The ridge of the earth is defined by a squashed circle. Every person or possession you've ever loved or cared about will spend cradle to grave sealed in this simple squashed geometry. Every compliment gave or friend made, whether they last or fade, on this circle they stayed. And if candles are lit because somewhere dust has been bit, 6 feet under they'll fit and to the circle we'll stick...
Unless you build a rocket ship...
I like to pretend that space men are just men who need some space. The circle felt flat and boring. So they left in search of a place that could not be defined by squashed geometry. A place so unearthly that the same laws of physics do not apply.
But why would one plunge into an abyss. A void devoid of sound, gravity or oxygen.
Because on the blue circle, we exist as refugees. The sound is piercing, the gravity is heavy and the oxygen chokes us with more life than we feel capable of living. We are trapped. Life is the most severe case of stockholm syndrome.
It's a planet of prison cell paradigms. Citizens are shackled by governing super powers. The young and the old are to have an hold an encyclopedia of illness, fighting in sickness for their health till death do they part, and I and so many others are stuck in a position described as a dead end. A day to day like slow chinese water torture. A drip and a drop and a day goes by and a drip and a drop and years of your life slip into monotony.
The world doesn't sound brilliant. But we can't all be space men. We have no million dollar mission shuttles. No holes in the hedges where the grass is greener, where the weak and the meek can take a breather. Because mother earth is a dying woman and we can't leave her.
Remember the good days when the air tasted sweeter?
When flashing light shoes and old cartoons were the best things in the world. When girls seemed to get prettier as school got shittier. It could be as simple as scoring a basket or a bacon sandwich. The great relief of payday or the crazy things your grandma says...
Or when you're so in love, you think things like, "Oh my god her lips and her eyes." Your heart skips and flies.
Remember the good days!
This blue circle is your home, so furnish it well. Drape the walls with dreams and wishes. They will whether you from winds. Build your door with compassion and intrigue so your heart will not falter when unfamiliarity comes a-knocking and your front porch should be a smile. The first point of contact with visitors.
Together we'll craft a circle where freedom is free and liberty has been liberated. Where big hearts perform little act to make small people feel larger than life. A place where our kids could grow.
We'll still have space men and dead ends. We'll bolster ourselves against many rains but we will never lose sight of the rainbow. We'll lacerate courage and passion from our bodies, run to our neighbours and say "Here! Hold this for me!".
The world doesn't sound brilliant. But your world...
Our world can be.