B Sides: Sometimes It's Night and Day

Thoughts from a Sunrise

Brandon Ferguson, Opinions Editor

They say that it’s always darkest before dawn. Well, doesn’t
everything feel its bleakest before the light breaks through?
I sat through the darkness this morning; I sat out in the

darkness this morning and felt nothing but brimming
anticipation. Maybe in my collection of years, time, and
tears, I’ve learned that the idea of “darkness” is subjective.
Darkness is only the lack of lightness. In fact, anything
that is the opposite of a positive is nothing more than a
lack of positive. To change any self-perceived negativity,
simply add a healthy dose of goodness, and stir.

They say that the toughest breath to take is the last one
drawn. Well, doesn’t everything that sounds profound turn
out to be bleak before the insight breaks through?

I’ve sat through the difficulties of inhalation before;
I’ve stayed up in the difficult times and felt nothing but
admiration for another’s determination to continue respira-
tion. Maybe in my dejection from tears, time, and years,
Tve learned that the term “terminal” is subjective. Death is
only a lack of life. In truth,-death is nothing more than a
celebration of life. It’s not a bad thing if the life was worth
living and the praise is wholeheartedly worth singing. To
rectify any self-righteous thoughts of “woe is me,” simply
add a healthy dose of perspective, and stir.

They say that you’re always taken for granted until
you're gone. Well, isn’t everything worth keeping also
worth losing, at least until its time is right to break
through?

I won’t sit through the granted today; I will revel in
what’s given and embrace it for what it is, isn’t, or might
be—I will cherish it with all my conviction. Maybe in my
reflection over time, years, and tears, I’ve learned that the
conception of “gone” is subjective. To be gone is only to
lack presence. In reality, each and every individual fortunate
enough to have been a part of-your life holds a special
place in your heart. To contrast any self-loathing senti-

 

ments of loss, simply add a healthy dose of remembrance,
and stir.

There are lessons to be drawn from each and every
dawn, before the day is gone and the darkness comes.
Every day offers new reasons for its existence, and in many
ways, without being too clichéd, every day springs new
hope eternal.

Step outside, check the rising red crest of dawn’s sweet
sunrise, watch the light creeping over mountains and catch
the bright steeping of fountains of sunshine as they spill
forth from the horizon, about to bathe us all in sweet
memory. There is no feeling that can’t be rescued from
subjectivity.

To anyone who’s ever looked to the moon

Ever look up at the moon and wonder if you’re sharing it
with someone tonight? Up the street, across the river,
down the way, or around the world—anyone? I have. I do.

Of all the means we have to communicate, I can’t think
of any more meaningful than the moon.

Explorers used the stars for navigation and found new
worlds. Man aimed for the moon with the hope of finding
himself. I look up and keep finding you. Not to embellish,
but only to establish how the lunar pull affects me in funny
ways—gravity and gravitation to you, it would seem, are
both all-encompassing phenomena.

Tides come and go with minimal ovation, barely worthy
of the newspaper’s mention. Eclipses occur with frequent
rarity, barely receiving more than a newscaster’s annotation.
Yet everyday, undaunted by our ignorance, there she rises
to light our night sky; you only seem to notice the moon’s
absence when you’te lost.

The moon makes you do loony things: shed your
clothes, whisper in codes, dance, bark, howl, and sing.
Some of my favourite spells have been magically cast by

 

moonlight. Some of my darkest shadows have been tragi-
cally cast after midnight. Many strange and wonderful
things have been conjured up under my favourite satellite’s
orbiting rings.

Shrouded by fast-moving clouds, tonight’s moon is only
half full. Half empty if you wish, but really, tsk tsk. On
some nights, a crescent sliver will do; illuminating all that
you'll need to see, and hiding all of which to which you
hadn’t a clue. On other nights, a full serving will do; leav-
ing no room to hide from your seek, and lighting all witch-
es which I blame for love’s voodoo. Be it under minor
glimmer or major radiance, I can stumble through the dark
spots so long as my guide waits on the other side. And this
is what half moons do. They challenge you to find out for
yourself; they sneak you a peek, then dare you to find the
full Monty; they urge you to the other side.

Sure, it’s just a silly old moon. Not even full, so why
accord it meaning at all?

Because if I simply waited for everything to be perfect
and complete before thanking it, I’d waste away with noth-
ing to say. That, I think, would be perfectly tragic.

So, half moon, ll thank you tonight. Thanks for
pulling me up when my tide was down. Thanks for making
me shine when my smile was eclipsed by a frown. And
thanks again, half moon, for giving me another chance to
look up and wonder about you. And you. Oh, and you too.

Did I mention your