Fitting Lightyears Between Inches
I have been thinking very cosmologically lately, listening to a lot of Richard Feynman Videos, and always, Alan Watts. A common thought is shared that the spectacular vastness of the universe, and the reality of nothingness makes us more –real.
“Fitting Lightyears Between Inches” is my ode to the stars.
Fitting Light Years Between Inches
On clear summer nights, I like to find big empty spaces. Find fields the size of oceans when you lay in its middle, while the wind orchestrates ballet dances with runaway leaves.
I lay down with my hood under my head to keep the blood from filling up the narrow spaces inside my skull.
I breathe easy.
My body sinks into grass blades and dandelions. Bugs I don’t even know or can see travel the unknown my body is to thee
I stare straight up to space, transcending my sight past our atmosphere.
I can see higher than the planes.
When I stare straight up into a clear, night sky, I see kaleidoscopes of infinity signs
There is no end.
There is no distinction of space between stars.
I am fitting lightyears between inches.
Every bit of space between me and the moon contains the same elements that constructed the pathways for my blood streams.
I cry out from under my eyes the same ingredients found in the stars, and when Im inspired my mind quivers through every crevice of my being
Consciousness is form of communication between us and the universe that our technology can’t yet comprehend. There is no logic or thought to solve its mystery, no quadratic equation and no theory of relativity, no modus tollens and no scientific method.
It’s simply a feeling, an awareness, a recognition of mystery that keeps us noble.
A ability to listen to a heart beat in the midst of a silent moment in light rain.
A feeling of oneness with the world around you, your instinct of the synced-ness of body and mind.
We question our origin.
We reason our existence.
We breathe to know were alive as well as too live.
A lot of people will tell you that you can find answers inside the stars, that if you stare long enough, mysteries will start to unravel like toilet paper rolls and the gods will show their faces.
Nothing this supernatural is in the stars.
Better than this, there is something supernatural in the act of starring up at the stars. There is a mysticism that wears onto our bodies like pungent perfume and stills our necks from moving, while our vision fixates on on the myriad of twinkles above.
On these night were I lay in the middle of an ocean of grass, my vision elevates past treetops and roofs. Only a panorama shot of the universe from my humble perspective is in view.
And I am no longer anywhere.
I feel the ground but can’t see it, and slowly I lose my identity. My mind stills and my bodies boundaries dissolve.
I start seeing hundreds of stars beyond my focus. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of tiny dots like sheets of dust that can be found in the waterfalls of sunshine from our windows.
For a brief instant: I am nothing, I am selfless, and I am everything
(We Are Fitting Light Years Between Inches)