The Breezeway

Posted on April 28, 2008

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I feel like we have gone inside a huge planetarium.

It’s as dark as it’s going to get tonight. When looking off the side of the boat, you can see the white water rushing from underneath, and you can see the dark blue water for about forty feet before everything is swallowed in an immense black.

At one point there were two ships out on the horizon in front of us, so if I blocked the white waves out below me from my line of sight, it looked like we were sailing straight into deep space.

After the other ships in the distance were long past, I felt like the stars were holes in which someone on the outside shook flashlights over. The sky felt like a jet black ceiling.

I feel like we’ve passed into a walking closet of the world that has been forgotten about and left empty. It’s like a pitch dark breezeway between rooms in a house.

There is hardly any sense of spatial relation to anything. The stars are the closest light that is not from the glowing city on water.

And back home I had never seen a star twinkle or flicker. Out here, all of them do. Every single star’s light wavers and is not constant. The stars never go out, but it’s still very different from anything I’ve seen in my backyard.

Another reason it feels like I’m in somekind of a dark hallway or a planetarium of gigantic proportions is because of how the stars have a fixed position in the sky. If we were truly travelling my brain would expect me to see the stars slide slowly but surely towards the back end of the ship. During the daylight I can see the ship passing the rivets in the water and moving past the waves. The waves sloshing against the metal exterior of the ship gives my mind some kind of a landmark for my mind to work against so I know that we’re still moving. But at night there is only darkness and the stars remain where their geostationary and heavenly bodies were when I looked up ten minutes ago. 

It’s dark. I can not longer see the water except the water that glows unnaturally blue just at the edge of the boat. My sense of space outside of my own body is completely limited to the architectural features of my 4 x 9 balcony, my chair, my laptop in front of me, and the glass sitting on the small table beside me.

I was unable to write or even power up my laptop when I first stepped out onto the balcony because of this alarming phoenomenon. Because there is no sense of space or distance, the brain starts to panic. There is no frame of reference to anything outside of the ship. Even though this sensation is extremely strange and foreign, I kind of like the feeling.

I feel completely isolated for the first time since I left my house.

I feel like we are completely alone in the universe and if we were sink or be lost, we would never be found.

I feel like I am a child hiding in a closet. We’ve left the door far behind and the ship will cut through the black nothing until dawn when we’ll reach the next room in the house.

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