IT IS THE HOUR when the moon and the sun are both visible in the sky and the night itself is flirting with the dawn. The Drakpos call it the Hour of Courtship.
The sun and the moon are the most ancient of lovers. Though there are more than a thousand moons and satellites in the solar system, the sun, if truth be told, is drawn to only her. The center of the universe longs to withdraw from it all by crawling into her crater, like an ocean resting in the womb of a shell.
As for the moon, just his love isn’t enough. It never will be, if it doesn’t precede unconditional acceptance. The moon is a flawed creature. Ultimately, she is just a piece of the earth flung into space. The universe itself is a mute witness. It has seen them spend eons together as inseparable lovers and eras as hostile strangers stuck in the same solar system. Each fortnight, the lovers’ quarrels reduce the moon to a quarter of her size. Each fortnight, love gives her renewed strength.
But it is at this hour that everything is in equilibrium. Quarrels are forgotten, pain forgiven, anger and regrets hurled away. The moon and the sun are seen exchanging glances through the snowfall, oblivious to the rest.
It is at this magical hour that a primal thought enters an ancient womb. A new world is conceived, entirely different from this one. And in this new world, there are no stars, satellites, planets, constellations, and celestial dust to litter space. Devoid of tectonics, evolutions, and all other inexorable transitions, emptiness is all that exists. An emptiness outside the reach of this expanding universe and the relentless grip of time.
And within it, the possibility of you and I.