Far from the intrusive nighttime lights from clusters of human populations, it is possible to look back in time. On moonless, cloudless nights, the sky appears black and empty except for thousands of tiny white specks. Some of the light from those miniscule dots is so old that the concept of time seems almost inapplicable. Their distance from our eyes is so great, though, that we can understand it only by invoking calculations based on the speed of light over a period of time—light years. Betelgeuse, at 642.5 light years from Earth, is among the brightest of the roughly 6,000 stars visible under optimal conditions. V762 Cas, 16,000 light years from us, is the most distant star visible in the night sky. When we peer at Betelgeuse, the light we see left the star sometime in the year 1381. The light reaching our eyes from C762 Cas began its travel about 11,000 years before the earliest evidence of recorded human history. It is entirely possible that, one Earth year after the light we see tonight, C762 Cas exploded or imploded or otherwise transformed into some sort of incomprehensible cosmic dust. Indeed, that could be the case for every star in the night sky; essentially every light we see in tonight’s sky could represent just a remnant of the way the universe once was. We cannot be certain that the sky above us tonight is the same sky we will see tomorrow. Tomorrow’s sky could be washed in dim, dying light, signaling the transformation of the universe into shreds of shriveling energy. Or, tomorrow’s night sky could be black and empty—without the white points of light that give us reason to wonder what or who else is out there.
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I thought of the universe last night—how incredibly vast it is and how tiny we are, both individually and collectively. Collectively, I think we are smaller than an immeasurably small fraction of a quark; individually, we are infinitesimally smaller. And the universe, from my perspective, is hundreds of billions of times larger than one million times the mass of the largest galaxy. But mass and volume and other such measures are meaningless in an environment within which size is both irrelevant and unfathomable. Time and distance, too, are irrelevant except on a smaller scale—a much smaller scale. Distance, measured by calculations involving the movement of light over a period of time, is valid only when time is measured in a way relevant only to Earth. That validity evaporates in the absence of Earth-based measurements. The same is true of time; one year within the gravitational realm of Alpha Centauri is radically different from one year in our solar system. We can understand time and distance only in the context of Earthly experience. I admire astronomers and astrophysicists who attempt to understand the universe, but I suspect their understanding is tainted by a provincial perspective from which they cannot escape.
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Knowledge is not, by itself, power. Knowledge is a step toward enlightenment. The knowledge that true understanding is impossible is as close to enlightenment as humans can get. Wisdom is a precursor to enlightenment, but enlightenment is simply a theory of what might be possible if we could every achieve understanding. We cannot. We can only strive to remove as many obstacles as possible to insight or awareness. Many brilliant people, I suspect, achieve amazing insights; but those amazing insights leave them aching and empty and unimaginably disappointed with the impossibility of achieving enlightenment and understanding. The most brilliant, though, somehow overcome disappointment with appreciative acceptance; a level of proto-understanding that enables them to reject suicide as the only acceptable alternative to dejection.
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We attended Music on Barcelona at our church yesterday, at which the primary performer gave a stunningly good performance. Her voice and her way of expressing emotion—happy and sad—were amazing. Just before her performance was to begin, though, I suddenly felt weaker than I have felt in a very long time. I wanted to go sit in the car and try to sleep; mi novia, though, would not hear of it. She insisted that she would take me home, instead. I refused. I opted to sit in the back pew so I could leave without being noticed, if necessary. I am glad I did. Before the performance ended, I had recovered from whatever made me feel so weak. I was able to enjoy a spectacular performance. I will never cease to be amazed by the incredible talent that exists among the people of Hot Springs Village. Perhaps it was her performance that revived my energy; it was that good.
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I was planning to spend yesterday afternoon reading and critiquing a book a friend has written and asked me to review; he is preparing to publish it soon. But, I thought I would take a short nap before getting back to it. Four hours later, I woke, no longer in the proper mood to devote time to critiquing it. Today, especially this afternoon, I will dedicate my time to the task at hand. So far, I am quite impressed by his writing and the heart-wrenching autobiographical story he tells.
