Mush (Explorations)

Posted on October 3, 2018 by

33 Comments

Journal Entry:

The longer I remain here, the more I find myself unable to cling to the will to live, to do anything at all. Merely picking up this pen has taken every scrap of will that is rapidly fading from existence. In an attempt to lift myself from this malaise, I will set forth to explain recent events.

I arrived on this planet some five months prior to these writings, this being known to me only by reading my chronometer, as the passage of time seems to be non-existent here.

The rotation of this tiny world is incremental. It takes about 36 earth-standard days to make one full rotation. As such, I suppose I have been here a mere four-and-one-half days. It took me two such days to make a complete circumference of the planet, which I have named Mush. Mush for that is what my brain and body seem to be becoming, the longer I wander barren speck.

There are no large bodies of water that I have found and truthfully I believe I’ve seen most of it. There seems to be something in the air that makes one feel lethargic and depressed. The orange sun is a tiny mote not quite overhead and never setting. The stars are hazy, not crisp and clear. There are no clouds to speak of but wispy, stringy affairs that melt in and out of existence to the point you wonder if you really saw them at all. None but the very slightest breeze stirs the tepid air.

Nothing breaks the monotony. No large mountains, no seas, no giant trees, no animal groups (or tracks for that matter, I have yet to find a single species of animals or insect life-form), no moon, no large boulders or cliffs. Nothing but a gentle smooth slightly sloping landscape. Fields of grasses and thigh-high shrubs. Everything is dull in color. Muted tans and greys. It is quiet. Nothing competes with anything else. No brightly colored flowers or dazzling sunsets. No sharp calls of birds or the chirping of insects. Silence.

As such, and unsurprisingly, I find myself no longer walking about. I couldn’t even find a scenic spot to stop and ponder. There are no such places. I simply stopped walking after nearly four months. I’ve been sitting in this same spot for over a month now. Nothing has changed. I find myself wondering what it’s all for. What’s the point? How did I come to be here? Is it worth it? Why do I walk the worlds? Will you read what I’ve written? Or do I merely throw these musings out into the ether, to spin and become lonely galaxies in their own right?

Journal Entry:

You won’t know it, but it has been two weeks since I last wrote. I have slept much. Eaten little. I managed to move about ten minutes walk away, just to leave behind the matted down grass and personal smells behind. It did little for my moral.

Journal Entry:

I am mildly interested to note that it has been ten days since my last entry. I have nothing to say. There is little reasoning behind it.

Journal Entry:

I write this portion with the hindsight of time and a clear mind. I have since moved on from Mush to another place but I felt I should explain what transpired from then to now, some two months later.

As I lay in my depression on a depressing little planet named Mush, my mind became a feedback loop of nihilism and self-loathing. What was it for? I could find no answers on that miserable little rock. My thoughts atrophied. One day, from sheer boredom, I stood up and stretched. Looking to the horizon, I saw a shiny point of light. It was a star, a beacon of hope. I had to find out what it was. Hurriedly, I packed my knapsack once more and set off straight away for that meager tiny light.

As I hiked, I felt that lost feeling of excitement for the unknown, the hope, the eagerness, the Curiosity. It felt foreign and beautiful. It was then that I realized what I did mattered. If I didn’t explore these stars, who would? To pen the strangeness of it. The universality of it. The wonder. I need to do this. For me and for those that come after me. I need to do this for the planets themselves. Each individual living entities of themselves. I give them voice. I speak for those who can’t speak. I plant seeds of imagination and wanderlust.

Mush needs a voice too. There are times we can’t understand everything around us. It is the searching, the journey, that makes all the difference. I found the path off the planet and I turned back and bowed deeply in respect for this tiny world and it’s lesson to me.

Mush was making me
Understand that it too
Spoke in its own voice and
Had meaningful things to say

Mush was quiet
Unable to reach out on its own
Soundwaves damp and
Heavy with ancient silence

Mush was clever and
Unique, whispering wisdom
Seeping in, we are all valuable
Heed this lesson learned

tara caribou | ©2018

This is part of my ongoing collection of Explorations of the galaxy. Criticism and comments always welcome.

Category: ExplorationsTags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

33 Comments on “Mush (Explorations)”

  4. And an important lesson it is. It is a struggle to figure out one’s own meaning for existence and then to fulfill one’s purpose. It is the dark before the dawn, the blur before clarity. You provided a beautiful metaphor for this! Thank you. I loved it.
    Mona
    P.S. (I’m an existentialist. Can you tell?)

    Liked by 1 person

  7. This is very interesting. The opening created fright and question. Nice development, great premise, and compelling. You always share the unique that is in you. Loved it.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. “My mind became a feedback loop of nihilism and self-loathing.” and “atrophied thoughts”, absolutely resonate, and in my opinion, are perfect descriptive lines to begin the conclusion of this amazing write. I believe I’ve also traveled the lands of Mush. I think this is the type of write that needs close inspection and a moment to settle, in order to really appreciate the messaging. Sincerely, Brian

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh thank you Brian! I’m so pleased you liked it. Honestly I was a little worried about that line because I have a few friends here on WP that are nihilists and I wasn’t trying to offend anyone, merely making the Traveler’s point.

      Part of me says I’m sorry you can relate but part of me says, I think it might be a good thing in the end. Thank you so much for the comment, as always.

      Liked by 1 person

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