The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

It’s a Dangerous and Powerful Universe

"It’s a Dangerous and Powerful Universe" 

I read the leading entry at least three times, and by the last sentence, I realized that I hadn't actually absorbed anything beyond the first paragraph. It wasn't the writer's fault, though. The truth is, I find any kind of space related material to be infinitely boring. While I can appreciate how fascinating it may be to oodles of other people, to me, talk of the milky way really needs to be about a chocolate bar. I can get into a fairly base level discussion about how the planets are set up, how the position of the moon affects certain people's moods, how stars we think we're seeing actually exploded and scattered in miniscule fragments in the cosmos a zillion years ago and what we're seeing now is actually what was going on then, only visible to earthlings now, speed of light and all that. And even these small snippets make no sense to you, because I only paid a moderate amount of intention to my man, who adores astronomy, when he attempted to explain it to me. I fell off the conversation and let my pod-person take the helm. She nodded and appeared interested and asked perfunctory questions while I took an internal nap.

I think the reason why is kind of related to the vastness of the universe, how completely unlimited it is. I can't wrap my mind around forever. I need the boundaries, I suppose, the bookends, and a lot of space study involves theory rather than absolutes. The bottomless sensation I get when I attempt to envision it all actually makes me anxious. It's all just too big, and I feel like I'm floating whenever I really try to get serious about understanding it. We just don't know what's out there.

Whenever people bring up, usually at dinner parties, whether or not there is life on other planets, my stock response is 'Sure, why wouldn't there be? We're here aren't we? To suppose there isn't life anywhere else seems arrogant to me.' Then, someone will retort with the canned response 'Well, if they're out there, why haven't they revealed themselves to us yet?'. Now, think about it, if we're having such a hard time finding them, isn't it possible they're having the same difficulties in trying to locate us? Does it even matter? Should millions of dollars be funded to space programs when the planet we're inhabiting is gasping for air?

I get frustrated when I hear of expeditions to the moon, or an already explored planet. That's been accomplished already, right? If the money is going to be spent, should it not be spent on something worthwhile? But, then again, I get it. The cowboy in space ideology, the need to explore a new frontier, the insatiable curiosity of those who live for adrenaline and speed. Some people really need to do something risky, to push the limits of what their minds and bodies can do, to embody and enact the fantasies of others. I don't understand that kind of impulse but clearly, a lot of other people do. Sure, space is awesome, by the most genuine definition of the word, and I don't take it for granted, but I don't feel any kind of intrinsic passion for it. We give it words and theories and titles and none of that properly captures the awesomeness of what is out there. It's too much, really. I feel like it holds a million little secrets and I actually respect the mystery.

It's not just the reality I have no interest in, I also really don't enjoy the sci-fi genre. I have never watched an entire episode of Star Trek, never have read anything by Huxley, and I instantly flip the channel if anything involving alien life forms pops up. It's not for lack of imagination, though. I just can't get into it, always finding myself bored with the interiors of spaceships and shuttles, disinterested in the technical terms for non-existent life forms and fantastical space equipment and count the minutes until whomever is probing whatever outside their space craft gets back in because the ominous beeps and bleets of the craft and the heavy breathing of the helmeted, faceless explorer are like some kind of trigger for narcolepsy.

Is the universe actually dangerous? I don't think so. This would imply it has the intention of harming and this is obviously not the case. It, whatever it is, has no agenda, it just is. Is it powerful? Again, I think it just is and does not attempt to best anyone or anything. So far, the only evidence of danger and power I've ever known is in the hands of earthlings, and what we consider power and danger to be is usually the result of our involvement. We are simply guests here, we have no real importance in the greater scheme of things despite our best efforts to convince ourselves otherwise. We live inside it, we try to understand it, we never stop trying to find the bottom or the top.

That's okay, but I prefer to watch it from here, take in the discernible delights of a cloudless night and let my mind wander through the black beyond the stars. I look at the Big Dipper, feel content that I can identify it, and I will stand outside and look for flashes of light, craning my neck and making wishes when I see them. I am admittedly interested in how the planets affect people, in an astrological way, and marvel at how quickly astrologers can tell someone their Venus is rising or that they have three moons in the house of Jupiter. Whatever any of that means. I don't know, I'll probably never know.

I'm just happy when I wake and the sun is where it's supposed to be, and that I can sleep with a thread of moonlight glowing between the curtains. I have enough to worry about, humanity and its precarious condition and all.