You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The Super Moon.
Did you see that burning bulb in the Saturday night sky?
Wow.
It was so bright, it felt like it was on top of me, following me, hovering over me like an IRS inspector looking to satisfy a lien.
The moon was haunting like a Hallmark Halloween card. It’s the kind of moon that E.T. flies through in the basket of a magic bicycle.
The moon was so big it seemed primal oozing light out of the darkened canopy, eclipsing all other celestial bodies.
Somehow it felt magnetic, drawing our gaze to the endless ceiling of black.
It was ancient and forever, hanging in the night sky like a navigational beacon for the Gods. As I stared at this moon, a chunk of planetary rock seen by denizens of Earth for millions of years, I half way expected a pterodactyl to swoop out of the cloudless night sky and pluck me into the void.
The Super Moon was just that, super.
To Astronomers, the Super Moon is at perigee — the point in its orbit bringing it closest to Earth, a distance of 221,824 miles. That makes it look bigger, and appear brighter.
To the untrained eye, to citizens of the Earth who regard the moon with all the fan fare of cookies on a pantry shelf, Super Moon was a moment to pause, to reflect, to think about our significance in the celestial ether.
Super Moon was bright like a police spot light from a LAPD chopper.
Super Moon was so close, it looked like a single spot light turned on at your local soft ball field. The orb glowed in the sky, affixed to the curvature of the Earth, like a magnificent light bulb attached to the milky way.
I felt like I could touch it. If I was a caveman I would have thrown a rock at it and then bowed down to its super moon aura. I could see being afraid of it, not understanding it. I could imagine leaving it a bowl of fruit and naming my first born son Moon Unit.
I see the moon around 11 pm as a friend and I exit a night spot. Super Moon is obtrusive, hanging over the restaurant like God has photo shopped it into the picture.
As we walk toward the parking lot, it follows us, seemingly on top of us, like a lunar private eye tailing us from the heavens.
The night is cool and the sky black as velvet in a jewelry counter. The moon consumes everything in sight.
The moon seems to gravitationally draw our eyes, our thoughts upward.
“It’s so big, so bright!” We oooh and aahh like children finger painting with chocolate pudding.
“It’s closer to the Earth tonight than at any other time in it’s lunar orbit, I say with the confidence of Steven Hawking without a wheel chair. “it’s supposedly 13% brighter than normal.”
My friend smiles.
“I want a picture of it,” My friend says pulling out the iphone.
“Make sure you use the flash,” I say laughing.
The picture is blurry, a white blotch smeared in Vaseline.
I take my own iphone picture of Super Moon.
The iphone is great inside a bar with people mugging for the lens. Give the iphone daylight and it is all the camera the normal human will ever need. But ask it to suddenly be a telescopic reflex camera in the dark of night? Well, Steve Jobs didn’t anticipate the need to shoot the Super Moon.
I stare at my screen. It’s clear, but the moon is a dot of white in a field of black. It looks like an illuminated sequin on a dark beach towel.
I will jokingly take a picture of my dome light and call it super dome light.
As I pull out of the parking space, I look out my driver’s window. The circular disc is so big, so bright, It feels like nothing bad can happen, like God himself is shining his light down upon us.
I turn onto the main boulevard. Like a warm blanket, the lunar light is somehow comforting.
Like a terrestrial Christopher Columbus I will drive home by the light of the Super Moon. I roll down the windows and allow the moon beams to infiltrate my car any way they can. Somehow, in a weird, once in a life time way, the moment seems to rejuvenate me, to remind me of our limited time in this story book of life. Take advantage of every moment. Stop and appreciate the opportunity. Once the ride is over, the ride is over.
The GPS on my dashboard is illuminated, but I won’t look at it, not tonight. Tonight, I will drive guided by the light of the Super Moon. I will let its soothing gravitational force be my lunar GPS, filling my sail, pushing me home.
That’s Crazy™