KEN’S CORNER: A Sugar-Dust Moon & The Wanderlust Of Men
Commentary by TLB Contributing Writer: Ken LaRive
There has been a full moon long before dusk tonight, and it lights up everything out here, including my imagination. The many production platforms in South Marsh Island Block 73, as well as several work boats moored, float above a measured amount of sparks. The mixture churns the gold of tungsten, the blues of soda lamps, and then combine them with the silver splatter of a median of moonlight to create a dazzling exhibit. The sea heaves in swells, and as my mind’s eye wonders over the panting water-flash I grow quite spellbound, even somewhat despondent in the attempt. It was as if something precious was lost to me, something I can no longer realize or remember. Something buried by time and acclimation.
I laid on the deck with my hands behind my head, and for hours just looked at the heavens. There, on a deep-black-velvet ceiling was a great canopy of high salmon clouds, frosted silver by the moon. It forecast-ed rain.
The sky was so beautiful, so vast, it took my breath away. It vaulted high in patterns of concentric spirals, swirls of ice crystals held in a median of mist that glowed like burnished silver and tarnished gold. I could taste it on my tongue, like a fine powdered sugar-dust lingering for just a moment as it is sprinkled over custard and ambrosia. Moon dust is like crystallized honey, the very elixir of life itself, and permeates from the mother of all existence… As in its monthly ministration, it pulls and pushes my heart to strike, and my mind to ponder.
So bright was the moon that I could barely distinguish the surface, polished to a fine luster, and the stars were extinguished by its luminescence with only the prime presented. A rainbow ring occurred close to the rim, and the colors appeared translucent, as opaque as a lunatic’s dream. The emanated light seemed to fall heavy, suspending a fine shimmering residue that some may have once called, “moon dust.” The night was filled with a diamond light, flawed down it’s center by a shadowy haze of angel dust that minutely glinted as it flowed like cosmic plasma. Yes, it is crazy in the telling, but then….
It would sound, as if by elfin ears, like millions of microscopic glass bells from a great leaded chandelier that swayed by some celestial wind. At first I seemed, no, everything seemed so inconsequential bathed in its light, as it became overwhelmingly evident to me that this phenomena is beyond my human ken to understand. And yet, as I lay back sprawled in abject awe, I realize that my value, my true worth, is in my attempt. My value is not in the answer, but in the question.
You see, I can speculate from my conscious observations that the multi-hued precedent reflected on the clouds showed what the silver color composition might possibly be: a mixture of reflective short light waves that are seemingly metallic in nature. Sounds so insane in the telling, but I have observed this same color mergence in the layer of corrosion found on weathered copper, or on old glass oxidation, butterfly and humming-bird wings, the multi-polar carbon-colors produced on surfaces of stressed overheated steel, alloyed coal, thin filaments of oil floating on a water meniscus, reflective polish scratches on sheet metals such as tin and stainless, the stress marks produced on plastic and other synthetics, as in the mirrored layered lenses of our platform’s marker and fog lights, or the color protective coating of my photo lenses. Many of these particular stress marks can be more easily observed through polarized light or filters, but all have the same quality nuance not easily produced without a metal, or metallic nucleus.
Moonlight gives off that same light refracting radiation, as when observing reflective scratches on metal, as from any angle viewed illumination replicates in a singular light source, a symmetrical arc that beams outward on a monocular field, refracting three-dimensional light along a singular geometric plane, a beam. Likewise, this reflected blush of color on the moon’s transitory ring gives off that same scratched effect, and though it seems impossible, the clouds could just as well be platinum strands of spun wire, or sand-paper scratches on a phantasmagorical sky.
In its totality, the full moon’s light gives us an unlimited amount of both circumstances and conclusions, and yet we know that little of it is real, as our perceptions cannot be trusted. It seems little more but our imagination trying to define ever-changing perspectives in a constantly shifting night of refracting light, bent to see its colorful core as it travels. And yet, the same objects thought common and intellectually understood in the light of day become insubstantial and misidentified in moonlight. It seems, and yet I’m in denial, that there are separate realities found in this silver light that can only be detected and understood without the blinding light of day. Perhaps our limited visual perceptions help us understand what we may have otherwise taken for granted with more illumination. Its lunacy is beyond confounding and truly wonderful, a gift so long forgotten as it emanated from the great void of wanderlust, the consciousness of men.
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From the Author, Ken La Rive– We in the Liberty movement have been fighting to take back this country for less than a decade, peacefully and with the love of God and country in our hearts. Our banner has been trampled on and displaced by a multitude of distractions, further eroding our nation and the cause for Liberty. And so, as we are pulled by forces we cannot fathom, powerful entities with unlimited resources stolen from our future, unaccountable trillions printed out of thin air and put on our backs as debt, we must formulate the most pitiful of all questions any patriot might ask in the final hour: Are we going to fight for our master’s tyranny, or are we going to demand the return of our civil liberties and Constitution? Are we going to choose The Banner of Liberty, or the shackles of voluntary servitude? Will it be a war for corporate profit, or a war to regain our ability to self govern, as the blood and toil of our forefathers presented to us, their children, as a gift? I fear that decision is emanate. I fear that any decision will be a hard one, but my greatest fear of all is that the decision has already been made for us.
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