The Universe in Motion Parts I Through III

The Universe in Motion

((In Narrative Poetic Prose) (and semi hexameter))

Illustrated

 Part I of III 

Forevermore, and from the beginning

In an endless motion everything goes

Flows unruffled—: the heavens above,

The pit below, the planets, stars, and the

Cosmos; bodies, nature, space, the abyss,

The flashing of thunderbolts, heat, cold,

Volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and the

Vastness of the whole: follow their course

Through whatever travel time allowed them

By Almighty God—all is on the run—

All have a journey, all in the spread of

Things, spread to every end of creation!

All motion in the universe goes, flows

Devoid of end. Man with his very

Eyes, can see things that bind things.

See space and time bend, matter quiver!

Hill to hill, mountain to mountain, sea to

Sea, land to land’s end, and to sea’s end, and

The rivers, tributaries, and nature, — for

Nature guards all, the full body. One feds,

The other, and all breed humanity by

The holy limbs of God.  If driven apart

From its fit, by the absurd, pray God sets

It back in place; or that God would not allow

It in the first place!  For it would have better

Not to have been, than to have all been

Scattered wide and uninvited.  For by

Fact, nothing got started or stabilized

By itself, and each and all set, in its rightful

Place. Nor did primal germs say one to another:

How each should move, to be driven;

Compacted, and changed to make a flower

Or a plant, a bug, a tree… Then by trial

And error, attempt to make a mortal!

God forbid this kind of motion and thing

For infectious germs to have precedence

In creation, if so, should they decide

Then to make great rearrangements what then?

Contiguous touching, connecting, attached,

To make humankind into imps and goblins?

But God has obstructed such a design,

Preserved what he has, threw proper motion,

Matter to flow in the cosmos, oceans.

And gravity to wave like the seas from

Explosions; and for the forces of earth,

A canopy; and, an asteroid belt, lumped

Barriers, built to move and sway, to cloak

Earth, from invaders. And through suitable

Balance and motion: earth spins like a top,

Counterclockwise; and the moon orbits the

Earth, counterclockwise, and the earth orbits

The sun—unmovable—counterclockwise…

And the bear, the fox, the wolf, the whale

And fire, the reptilian, the spider all with

Breath and air; and the plants take in Man’s

Carbon dioxide, and gives out oxygen…

One feeds the other, even Earth’s firmament

With Earth’s solar system, all work together.

Can a deep-rooted germ, fertile, fix all this?

In a billion or more years? Without God’s

Initiative, inventiveness? Does the

Germ, have a brain, far beyond God’s?

Can the proton, the electrons, within

A cell, within its nucleus, act together,

Without God’s triggering life-death motion?

Does it have a will, heart, breathe or a brain? 

Who’s creating the breeding barrier, code?

The genetic DNA; keeping disease far

At bay? The immune system, by spark chance?

Vanity gives the fool dreams to embrace.

Vanity says: something comes from nothing;

That fixed positions come from, oblivion!

That is to say, something from nothing is the

New cause, by chance, which is contrariwise to

Man’s own doubtful physiological impossibilities.    

The blind leads the blind, the fool teaches his

Error, and nonsense is born apart from God.

. . .

How is it that all this came about?

All these moving things, forever together…

The sun stands still, but it’s in motion

In its frame as a whole, until its energy

Diminishes, and collapses on its

Own, losing its gravitational pull and hold:

It slowly moves to its death, a black hole.

Yet so many things hide their motions,

When afar from us, too far to view and study.

Even the simple landscapes, the hillside

The wooly flocks, the mud beetle.

The color in the grass, we are all

Blurred and bent, as if standing afar—

The warmth of the sun, its serene atoms

Speed down with its light, through God’s matter

Traveling down this empty void, compelled

To warm the earth, slowly, and to cleave on

To the waves of air; particles of heat

Laments, outbreaths, entangled, enmeshed,

Each restrained by God’s fingertips, checked and

Balanced, in advance. Aboriginal atoms

With their old, bold and simple solidity.

. . .

