One of the PBS documentaries I watched yesterday was of an Australian photographer who was on his 6th shoot to a remote extinct salt lake. He would take his tent, equipment and supplies in a tricycle to the middle of 360 degree flatness. In his video logs he would talk about the effects of isolation such as the magnification of sounds and thoughts. He said his dreams were more cinema graphic and personal about childhood relationships. He didn’t go into them. Towards the end he revealed how when he was 28 he found out his ex girlfriend was pregnant with his baby, his dad was diagnosed with cancer and his mother died. For 6 months he was totally dysfunctional. At first I thought his girlfriend was current at the time, but if not, I guess he was sad about not being able to live with his baby. He said that now he goes to this location to explore emptiness. I suppose he wants his environment to mirror his internal experience. The time lapsed cinematography was beautiful in spite of the emptiness. The color of light, especially sunrise and sunset, the puzzle patern of the salt crust, and his lonely little tent and bike to give a focal point. Otherwise your eye would keep scanning uninterrupted till you started spinning in circles. The time lapse of the stars spinning was cool and gave perspective on our living on a spinning ball.  Dizzying.
If there is nothing on earth to attach oneself to, one always has celestial bodies. Including ones own.
This guy was married, and was able to communicate with his wife on satellite phone. He asked her about weather reports and sports scores. So why did he still feel detachment? Why was it more profound? He was still looking for those he had lost. And if they showed up, would they make him chose? If he had integrity he wouldn’t leave his current family. He was angry that the others left him without asking him. He’s doing the same to his family because we repeat these things.

Today is Voyager’s 35th anniversary.

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