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Physics

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Lullaby

Those who are discouraged need to understand. God has a purpose and God has a plan.

He created light. He created you. We’re just learning now the things light can do. It travels in waves and particle beams. It bathes us in warmth and cosmic streams. With photons it moves the hearts of the stars, and sends itself to Earth and to Mars.

The more we discover how it works, the more questions we find to answer the quirks.

And in the same way, the more we know God, the less we know which doesn’t seem odd. For God is light and God is love, who showers us all from places above.

A-men.

Cosmic Pickles

In the beginning, there was no space, and time was fuzzy. Oh and there was this Singularity.

This Singularity, being single, was granted extra syllables, which is how a simple word transforms into the infinitely complex creator of everything. Single becomes Singular becomes Singularity.

Try it out! Simple. Simplistic. Simplisticity. Ha! “Well, first we must understand the nature of simplisticity.” See how it works? We’re making science!

And this is how we deal with cosmic pickles. Like, where did everything come from? We have to account for the presence of matter, “which is neither created or destroyed,” which by definition suggests it is eternal. But nothing within the time-space continuum can be eternal, without being extra-dimensional. Matter is therefore not extra-dimensional, by definition. This, then, is a paradox.

When there is a paradox, we must find another explanation to resolve it, or else our current understanding is not balanced, not entirely cohesive. A theistic explanation satisfies by stating an extra-dimensional source of intellectual design is at play. However, an atheistic approach will never consider any acknowledgement of “design” which would allow for a “designer” (although I would argue that they do anyway, by assigning intelligence and omnipotence to “the singularity” and “evolution” and “nature”).

Everything in existence, we are told, is a product of random chaos (though we now know, even chaos possesses order). The model which most of “leading scientists” seem to promote is, in the beginning was The Singularity, a single point of time and space, which was all at once all-encompassing and non-existent, infinitely dense yet technically without mass. The concept, it seems, is that of a cosmic pustule stuck in the skin separating reality from non-reality. A great space vacuum or sort of phantom zone. There is no basis for this, except that an explanation must be made to explain what the atheistic model cannot explain through the lots-and-lots-of-time + lifeless-matter + random-chance = creation-of-everything model. The singularity, which didn’t exist, exploded, sending massive amounts of matter and energy into existence, causing the beginning of the universe, creating all the forces such as gravity and magnetism and electromagnetism.

And that, apparently, is how nothing created everything. That is one heck of a work of science.

Hymn

They say there are monsters in the cosmos that can swallow entire stars, millions and millions of black holes zipping around our galaxy, beyond the reach of everything therein to light them up, dark remnants of burned-out stars, anomalies of gravity so strange that there is nothing more seductive to the imagination.

E=MC squared, that is the secret of the stars. A beautifully elegant theory where space and time are bent by stars and planets; time and space bent and curved within the inter-tonality of interstellar vibration. The music of the suns, electromagnetic pulses of photoelectric light, more majestic than the human ear is designed to comprehend, a solar song whose rhapsody echoes and reverberates through distant worlds and across the universal seas of time.

The Creator of all things, the owner of the Book of Everything, whose very existence can only be questioned through the willful subjugation of the highest mind, injects and infuses particles of light, the light which ignites the centers of stars and stretches out the cosmic clouds of plasmic plumes across the span of time; who by His very essence is visible to everything that sees the things the eyes can see, from the emergent birth of the sluggish dawn to the quiet platitudes of evening dusk, because by creating the light He Himself became the Light.

The Secret

Beyond the reach of stars, beyond gravity and accepted laws of time; across the known cosmos and guided by the light of rainbows arching different worlds; the satyr sulked and leaped into the flame.

“The secret is protected.”

“The satyr knew, and is no more.”

“Why have you come?”

“The door beckons and begs me into being. I have looked into its eyes and heard it speak.”

“Machine men, zipping round, seductive, pulling millions and millions of Mah‘dor‘mon**…. They never rest nor never sleep, they search the Earth, go round and round. They will find you, my dearest, my darling dear, they will find my love and you will die.”

“How is that to be? I am older than the hill and longer than the tree of legend-length; older than the moon, more seasoned than the suns; my time is squared, though gained for loss; I fell before, I rose again, by righteous will I die no more.”

“Surrender. These creatures do not belong. We will not fight them. We must trust the bridge. We will not fight. We will not force. We are true. We are real. The great mystery is our strength. Cast your light into the door, the door will move. Your energy is in your light.”

“I will bend the cosmos. Press my light into the fabric and roll the galaxy into my palm and fly beyond the sun.”

The door, opening, revealed in truth: “Because it they, who never speak, though in their thoughts do dwell, they never, nor for nary ought, best to their thoughts do tell. And though through those, thrice they therewith, my quaking heart can’t quell, my mind for naught but wicked words, in propense-ed pain do spell.”

That is the secret of the stars.

**A type of canned stew

Ephimeral

Projections of a shadow world, inventions of morning light, breathed in, breathed out, footprints on worlds of oceans with fifteen billion suns. Stretched out, rolled up, ripped apart, and weather-worn; spaces of matter and twisted time, between two verses and ion shifts. The key to everything, a single photon, particles of energy turned into mass.

What is real there, really?

The mind sees, the brain detects; stimulations and time-dependent waves. An effect of cause, a focus, from one to two and on and on.

Recognizing, we see. Seeing, we believe. Touching, we feel. Thresholds surpassed, reset, surpassed again. The key to everything is nothing.

“Reflection.”

“Yes.”

“What do you see?”

“The image of a face, a moment, the things you see?”

The palm of the hand, inside out, energy and time; the faster we go, the bigger we become, until we become all at once the zero and the one.

Colors

Quantized particles permeate like bursts of super-charged plasma.

Fluctuations of time ripple like narrow slits in diffused matter.

Four forces converge like rain in empty space. And I, the mass-less part of me, feeling pain, increase the causal threshold by a square.

Red, anti-red, blue and anti-blue… these are the colors of my mass-less self.

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