There is something elemental in our need to be seen. We’re hard-wired for it. We need it, we want it and we give it back. My dog Cho and I stare at each other. A nod across the room tells us we’re connected. A smile on his lips leaves a smile on mine. He counts the smiles back and forth as I do.
It’s not about anthropomorphizing so much as that we are both predators and it’s what we do. We’re hard-wired. Last night the moon was getting full and it was bright enough to wake me. Cho was up too. The thing about being human was that I happened to have my iPhone near me and, wanting to know more about the moon, I looked in the APP store for information about the moon.
So now I have this cool and beautiful moon on my phone. It tells me how far, how big, how much illumination, moonrise and moonset, and compass information that I do not understand. It also tells me random facts – three at a time. Of course I want more.
What Cho knows about the moon he won’t say. I think what he knows is actually not insignificant and he is happy to share space with me – here space and there space. We curled up in the bright light and told stories until we fell asleep.
When I was very young I was lucky to have someone who let me wake her up to go look at the moon. She would hold me up to the window in the bathroom where I could see the moon shining over the Missouri River. It was as beautiful a sight as any there is and my appreciation hasn’t waned since I first saw it.
The connection with the moon is older than I can imagine, it’s close and far – enough to make my head spin. Man in the moon, green cheese, gold, silver – it doesn’t matter. Both Cho and I know that the moon is there, it just is. And that’s enough.