We are a young species gathering data

On time, space, life, matter, energy, with

A barbarous past…, nor are we a

Long-lived species, years to be counted

Several times over on our fingertips:

To explore God’s wonders, we must rush!

. . .

Should the sharpness of space,

Its plan, its baffling weight and strength,

Should it move sluggishly over time and space

And should God not have preserved its

Original design, —for: chance, menacing

Madness and oddness, cutting off possibilities

For chance and rhyme?

The red lust of madness would have stepped in

And, —what God has put in place, chance

Would have made obsolescent, and farfetched!

The Universe Unfolded

Part II of III  

The Devil’s Star, the Comet

Concerning motion, unfold these thoughts: look

Into the skies, that in no wise way,

Could nature of the world, the universe be built

Other than by divine design, power—; what faults

Do you find burdened with? All the weight upon

The earth: grains and trees, mountains and seas do

Not leap to the sky… but like the roof of a dome

Remains in place.  Timber and beam, our bodies—

The elephant and the whale, all the weight

Underneath the earth, its magma, its plates,

The crust of the earth, all within and without, does

Not ascend, rise like the wind, to the empty

Void: past the moon! Venus, Mars…to the sun!

Fire and flames shift to the air, rise aloft,

And then drop: what drives them back down?

Meteors burn up before they hit the ground;

If not, they splatter sparsely. The midnight

Shooting stars flame up the sky, as does the

Devil’s star, the comet, with long fiery, fury tails

Like the Dragon. And the constellations drop to

Earth’s view, while earth spins on top of a needle!

From corner to corner: comes rain, hail, light,

Heat, all bustling, from over and above

And out of the clouds, zigzagging, falling back

Down to earth! Why not the other way! God

Has made earth’s firmament like a layered cake.

And should the naked eye look sanguinely,

Through a telescope s/he will see the universe

Splashed with galaxies, all gyrating, agitated

In and with motion. Furrowed by great waves

Fifteen-billion years in the making. Energized,

With gravity: the cosmos taking quantum leaps,

With new understandings, and Relativity:

Drawing bodies toward bodies as matter keeps

Moving like the surface of a sea, with its

Gravitational waves and astonishing precision…

And recreating new galaxies from black holes.

Thus, is it not the universe our beloved,

Multicolored home! Astonishing, intriguing,

Always interacting, always in motion…

 The crossroads

Part III of III 

In light of all that I have said, we are

Now at the crossroads where resides the Universe

And God— Creation of the universe is

Concealed first by nature; and then by science.

Science making God nonsensical, a relic.

And too we have theological concealment

Of the universe, its motion, its creation!

Why!  For the sake of grace, to work through faith.

You must take the physical, then the spiritual.

To understand God, is to understand the

Universe, perhaps not so unlike a fishbowl

And God, above it, looking down into it:

Or God, stepping into it, while still looking

Down upon it. The Universe and Creation

Was created with the idea it is to be lived

With motion, with a view to worship.

#5246/ 5-18 thru 31-2016

By Dennis L. Siluk, Dr. H.c.  © May, 2016

The Stranger (Poetic prose)

Lo! I know not where they came from: in the deep ebony eldritch scrolls of space and time into my mind; perhaps in the archives of infinite finality; out of some pocket once hidden in a gravitational wave.

Who’s to say? 

By God!

Written long ago, on old scrolls by old prophets, who have once lived and amalgamated and recorded our times yet to be.

And here we are living them.

And its name I have learned, from above the invisible stars: Wormwood.

From barbarous times I was brought back, to unknown lands, and man’s devious ways, to a sea of fire, and a sea of doom, — to a nocturnal age, of unceasing querulousness, palpable and anomalousness; where eidolons mascaraed as humans.

They’re all among us: sobbing, whispering, and shouting, in multitudinous mutterings, in tumults, all have I seen, in visions.

Learned from demons, and archangels: a vision, a word, a syllable, I have put them all together, I have learned!

I loathe to speak of this land and by what name shall I call it?  Babel?

And by what name do we know it? Alias, America?

Nay, it is she, the one forevermore the world seeks to destroy!

