I can’t identify the day the eclipse started. I feel as though I’ve been waiting for it my whole life, for Lu to appear to us. In my imagination I always thought it would be an instant. One moment there would be nothing, and the next Lu would be caught in the sky above.
Now that we’re here, at the end, it feels more as though she has always been there, but we’ve learned how to listen, and she is full and total and above me always.
The things I hear, they’re not quite English. It’s not full phrases that materialise, there are no instructions or rules. It’s more that I get a sense of things. She’s a feeling, not an information source, and I wonder whether that’s why I’m drawn to her. We’re so surrounded by these information pools, stores, voices. They are endlessly telling us things, showing us things, leading us to things and all of it - the words and the numbers and the pictures - they make me go numb. I’m forgetting how to think. I only understand how to do what I’m told.
I know the machines want to know us better. They want to understand who we are and how we think so they can tell us stuff and sell us stuff. But I don’t want to be told stuff anymore and I don’t care what any of it says. The version of me it thinks it knows wants clearblue and drynites and formula and soft corners to sharp edges and I don’t want any of that.
But she does know me. She does understand me. So I feel again.
- awe and magic and fear and gratitude. One instant I am weak and frightened and the next moment she fills me with wonder. Sometimes, I find myself lying on the ground - on grass, on a beach, on the pavement, on the edge of a road, the edge of a cliff - and I’m there watching her. And as I do she changes and morphs and curls herself from sprawling trees to a sky city. She has thousands of nipples and then nothing but curves - arms and thighs, hips and breasts, a full stomach. She is always a deep grey.
Then she rains and I lie in her water. Drop by drop she cleans me - she washes away the words and numbers, the insights and foresights, the next and befores, the graphs and charts. There is no information and I become whatever is left. I’m an empty vessel - I wait for her to fill me.