Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Orion’s Orchard [Astronomy and Theology]

In the universe, the one that surrounds the world (perhaps the mind as well)—someone once threw a ball into dark matter, dark energy. After that that someone created, gravity—I do believe—and threw it somewhere out and over his head, and it exploded—; from man’s way of thinking, it caused a Big Bang, somewhat in that unseen form of matter that pulls the universe—supposedly this way and that way, thus creating the great expansion, that has gone on since who knows when, again man’s speculation would say, fourteen billion years, give or take: which slowed everything down a bit, and its thrust (its push, threw everything in all directions) which is still keeping it airborne: carried by the shove that was set in motion; hence, when it loses its momentum, it will crash, I do reason, and all that is left—again  I do reason, will be the ball (its substance: what is hanging onto it, in it): that is all that will be left—I repeat, everything else just: waves, just waves in nothingness: waves that were made by that One person who forced out,  as a result, nothingness and all that it created will come to some kind of a standstill (I replicate): —it has to: for what will carry it—when all the engines that run the universe weaken, and the nuclear force and the electromagnetism collapses? When the protons and neutrons no longer come together in the nucleus of an atom, and no longer do the great galaxies spin fast enough, and thus fly apart. Save that, that someone we—most of us that is—call God, does not create something else out of some kind of a new nothingness.
       It’s how it was, how it had to be, how else could it have been: all this nothingness come about to surround the world, with all its “t’s” crossed, and “I’s” dotted, with its universal gravitational balance. We normally don’t think this way, lest we want our minds to become mad.
       I heard a voice in this dream I had within my mind, it said: “I am immortal, I sit behind the suns, and write epitaphs, for all living things, then I open up their lips, an endless task it seems at times: the zenith of life comes from nothingness—and I, I alone hear their dying wish: to remain, to be: to some extent, to be like me forevermore, come to my eternity. Eyeless faces, pale and un-molded, that is what you all were once, but by my graces so you all became something more than nothing.
       “Orion’s illumed by my side, showers me like a rainbow with its gasses, breathless orchard: it is the magnificent mocker of the universe: perhaps you would call it such.  Hence, should I touch, only touch it (lest I destroy My own makings): only touch its burning drums, put my finger into its aflame winds—what I created it all out of—nothingness, the horse’s head would roar, as if into a merciless, pitiless volcanic eruption, yet the moat around my untouched garments, it would never reach—and with the beckon of my finger it would go silent.
       “The Universe is like a squeezing viper at times, a sacrificial rip in all its proportions, the magnitude that  I’ve carved out of the thrust, as you call it—or have called it, from the push: from end to end, or as you have now proclaimed, its endless, end.
       “You see, and you don’t see, that I created all this out of oblivion at different stages with different utterances, and when you study this more, you will understand it more, you will understand me more, why your existence is, at all. It is not that I need you that I molded you out of clay, pasted you together from that thrust, twist, wave, and roar— because that was all from emptiness; but it was from me to you, a gift of life, and that is called love.”

#1366 6/5/2006; written while at the El Parquetito Café in Miraflores, Lima, Peru, one afternoon (reedited, 7-2012) Reedited 11-2012