heart of darkness.

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I’ll never be smart enough to be a scientist.
I’m okay with the brain that’s been given to me — the brain I’ve made myself.

I’m fascinated by space and star stuff. If you know me, you know how I get all googly-eyed and rant about time and the enormity of all the things around us.

I am guilty of explaining black holes and relativity to a co-worker by clearing out our sink drain and explaining, “You see how water moves faster and faster the closer it gets to being sucked down the pipe?” In which case they most definitely respond “Yeah, okay got it” and act interested because I’m their boss and they don’t want to hurt my feelings.

I appreciate that.

There is something comforting about its mystery. It’s actually very boring to me when people know it all. Know-it-alls bum me out. I guess I really can’t trust a person who is really confident in anything. Then again, I’m wrong a lot.

Sagittarius A is the black hole at the center of our (Milky Way) galaxy. Isn’t that just a little terrifying to know we’re all circling down a drain? I mean, not just yet. In fact if that ever happens our solar system will be burnt up to crisp by our own baby Sun (that actually expands and gets weaker over time.)

You probably know that black holes essentially collapse everything beyond its Event Horizon (the point at which not even light can escape.)

But, they’ve learned that some things *can* escape.

I’m fascinated by these things because it gives me perspective and the space to imagine that nothing is quite understood, even at the apex of our existence. If we’re talking about black holes and time and space we’re talking about all of the things we are made of. As the famous quote hints at, “The Universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”

We’re made up of this stuff. There’s no telling what has or hasn’t happened in whatever was before and whatever comes after us. If you’re edging near an existential crisis (or for me the second or third one this week) you can take some deep breaths and relax a bit. There’s not much you can control — and if cosmic perspective isn’t enough for you, the older you get the more you realize every single person is figuring it all out as they go.

The Great Mystery of life itself is awe-inducing. I crave perspective. I crave not knowing the answers because wondering is the best part of it all. Answers are definite and boring. (Which is probably why I didn’t like math.)

I do not have the brain of a scientist. Or a mathematician or anyone else that builds complex machines and technological movements. But I do understand that things like time and energy are not wasted — that life always moves forward and is always made new with each second.
You are maybe dealt a shitty hand — but it’s never the whole thing. It’s never the whole of anything.

You have time to make things move again — breathe easy again — love again.

You’ll have what it takes to make your own space.

Your own whole universe, with the things you love (and of the love you give) drawn in to your own gravity.

I learn a lot from physics even if I can’t really understand the more complex bits. I suppose that’s okay given that I often stare into the bottom of a sink, draining anything that gets pulled into its motion. I often drift away into my own mind. (Maybe I just need a vacation.)

Maybe more importantly I’ve learned that in order to get from one place to another, you have to leave something behind.
I don’t mean in the way of throwing someone out of a moving car (though we’ve all been there) – maybe more like learning not to carry it all – maybe like letting others help carry it for you.

You are not alone here. Your time and energy echo endlessly into the things around you. Move and rattle and make all sorts of noise.

(You are also under no obligation to make sense to this universe.)

If a thing can really escape a black hole (the literal Heart of Darkness),
in its absolute crushing gravity and mystery,
so can you.

leave it behind
and move.


to infinity, and beyond

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I am deeply, unapologetically, and fiercely,

geeky.

I know, I know. This is not to take away the glory from those who are fierce about their nerd/geek philosophy and image. I realize I am crossing into territory that is littered with fan-fiction and severe anxiety of the general public.

I wear heavy glasses.
(and not that bad vision is nerdy.)

In fact, if you are around me for more than a few minutes, I will have pushed them back up on my nose at least three times. I suppose I should get that fixed. My frames are thick. I have terrible vision, but the slighter cool part of me likes that I can have a choice with my ever-increasingly thick lenses.

I suppose I am nerdy about food, in the way some are about Skyrim or D&D or Star Trek.

We are all heavily into something, I suppose.

galaxy_universe-normal

I sat for about three straight hours watching a panel of physicists and engineers and scientists talk about space, energy and time. I love it. So, so much. It is all a great mystery that I am drawn to — the outer limits — or as our favorite explorer once said, “To Infinity, And Beyond!” I suppose there is something exciting about an unforeseen frontier. Of life on another planet or moon. How that would change everything.

But I settle back into my body and digress a bit. With geekdom comes fantasy. Escapism of the natural world. One of which is rich and deep with beauty and pain. It is also endless.

In the same way I learn about clarifying stock to make consommé, I am drawn to the mystery of space. I reckon’ this adds to my suspicion that we are all more alike than we are different. I’d like to think we are all aware of this great mystery. Some of us tend to embrace it more than others.

The fact that black holes maybe don’t exist after all, or at least our theory on the idea can still shift. Error is okay in science. The world was once flat.

We also used to be the center of the universe.

(Some of us still think this way.)

Things change, thank God.

We are left humbled, all the time. Feeling small should not be looked down upon. We are so, so, microscopic.

Yet our eyes…can see such gigantic things.

I suppose I am thinking about this a lot today, especially as the wind outside is shifting the clouds and our weather systems move out, and give rain to a farmer who was praying. Or to the unfortunate side effect of flooding, destroying peoples lives and the habitats of other living creatures.

We are so small.

But we see big things.

So as I sit and wonder how the stars let us gaze upon them, and as I stare into a pot of clear consommé, I am confounded.

Delightfully so, at that.

I am reminded of our limitless imagination. Our endless spirit. And the Great Unknown.

yes, my friends, if I do say so myself,

we could learn a lot from Buzz Lightyear.