There is a moment when orbiting the Moon when you are hidden from the Earth, and the Earth is hidden from you, and looking out all you see is empty space. In that moment you are unmoored from everything. There is no gravity holding you in place, and there is no ground under your feet. There is no horizon or sky or points of perspective.
There is no land. There is no home. There is only you and space. In other words there is only you.
Astronauts that have been there describe it as the most profound experience a person can have in space. It’s a difficult moment to imagine.
You whip around the Moon. In a matter of minutes the Earth shifts out of sight, and the Moon disappears into darkness. All at once you’re alone. Everything is quiet. You lean towards the window and instinctively search the vastness in front of you for a horizon, but there isn’t one. There isn’t anything.
Your senses migrate out of you.
You dissolve into it. The emptiness. The blackness. The blankness. The inverse stare of space. I would imagine that on some level you begin to forget who you are. You begin to forget how far from home you are.
But you aren’t because there is home out there. All around you. In a way it’s the perfect home. In a place where nowhere is home, everywhere is.