Greater than Rome, Greater than Greece in their memorable years, now the world scratches at her garments’ hem.

I’ve seen it all unraveling: she was mingled in dust.

And the world around her carried on as if nothing was wrong, as in a royal pageant.

She was the stranger, and I heard a voice ask: “Where goest though?”

And she answered not, her brow down, darkened by her own unscrupulous lamia like rulers who think they drink the ichor of the gods. 

Did not her forefather’s give her an ominous dirge, to this malefic?

That men can be inhabited by coadjutant demon.

That freedom is not free?

#5260/6-5-2016

  

The Hyperborean Mythos The Irony of the Taxidermist (And the Lilith and the birdman)

Lilith: she-devil!    To understand the story you are about to read, which in essence, is the small part of this sketch or prelude, you must understand the background; thus, be patient with this writer, and we’ll get to the gory stuff momentarily.

       (January 8, 57 A.D.)  With the breath of perdition—Lilith, gaunt winged and with a cragged back, and austere frothing from her lips, beheld her doom, her veils of foaming fury, ere, to be scant, from this day on, she was lashed with ropes, senseless she lay where the archangel put her, as she dimly was heard shrilling as of an unknown bird, as the folk of London  looked on, as did the Roman soldiers, intently, as well as the children that stood by, witnessed in merriment in the aspect of the she-devil whose garments were draggled and stiff and stained with dry mud, and blood, from the fight, became restrained.

On the planet of Pluto (where Lilith was vanished to; exiled is a better description) among the glaciers of nitrogen ice, moving painstakingly slowly at -236 C (or 37 degrees kelvin)—that what makes such ice at such degrees even move being—was the radioactive elements incorporated into Pluto at its formation, thus producing heat, which produces the rise and fall of ice within the cells, in this case convection cells, cells of nitrogen ice (within Pluto’s conviction system): this was the background  for Lilith’s habitat.

       Water-ice floats on nitrogen ice. In one of the pits where resided stagnant ice, Lilith the she-devil was cast to after giving birth on earth to a son. The small planet being some five billion miles from earth, a distance the archangel felt safe to place her. Cast here for her diabolic rampage for a century on earth, as previously mentioned, seemingly his name being—if I recall correct—Surr’el.

       Now we must go to the year 1819, Lucifer Birdman, a most befitting name for this character was born; thereafter we must shift to his adulthood, to the year 1848, to his 29^th birth-year.

       We must look at the roots of this story deeper to understand its evolution, its biochemical and genetic change and progress and leap in evolution.

       Mr. Birdman, was a product of Lilith, if you would track the mutation (natural selection) backwards, realizing Lilith the she-devil had wings, and once a human in the Garden of Eden, and then cast to Tartarus for her scions of madness baleful  character, and then Lucifer himself allowing her once again to join humanity providing she stay within limits as far as her  bewitchment powers went; on the other hand, if you would be able to track her DNA, and Mr. Birdman’s DNA, you’d find one element the same, out of 87, and that would have bingo yell for his diabolical ways.

       He, Mr. Birdman, had inherited a ‘jumping’ piece of DNA, called a Transposon which had inserted itself into a gene of his, this happens when a window is open; his chromosomes scrambled around as pieces switched between chromosomes in a process called ‘Recombination’ this moves evolution into high gear; thus, he had a sort of supernatural influence, or gift, and alas, he used it for the worse, he was turpitude, and now as we get into the belly, or guts of this story, you’ll get the whole picture:

. . .

The birds were slain in the wild, in a most indigent way, afterwards, stuffed by Fernando Castro, taxidermist, in London Town, in the back storage room of where his workshop resided. A very prominent and proud taxidermist, in 1848, known throughout Europe.  Among his collection he had gigantic and uncommon birds. He used gold and yellow ivory and black jasper to fill the eye sockets of the birds. Indeed he was a master craftsman in the taxidermist field.

       Mr. Birdman, as his name was quite befitting, learning of this master craftsman and his shop, and his collection, went to visit his works, with the pretense of integrating with his shop for he also was a sort of taxidermist, where he stuffed and reshuffled with straw, and various other substances—knowing  the chemical compounds for preservation purposes—his  game.

