungs, liver, kidneys or heart. The great end took his brain. In two days his masterful machine slowly melted under the pressure and greed of the undead virus. Eyes open, calling calling, eyes weak, fighting fighting, eyes closed, forever.
In the pain and fear and numbfoundness that followed, my heart whispered to his, "I'll see you on the dark side of the moon."
We played the Pink Floyd album, Dark Side of the Moon at his wake in the funeral home. Breathe, Time, Great Gig in the Sky...Brain Damage, Eclipse. I read the album cover with silent understanding of what I may never really know. The beauty and sadness and ultimateness of the universe pulsing through the melody and lyrics like the gentle heart of the mother's womb.
A mysterious link connects my father and I and the moon. A link found as common as in the ocean shells and sunflower petals and moisure clouds and ladybug dots. A link that tells us, We are One. And like the moon, we will rise again.
The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
