Friday, February 3, 2012

Gasworks, stars, and planets

So I'm sitting in my car after walking through Gasworks looking at the stars and planets. As part of my 2012 resolution to get serious about writing again, I figured it would be a good time for a blog post.

I haven't traditionally been much of an astronomer, but I'm pretty sure that this month is a fantastic one for astronomy hobbyists. Venus is currently about an hour from setting, with Jupiter high in the sky. A few minutes before Venus sets, Mars will rise in the east, and towards midnight, Saturn will be visible. Later this month, Mercury will be visible.

I've spent a lot of time recently watching documentaries on the cosmos. It takes me away from where I am and fills me with a sense of wonder about our universe. Since I'm currently an agnostic, I don't feel that it connects me to any particular celestial being, but my brain does somersaults trying to comprehend the vastness of space and the processes by which all we can see came to be.

I guess it's high time that I take up astronomy. Perhaps that's the most fitting way to remember a friend of mine that recently passed away from cancer; he was an avid astronomer, always able to spot the majority of the constellations in any sky.

It's Friday night and all I can think about is the stars. At least the stars are cheap--it wouldn't work right now to grab a drink or to go out to eat, because it's that time of the month when the eagle is most definitely grounded.

As I said, the stars take me away from it all. I've actually been considerably under the weather today; this morning it seemed like I would never be able to get moving, and I ended up being about two hours late for everything today. I was able to catch up, though, when there was a lull at my internship.

Like the stars, I feel spread thin. Nebulous, if you will. Foggy. One of my friends has suggested that I haven't really dealt with everything that is affecting me. I suppose that could be true--after all, I'm writing about it, in spite of all of the things I could be writing about. But it needs an outlet.

There has been a lot of death and a lot of heartache leading up to this point. Like giant supernovae, it is impossible for me to ignore the auras of the people that have left my universe; the memories circle around my mind with nowhere to go, no outlet, because all of the people who knew them (really knew them) are also gone.

Mine is a universe without stars.

Every once in a while someone comes along who proposes to change all of that, someone who tries to bring some light into this dark nebula of consciousness--but I push them away. I always push them away, because it's too painful to think about sharing something real and having it end. So I stay in stasis, alone.

My roommates talk to me. The conversation is as shallow as rainwater; work, school, television. I've never been a fan of television, but now that I can find commercial-free fare, I use it like a charging station: Go home, plug in, tune out. I don't have to think, much less feel.

This isn't going anywhere healthy. I'm always cynical; cynical of organizing, cynical about politics, cynical about relationships. I'm such a pessimist these days that I fail relationships before I begin them.

I am adrift in a galaxy of possibilities, but each one passes me by. Each time, I wonder as they go--could this have coalesced into something brilliant? Something explosive? Something with gravity?

With meaning?

I look at the stars and wonder--how do I ever get there from here? It's a long, dark road, and my light has all but flickered out. I need to find my purpose. I need to find my shine.

As these words fill empty space, I contemplate whether I can excavate my inner light by continuing to write.

I'm willing to give it a try. The sky, as they say, is the limit.

C-E-