Time. And space. And time. And love.

When creating a simulation of a place, one of the things one needs to take care of is time. It’s a fairly pedestrian thing to do. One thinks of a day and night cycle. Sometimes it’s dark and sometimes clear. Nice to have some variation. Let’s throw in a sun so we can have lens flares. Oh, and a sunset would be so romantic. And a big full moon at night. Since we’re at the seaside, it would really make sense to have a simulation of tides as well. So sometimes the sea is far away and sometimes it is close.

Especially when the moon is full.

Why is that?

I take a step back and the utter strangeness of the situation hits me. We are in space. Not only when we are on a space ship or a remote space station. But always. Our planet is in space. This is why we have day and night in the first place, and tides. Enormous motions of enormous masses over enormous distances at enormous speeds. The mundane every-day aspects of life on this planet are the very things that connect us with the solar system, with the universe.

We sleep at night, cherry trees blossom in spring, some animals hibernate, all because of how the planets and the moon and our star behave. The tiniest creature on this planet is intimately connected to the vastness of the universe. In its day to day routine.

I have come to realize these things much more palpably through making Bientôt l’été. And seeing the ordinary simulation of time on the holodeck contrasted with the vastness of planets and stars outside, where space and time collapse into each other, where life and inertia are one. It’s all intensely moving in its majestic senselessness. It is possible to go beyond meaning. Where our heart is pulled by interplanetary forces in the direction of another human being. To love.