Space has always comforted me.
I fall asleep easily to Star Trek, to documentaries on quantum physics and the universe. Its sheer size alone makes worrisome things obsolete, and at the same time leaves good things, important things, fortified. It has its own majesty and brilliance holding it together.
Most experience wonder when they contemplate space. I do too, but I always thought the comfort part to be curious. A hug from infinity, the pervading sense that one can expand beyond here and forever, even if it is just in my mind. Spacetime holds endless discovery, my favorite human experience. The Universe is a garden. It’s big enough for everything.
And, it feels like home.
My walls covered in paintings and tapestries of celestial landscapes, I want it to be the opposite, where my home is the nebulous cloud, and my residence holds picture frames of worlds hurtling around stars.
If money were no object, I might allow myself to be completely consumed by the universe I’ve created. I’d find myself in a small cottage on the shore where my mornings begin with salt and sand and a horizon that reminds me of limitlessness. Instead, every day I don a human suit, with human needs and human limitations that are chained to the imaginary exchange system of the marketplace planet.
Coaxed by the stars, I wander into the unknown willingly. It is not a scary place.
“You do not fear the ocean, you respect it.” I tell a lot of people.
Nature is neither good nor bad. It is completely neutral. It doesn’t have favorites or harm out of spite. It can’t be conquered, only integrated, and those who have spent a lot of time there inherently know the illusion of separation that exists, that which the disease of humanity has carefully curated. Some who have spent a lot of time out there also know that spaceship Earth is a cosmic body entirely made out of the same star stuff that everything else is made out of. Some know that spending time in nature reminds you of, and therefore reconnects you to, this Source.
Sometimes when I write Metanoia, I feel as though I am working very hard at translating my own soul. I can expand in all directions and am capable of looking at the human race both personally and impersonally. I think that understanding ourselves comes from frontiers. In fact, the human experience might entirely rely on, and be defined by its frontiers.
I’m far from finishing Metanoia. Today, I can be happy about this. This is where I can escape into the cosmos. This is where I find myself.
What is your frontier? There are many.
As above, so below. As within, so without.
I don't know what to say for posts like these, but I want you to know that I appreciate them.