The Sun and Moon

Far removed from the usual writing spots, I'm writing this in the Shakespeare Library, deep within the cruise ship Inspiration, currently moving across a quiet and dark Gulf of Mexico returning to Tampa from Cozumel, Mexico. For the past few days, my sister and I have not endured any obligations, schedules, or expectations. We've eaten when we wanted to, did what we wanted to, and brought not a single breath of work or anxiety with us. The only traffic we've encountered was at the jacuzzi next to the salt water pool at the back of the ship.

Ironically, the symbolism of the whole trip fell right in line with familiarity for me; On the way to and from Mexico, I've seen beautiful sunsets (which incidentally, look much better reflected on water than they do framed by rush hour traffic in my dirty rear view mirror) and the almost impossibly beautiful moon, which embraced the water and ranged in color from orange as it rose in the sky to stark white. My temporary home, as I mentioned before, is called the Inspiration, and all of the decorations have had something to do with the arts. In Mexico, I've seen a culture obsessed with the sun and have done my share of worshipping during the whole trip. I've wandered through Mayan ruins dedicated to the goddess of the island where specialities are fertility (love) and prosperity (money). I even made an offering, a coin in a small pile of others despite the fact that "In God We Trust" is written on them.

In all of these locales, though, I moved in the stillness of the world around me. I was in the ocean, the jungle, the stars above in a dense, black sky. I was at the center of my universe, and I wondered which symbol captured me the best: Am I the sun, opening my effect and my attention to the whole world around me, or am I the moon, perpetually hiding in all the ways I've written before, always keeping a dark side reserved? Well, it wasn't a very difficult question. Nani said it once: I am the sun. Try as I can, I give off light and heat, I illuminate and clarify, and until the end of time, I chase the moon, always finding her in a sky that doesn't suit her.

And so I return to the race. I will immediately lose that sensation of moving without effort, the vision of waves moving silently past. I'll immediately lose myself, sitting once again in a huge box of lights and meeting rooms, a ship that goes nowhere with a captain who travels alone and incites competition and a fight for survival among his peers. With the theater a bit off in the distance, how will I recognize myself? How will I find the center of my universe?

I will look for old friends. The sun will look down for the son, painting the sky and reaching out to encourage and comfort. The moon will always give me a place of surrender, peeking out from behind buildings and through the lingering smog, reminding me of the ocean without a visible horizon, that despite all of the obstacles, she and I are continuing our dance.

I'm going to give this place another try, and then I'll look for change. When I rediscover and reaffirm who I am, the things and people who define me as I'm not lose a little color and gravity. In only a few more hours (we disembark tomorrow morning), I'll insert myself back in a little changed. The old world will need some adjusting.