Carrying the Fire: An Astronaut's Journeys

by Michael Collins

Every once in a while I look up at the moon, but not too often: been there, done that,

Such logic, or lack of it, is prevalent at launch time. All the months of calm dispassionate analysis give way to a few minutes of emotion, an outburst of hope and horror as the inert beast comes alive for the first time, shakes itself and its new-found tail of fire, and starts slowly—so slowly—to move. For the first few seconds it is purely a spectacle, for with the eyes alone involved, one can see but not succumb. But when the great crackling Mach 1 roar arrives, and the very ground under you shakes, then you are there, you are part of it, and you laugh or cry or yell or whisper. For six months I had consumed Gemini 7, and now it was consuming me.