       During their discussion, what he didn’t tell Mr. Castro, was that he was a lawless necromancer, born from the birth of an ancient, she-devil, by indirect means. In his haste to be done with his plight, he explained to Fernando, that no man should be allowed to kill at will for no reason, to make sufferable his prey that no man should do what he was doing to birds, in the kill and in the stuffing of his dead prey thereafter. Fernando laughed wholeheartedly: “Birds are just birds, nothing more,” he voiced calmly. Then Mr. Birdman said in a most exacting way, “For the sake of justice, there must be some retribution here,” with the click of two fingers on each hand, thus appeared a pickaxe, of pale bronze, then with a thrust of the axe, pierced deep into Fernando’s throat, to where Fernando choked on his own blood and fell onto the floor noisily, flopping like a dying hawk.

       In fear he would awaken street curiosity, Mr. Birdman dragged his body into the backroom, where was Mr. Castro’s workshop. By then his arms had stopped flopping like broken wings, and he lay there in a heap of ruffled flesh.  At the brightest stretch of moonlight, with his pickaxe tightly behind his belt, he moved the body into a wooden trunk (one that had been left about, placing it into his carriage) went onto his premises, and upon arrival went into his workshop, whereupon he stuffed him head to toe with straw and an assortment of chemicals to keep his flesh, fleshly looking, then sewed him up tightly—like a ragdoll, in core, like a good and determined taxidermist, putting in his eye sockets, natural green jade from Guatemala, and then, thereafter, dragged his corpse down a flight of stairs, added him to his cellar collection, of which there were many like him.

#5255/6-01 & 02-2016  

The Anonymous Asmodeus ((Old Testament Demon) (Poetic Prose))

Asmodeus, old World Demon

You don’t hear of him much nowadays, but he’s around, been around for a very long time, the ancient demon, Asmodeus, a baneful creature, from a mummy-like abyss. And this is a story of his nature, awareness, and of his presence.

       As in some pestilential mist, he sluggishly clogs his way, likened through a muddy riverbed in dreams in the circuit of the mind, like a fair and baneful succubi, trying to rape men, beasts or maidens, producing a nightmare, while sitting on their chests, in the midst of a midnight moon. And like a thief in the night, Asmodeus did slip into my dreams last night, this hell-born demonic beast, as if into a cell and its nucleus, ere. Why?  Perhaps he was unable to calm his agitation with me, that I discovered him out, early on that afternoon, the one so many have in the past had to use exorcism to beguile him to abandon his home away from home! Perchance, I offended him, and this was his frightful penance, demons can be counter punchers, as well as instigators; they tend to have a ghoulish hunger, and incubus-like desires. But Asmodeus, he likes to devour men, put them in an eldritch awe. Not so unlike many demon, his thinking and presence changes from instant to instant, restless impulsive, impetuous. Hence, he wanders through the thronged bazars of my unconscious (and he has for ages before me to uncountable numbers), during its twilight: sanguine for whatever reasons to create evil, and yes, he per near did once or twice like a cradling sea, slightly appear as if out of nowhere only then to return—back through the sharp, harsh ridges and narrows of my mind, to his abode, or inn, or oubliette; but I did get a glimpse of him before I cast him away in the Lord’s name.

       He was of a weird semi-fabric of bulk matter and gloom, with rayless plated-armor (like cold steel) with a chill of deathly menace and desolation on his face and within his eyes.

       This demonic being, with stirring, orbiting and straining eyes spinning like on a top, likened to earth’s spinning counterclockwise, as it orbits the sun, with his hidden ghouls, filled with dark misgivings, all listening, watching waiting behind that sepulchral gloom, while moment by moment darkness continues to close in, and arising with his intangible eddying, seething anthropomorphic diabolical form, Asmodeus, slayer of husbands, family destroyer, he hides in a shadow among shadows, looking for an egress into the mind, an emission of light, —especially among old men, deep in their cyclopean sleep, their thews weakened, flanks unguarded,  with a weak hearts, to create pandemonium, evil, to frighten them to death, like the incubus who sits on the chest to inflict nightmares.

