Moon Over the Ruined Castle

Of course it’s overrated. You knew it would be before you paid the outrageous charter fee, travelled almost a thousand parsecs, endured the too-pious passengers aboard, and stood before the worn and crumbling fortress of stone that pilgrims claimed began it all.

And by began it all, they meant, astrolgia. A longing for the galaxy as it once was. These pilgrims pined for the ancient days before space travel, terraforming, colonization, and the general gentrification of the Milky Way. A time when the night sky held myriad mysteries and endless possibilities. When destiny and fate meant something.

The final frontier was all too copacetic nowadays. So fervor for the past, for ancient beginnings, for days of yore and quests for lore spawned quite an industry. And nothing more hyped than a holopost on the etherthreads that went metaviral: Moon over the Ruined Castle.

The impact of the image wasn’t something easily explained or dismissed. It stuck. Then burrowed into the galactic psyche and became a thing unto itself. A need. A must. More and more traveled the great distance to see it for themselves. Even though there were wonders of wonders spread among the stars, this became the destination, the experience, the most sacred place.

But only when the full moon rose over the ruined castle. Only then.

You had resisted. You had scoffed. You were not going to be dragged into a fad, a ploy, a pilgrimage. Yet, you are here, one of many thousands, at the foot of the hill where the ruined castle stands. Barely.

It is not an imposing sight in the late afternoon after a long trek from the starport on a narrow path through rugged countryside. This planet is being rewilded. All because of this: crumbling stone blocks on a hill overlooking a long narrow lake that is growing black as dusk settles.

Edging towards the forest that seems to eat the remaining twilight, you move as far away from the pressing pilgrims as possible. You still cannot fully understand why you are here. Why you joined in. You are not a joiner. You are a critic. An outsider. A bastion against all that is trivial, ordinary, pedestrian. Yet, you are here.

The castle is in deep shadow now. Only a hint of history remaining. A stillness grows around you and then in you. The moon begins to rise above windswept hills on the far side of the lake. This is it. You fully expect to be disappointed and so vindicated. Sentiment, crassly packaged and sold to the masses. You are not fooled. You will not be moved by a manufactured moment. You are sure.

Nothing like that happens.

Nothing like it.

The moon rises and the castle seems to grow larger. In time. Once upon a time. You feel a heaviness in your heart, but not sadness. The immensity of being fills you. You look to the reverent host of pilgrims and understand their longing. This is humanity. A humanity spread far among the stars, but still seeking.

A place. Our place.

The moon is bright. The castle proud. The pilgrims hushed. The moment ardent. There. Then. Here. Now. Your heart is beating wildly. Something must happen. Surely, something must happen.

And it does.

Of course it does.