The night sky

An owl’s nest, if read properly, speaks to the health of a forest.

There are stars that lose their light after greeting death, permanently camouflaged in darkness as corpses made of colossal diamonds. What an ironic grandeur of insignificance (as consolation, astronomers nicknamed a space diamond Lucy after the song "Lucy in The Sky With Diamonds"). Maybe they are meant to remind us of insignificance or ignorance, or a combination of both. There are also heavy stars bagged with glorious struggle in their lives that burst into tiny miracles of apparent emptiness with nothing but faith in the Four Fundamental Forces for a new rebirth. Patience must be one of them. Then, there are also those that will just be a grand splendour of beautiful destruction and mystery.

Technically, if we point a blaming finger to an event or someone on Earth as we always do, we’ll be blaming the stars. We’ll be blaming the cosmic events spiralling to the point of our displeasure. Extend a finger and we’ll point to the Act of Creation – and that would be blaming God. Good heavens O celestial creations! Your astral garden marvels me. How can you embrace the flap of a cosmic butterfly and be patient in such deterministic chaos? Verily, you are in constant praise.

Scientifically and historically, we are made of stars, or at least we have the same elements as them. You can call someone a shining star. We do have our spiritual collapse against degeneracy pressure, our glorious outbursts and puzzling enigma – can’t see any difference there. All the same, except for the Divine injection of free will as our greatest blessing and test. Just like the stars, we are sensitive to pre-determined conditions too but with free will, we can choose to chew on what we create and what we destroy. Oh and I am choosing to clench my jaws right now. Because when it comes to choices, I’m being helplessly sundered to portion my trust generously in the heavens instead of mankind. Oddly enough, there is guilt in being a noble victim of the circumstance. Like false courage, the blessing of guilt takes a monstrous form in the dark. I trust my feelings. Thus before pride silences me, I declare that there is nothing noble in choosing to be weak when one is permitted to be strong. The world today fuels the unravelling secrets about dark matter. They deform our perception of cardiac constellations, making patience to believe what we see as more of an active choice. Gravitational lensing.

One thing I’ve grown to realise in better lenses is the shortness of time. Some things feel like eternity, but the untangling truth is, our lives are short. Credulous. Just a heedless judgement based on the complacency of our past. Perhaps it’s not about the struggle to find time. Perhaps it’s about internalising the things that matter about living and dying so that we will never be a stranger in the hands of time. Time finds you. There are meaningful ways to live life rightfully while still being wise and enjoying the beauty presented to us, especially the hidden ones. Similarly, like living and dying, time is painfully beautiful because it can delude us while still painting the truth.

Time deceives what the eyes perceive. Billions of people don’t know that we’re gazing back billions of years into the past up above. It’s beautiful isn’t it, I mean, the night sky. It is like a fabric woven together to coolly untie naive deceptions of what we ought to receive. The further you are from the stars, the further you’ll be dragged into the past. This delay in delivering what’s hidden has been promised. Thus purify the dark within us. The heavens receive what the heart conceives.

It is equally interesting to note the evident relationship of a star’s mass and its struggle – that too has been promised. I believe all tests are internal. A black hole’s involution is an albatross of its own being, collapsing into a personal gravity capable of pulling everything apart within its reach, including light. Interesting isn’t it. This immense greed for light becomes a pandemonium of emptiness to an outsider. Just a perpetual enigma of darkness, a cosmic trap of innocence and evil. Interesting, interesting, interesting! It is a lighthouse to those observing (one of the strongest signals in the universe) with an internal secrecy labelled as the greatest mystery of the universe. What gets expelled through the two polar jets? What deserves to be shown? What should be silenced? What ought to be removed completely? But the past, it will still be there, inscribed in the fabric of existence. Can it be compressed into singularity before disappearing completely, at least in our time? What gets transported away to another time and space?

Yeah, impractical pondering. Let’s hasten into the future. What about our future? Thinking about what’s ahead of us, and sometimes behind us, bring forth insecurity and restlessness. Fear. Or is it just me? I’m afraid of the future. But I do appreciate the nature of a story that can be written and read at the same time. I don’t know what the future and the past hold for me but the future in the past was different from what I experienced, just like how one gets involved in seeing beyond the centre of singularity. The future and the past are equally unpredictable in how they’ll hold on to you. Time is unique for each soul. I have to understand that. As I grow, I began to appreciate the future as much as I hold on to my past. But perhaps not at the moment. There are many things which I have to let go to ease myself into the future. It’s not easy having heavy sentiments weighing us down in the mind, heart and soul, time after time. Sometimes I get a random surge of energy while staring at something. I’ll get visions of myself shooting through space so fast that I feel practically still while having stars streaking past me. I shall learn to be still without imprisoning myself within my own visions and memories.

"There are worse prisons than words."

I feel like diving into a black hole. Yes. I want to avenge my lack of wisdom and patience to understand the truth about living, and dying, in the best humanly, virtuous way possible, and that is by plunging myself head first, with hands on my belly, or slightly above it, like how I choose to dream and escape. No not parallel to the direction I’m travelling, but with a tilt of 15 degrees, so that I don’t have to strain my neck while looking at where I’m going. And I’ll gather all my courage that have ever manifested since my existence to utter the sacred word “PATIENCE” in a composed, mellowed voice (with suppressed boiling hatred and anger).

Like the tormenting pull past the event horizon, a point of no escape, like fate itself, my distrust for anything unknown to me have been growing exponentially. I’ll crumble and get spewed out into the pain and insecurities of unsuspecting time and undetected spaces. Nevertheless, in the end, I have faith that these sentiments will lose their vigour and disappear from our mortal senses but not from our sanctuary of wisdom. I believe I am brave enough to come face to face with my own gravity. I’m going to hold my body with all my remaining soul and if all matters are ripped apart – even my own trust – I’ll face it like the weak man I am. I’ll battle in the reality that I wish to bend in my own world. And by God’s Grace and Mercy, and only if He permits me to, I will win.

I'm lost in patience. I hope the broken elements scattered across this void will become something.

Trust patience.