       Aye, it was as if he came out of the catacombs, overcome by resignation, the oppression thickened the air in my REM sleep, awoke me to this horror and his plight, stifled me some, I was his hall’s end, I subsided into a wheezing and gasping breath, he wished to put me on the chill stone, I do believe. His rustic eyes, ogling, lured out of the gloom, should I not have awakened who could tell, a dead poet—if or if not—was  sent to a charnel house, the bone house, the  house of impedimenta, before his time! Perhaps, perhaps not! But his ogling was done chary like.

       It all took place in a slit-like gleam, within a hollow of a dream, from an ajar egress into my mind, and with his impulse to invade, was only repressed by a nudge for me to awake, insight, the demon recedes and fades into faint dubious whispers of mist (thank God, and my wife for her awareness), back to his everlasting death, to his hatching-place of demons, one he knows too well, so well, and one he knows I know of also, his hell.

       And as far as I go, sleepiness took over, nodded a drowsy assent, to my heart and mind, relieved by the disappearance of those stealthily eyes, thus, I shut my eyes like portals shut only by hangers, and drifted back and deeper into a black ebony  incredible age of nothingness.  

#5253/5-29 & 30-2016  

Paused in Gloom ((After Lucifer’s Campaign) (in Narrative Poetic Prose))

Everywhere as God’s eyes wandered throughout the heavens, his heart was quaked, sickened, within this nocturnal and un-vernal age and aftermath of The Great Conflict!

Lucifer’s Campaign, his owlish irony—his thinking!

Earth’s galaxy, likened to a desert of ebon suns, orbs disorientated, off their axis, out of their original orbits: asteroids, comets, meteorites, all bombarding all of interstellar space at random.

An unpeople earth, an earth mown, all in disfigurement.

All due to the plight of the hostile forces of Lucifer, his two-hundred million angelic renegades, all had fallen upon this cosmic kingdom like a desert locust, as Archangel Mich’el and his legions fought them, of one-hundred million, and lost, until the Commander and Chief, God’s Son drove them off the cliffs of heaven.

Earth’s solar system had tumbled into molten heaps of ruin during this conflict: it was as if a hurricane had ripped through a fruitful orchard, leaving only a few black and decaying stumps!

(Desolation and bleakness—; desecration and sacrilege…)

All seemingly empty, silent, bleak planets with ferruginous atmospheric winds within their topsy-turvy orbits…

Leaned and slanted was earth’s moon as to its fall, and reflection of earth’s light from its sun, and its warming rays.

Tardily was earth’s spin on its axis, half veiled by her sun, earth likened to an almond.

Its high-pulsing mountains, vales, atolls, in stark dilapidation.

Earth’s seas blasted out, dome dry.

Earth, all but a mausoleum!

How long she lay desolate, who’s to say?

God’s holy angels whelmed by the utter loss and despair—they saw as it were, all the fluttering shadows, all the gloom, the ruin by those despotic equivocal angelic beings, renegades, once friends now foes, clothed in rotten tatters, outcasts—

And thus, none would dare approach their Creator, leprous beings of the most unholy sin: to have presupposed to become the emirs of heaven, its caliph.

Lo, now having been driven out of heaven none could find the words to answer God, nor his Son, nor his Spirit, for many would anon be entombed; and what they could say!

So they all fell into a silence, to which was their best recourse.

‘And then what?’ They thought.

‘Cast into the cosmic prisons, in some far-off nebula; or some defused mass in interstellar space, circled by gasses and luminous patches of darkness as some neanthropic, or extant species!’  

No dice, no chance, no bet!

Consequently, they fled through the ashen dusty matter of space, and some into the dark and hidden channels of earth’s underworld, as their sound grew fainter, to their Creator, and the portals of heaven were shut to them, once and for all.

Wholly distraught and despairing they were left to wander, to wonder to curiosity, to breath in their mockery, while they cursed and played, and awaited their paused gloom, for all were damned, and all were in some cataleptic malady.

#5264/6-7-2016