Please excuse me if I mistype. Even as I write these words, I am waving to the man who sits among the stars. A new moon will come soon and I must get my waving in.
It would be impolite not to.
For those of you that don’t know of me — I work in an observatory specializing in comprehensive galactic surveys by night and, by day, I inform this lovely faceless chorus on the internet about various celestial phenomena.
Planetary transits, meteor showers, eclipses — it has been an absolute pleasure to share and discuss these beautiful sights with you all.
Tonight, however, I have something to show you that will make all our previous talks seem quaint.
Tonight, I want to show you the friendly man on the moon.
I first discovered the man about a month ago. At the time I was involved in some extensive survey work on the Andromeda Galaxy but, by accident, or perhaps boredom, the telescope ended up pointing towards the moon. Being the only one on the premises and not feeling particularly productive — I took a break from work.
The moon was gibbous and beautiful that night. For a while I just enjoyed the visage of the celestial body and let my mind drift to thoughts of how humankind thought of it a thousand years prior. But then, a peculiar sight struck my attention.
Even though the equipment was at its maximum capacity, the moon was growing closer. At first the magnification was negligible. I ascribed it to eye strain, or perhaps exhaustion from the long hours.
The magnification, however, did not cease. On the contrary, it sped up. With worrying quickness, I found myself gazing upon individual craters and rock formations. At first, I feared a psychotic break down or a poisoning of my coffee, but before panic could truly reach my heart I was calmed.
On the moon, I saw a human silhouette.
He was sitting on a chair, dressed all in white, with a charming little bowler cap on. With my sight enhanced, I could see his bushy moustache and pleasant smile.
He was looking at me.
He was waving at me.
Under normal circumstances, I would have been terrified — the situation defied all logic.
But that smile calmed me so.
At first, I was so entranced by the man on the moon that I lost all awareness of my body. It was only after, perhaps, half an hour, that I realized my hand was raised.
I found myself waving back to the man on the moon.
At the realization of the movement of my hand, another great wave of comfort washed through me. Something about waving to the man on the moon felt inherently blissful, as if my body was finally serving a purpose for which it had been designed.
For the whole night I waved at the man on the moon and eschewed all work. For the whole night my soul was drenched in bliss and, when the sun rose and the moon faded from sight, my heart flooded with a profound sadness.
On the drive back home, I nearly hit a cyclist for I was so distraught. My soul ached to wave to the man on the moon once more. Sleep came with great difficulty that day.
When my eyes did finally close — I dreamt dreams of an empty sky.
When I awoke, I was even more distressed. My longing to wave at the man on the moon had passed somewhat, but sobered by sleep I found myself petrified by his very existence.
Every explanation for the previous night’s events was more worrying than the last. I, once again, considered a psychotic break, or drugs, or some terrible fever dream as being responsible for my visions.
The thought of a man dressed in white sitting on a wooden chair on the surface of the moon was the hardest thought to consider. Yet, when I came back to work the following night, I wasted no time looking for him.
Quickly, I found him.
Quickly, I could see his pleasant smile.
My heart filled with joy once more. Whatever worries I had about my sanity or the possibility of survival on the moon faded away like mental fog. Seeing the man on the moon and knowing that I was seen myself filled me with a sort of zeal I had never felt before.
That night, and many nights after, I waved at the man on the moon for as long as the sun would allow.
When the moon faded from the sky I was, once again, distraught. It was deeply unpleasant to have to part with the man on the moon, yet I found myself steadier than the morning prior. The promise of seeing him again. The promise of being seen by him again. It all kept me sane.
When I woke, much like the evening prior, I found myself with concerns. Troubling thoughts about my sanity and the existence of the sharply dressed man on the moon gave me pause, yet the closer I got to the observatory the calmer I felt.
By the time I was handling the telescope all my worries seemed wholly abstract.
All my questions were silenced by the sublime sight.
Night after night the man on the moon greeted me. Night after night I greeted him back.
As the moon waned the friendly man traveled along its surface, always positioning himself to be at the center of the light — always positioning himself to be easily seen, to be easily found.
There were nights when I was not alone in the observatory, yet I was always the most senior member of staff. If anyone asked questions about why I was waving at the moon instead of tending to my usual survey duties I simply told them to mind their own.
My position at the observatory kept the outside world from seeping into my newfound friendship, yet when the moon went dark my fortunes changed.
I had felt somewhat nervous the night prior, when only a sliver of the crescent was visible. The thought of the man on the moon being lost in the shadows, swallowed up by the darkness, invisible to me — it made my skin crawl with discomfort.
The moment my sight was pulled towards that small sliver of light, towards him and his little wooden chair — all those worries would always dissipate. I convinced myself that the man would still be there, even in the new moon. I convinced myself that I would never go a night without seeing him.
I was wrong.
When I arrived at the observatory the following day I was not alone and my outburst did not go unnoticed. When I found the moon extinguished and the telescope not working beyond the laws of physics, I fell into a deep panic. I am not ashamed to say that I wept.
I am only ashamed that I was unable to keep the man on the moon a secret from my coworkers.
Upon the urging of my colleagues, I explained to them my predicament. Not a single sympathetic soul arose from the group. Instead of support, I was recommended a visit to the hospital. When I rejected and insisted the telescope stay pointed at the moon, my superior was contacted.
Unceremoniously, I was sent home.
I did not argue with my colleagues — not for an extended period of time at any rate. I quickly drove home and dug out my private telescope out of storage.
Before I was a professional, I was a hobbyist. The telescope I had nurtured my passion for the skies on was infinitely weaker than the one at the observatory, but I hoped that perhaps I could catch the airs of that unnatural magnification the man on the moon regularly provided.
With the skies dark, they were clearer. It was the perfect night for star-gazing, yet it was a most terrible night for me. I waved at the dark sky, but found no bliss. Frustrated and angry and with my eyes red with sorrow I exiled myself to my bed and slept.
For three days I existed on little food or water.
To pass the moonless nights, I slept. I slept and I dreamt of dark skies with all the stars extinguished. The vapors of my mind brought forth visions of a cold desolate cosmos barren of any friendly strangers. I tried to wholeheartedly reject such a reality, but each time I woke in a cold sweat I found myself less certain of the future.
On one of those dark days, my superior contacted me and suggested we meet. I was in no state to speak about my work. I was in no state to meet anyone. There was only one person which I longed to see.
On the fourth night of my torment, my wish was granted. In that sliver of light, I found him once more. Though my hobbyist telescope possessed a fraction of the magnification the observatory was capable of, the man on the moon twisted the laws of physics as he always did.
The thin slice of the moon swiftly consumed all of my viewfinder. Within minutes I could see the man on the moon.
He was waving at me again — this time, with both hands! He was jumping with joy!
Such was the friendly man’s joy that he nearly lost his bowler hat, floating in the light gravity of his home. It was only once his feet were back on moon rock that he tempered his emotions to his usual polite wave.
I wept. I wept with utter bliss at the sight of the man on the moon. My viewfinder filled with happy tears, yet my view never grew obscured. Beyond the tears, beyond the telescope itself — my eyes were capable seeing that which God ordained.
I spent the whole first night with my eyes bulged into the viewfinder. Much of the second night was spent in a similar joy, yet, when I found myself light-headed with thirst and decided to take a quick break for water — I made a peculiar discovery.
On my way back from the kitchen, as I spared a glance to the moon — it grew closer. That night, I was far too eager to return to the telescope, but as the days passed and the home of the friendly man grew fuller with light — my discovery started to seem more certain.
I no longer needed a telescope.
My naked eyes, with enough focus, could see the man just fine. Staring at the moon caused me great strain and the slow shifting in my sight felt deeply unnatural — yet when I saw the man on the moon with my naked eyes my soul rose to such heights of satisfaction that all the pain seemed irrelevant.
Ever since the full moon, I’ve been waving to the man without the aid of a telescope. We’ve spent night after night waving at each other and I have never felt more alive.
To blink in his presence is to suffer in longing. To witness the sunrise is to die only to be reborn in the light of the moon. Discovering the man on the moon is the single greatest thing I have ever witnessed in the sky.
And now, with the new moon approaching — I would like to share that discovery with you.
Tonight, I want you to adjust your telescopes at the glowing moon. I want you to see him too. I want you to wave to him too. I want you to experience the sheer joy of being seen by him.
I want you to wave to the friendly man and experience his love, and then, when the new moon rises and we are all left in the dark — we can talk about how much we miss him in this faceless corner of the internet. We can all grieve together, until we are delivered from suffering in his return.