Part 1 -
It was everything
it was nothing--
It curved without boundary
at temperatures
infinitely burning.
A dense spot
holding the ingredients
to our universe.
Particles racing around
too sexy to settle down--
it was the beginning.
In every equation
of general relativity,
the radius of space-time
starts at zero--
as do all our cosmological theories.
From this point, an expansion:
flat and smooth.
Science does not address
conditions before this--
they are not representative
of the universe we now live in
the one immediately after
the Big Bang,
past the point of zero.
The temperatures relented,
particles found each other
more attractive.
Some began to cluster,
bringing new particles into existence.
From quarks, we get protons and neutrons,
foundational parts of the atom--
not indivisible as once thought,
electrons included.
Photons colliding at high speed,
generating masses
give birth to both positron and electron--
particles, destined
many to annihilate each other,
reverting back
to the light that made them.
Second 1
Temperatures drop--
10 billion degrees Celsius.
Particles, once too hot,
begin connecting,
some with counterparts,
others their opposites.
Second 100
Temperatures drop--
1 billion degrees Celsius.
Many annihilated,
the survivors are caught
by the strong force--
a short-range attraction
where nuclei form
clustering together,
forging light elements,
the seeds of heavier ones,
and the unbound decay.
Our cosmos is now
full of elementary particles.
Helium, hydrogen, lithium, beryllium--
building blocks of the heavens.
Like alpha, beta, gamma,
it was the origin
of a new language.
Alpher, Bethe, Gamow
had made quite the prediction.
Traces of this evolution
could be detected
through photon radiation,
now just a few degrees above
absolute zero--
faint and red-shifted.
Still boundless,
now curved by masses,
cooled in the vast expanse.
The bread had risen,
the butter spread.
It was nothing,
but it was everything.
Without God
how do we account
for the precision
in the afterglow,
the humming background
of the microwave static,
so finely tuned,
the critical rate
of inflationary expansion
resulting in
even heat distribution?
The zephyr of intention.
How many times
might it have played out--
an explosion
immediately retracting,
folding back in on itself?
The blank page
where words were written,
then crumpled, tossed
in the waste bin,
erased from existence.
The unknown unknown--
Creative Director,
Master Architect,
The Virtuoso,
Design Manager,
Technical Specialist.
Playing with the dials,
making adjustments,
iterating through loops,
testing the mathematics,
letting chaos loose.
Until the output tried,
uncaught, it printed.
Could it have as easily been
an act of chemistry?
A recursion of collisions,
generations of reactions,
interacting infinitely.
Until the moment
that changed everything
in a billion-trillion-trillionth of a second,
the possibility of human life,
our creation,
a probability.
But first,
helium and lithium atoms
began forming.
And within hours,
what was once fertile,
rich soil,
increasingly exhausted.
As photons fled and space widened,
temperatures continued dropping.
What particles remained
became progressively attractive.
Denser materials compounded
and compounded.
Curving the dark velvet,
drawing in larger structures
from the nearby
smoothed surface.
Clusters of elements
dancing in delicate orbits--
matter of all shapes and sizes,
in step with the center
of the heaviest collapsing masses.
Galaxies were forming.
Some spiraled,
spinning tightly
in their waltzes.
Others lacked rhythm,
two-stepping
into more oval objects.
Stars ignited
from hydrogen and helium gases,
breaking down,
creating thermonuclear fusions,
balancing a gravitational pull,
shining across a spectrum:
Yellow--
embracing phases,
shedding layers,
enriching future generations.
Red--
savoring the long journey,
still theorizing its end.
Blue--
burning out faster,
going in a burst of glory,
scattering carbon, oxygen, and iron,
or collapsing under its own gravity,
inviting suspicion, lore, and mystery,
where light does not escape--
a gravity trap,
the dark heart of the cosmos,
finally in '69
christened--
the Black Hole.
Where everything we think
we know about the universe
is tested, dissolves,
and breaks down--
inverts into a parallel world
or stores the records
of all past versions.
We search
for the information
at this horizon
hurriedly,
fearing it dissipates,
leaving a theory of everything
forever out of reach.
We assume light is wavy,
rippling
in the darkness,
lacy traces
racing across the universe.
Encrypted
with messages
of our
veiled origins.
Not photon particles, clustered
and individually dispersing.
Characteristic crests and
troughs,
escape velocity, depending
on the
strength of nearby gravity.
Creating a point
at which light cannot escape--
not a wall, but a drain
collecting the lost remnants:
memories accumulating
from experience,
sights seen across the distance.
Traveling at constant speed,
streams of consciousness
are caught by these voids in space--
dense masses, oblivious
to their bending black bodice,
stretched seams,
and tight closures.
Lost in thought, focused
on future destinations,
light curves around these objects
along the nearest straight path,
toward eager eyes, gazing up
in anticipation of it.
The closer the waves get
to the center of mass,
the sharper their curve inward--
passing self-reflection,
diving in headfirst,
asking questions like:
What am I capable of?
What is life's meaning?
What gives something worth?
Until there is no turning back.
Speculation and contemplation--
all-consuming,
all cylinders fire off.
The fastest thing in the universe,
now trapped.
A Pandora's Box,
where only hope is left.
As darkness prevails,
nothing else stands a chance--
structures of the past
dissolve in a bitter romance.
The field of gravity,
being no match,
we pass the horizon
without noticing it.
An infinite free fall
into the abyss.
Where each crest
is farther and
farther spread.
Time appears to stop,
stuck within
a moment,
we didn't say
what needed
to be said.
As if
space
condensed,
our
lungs
unable
to contract,
our breath lost,
once
again,
caught,
in
our
chest,
ad
nauseam.
While
optimistic
onlookers
move
forward,
forever
in
wait
of
our
final
message.
Sometimes the outer regions collapse
blowing out debris
across the universe
shining more brightly
than all the other stars in the galaxy
Proof it had existed, crowning
the glory in which it had lived
visible to the naked
peering eyes
of the future, in a violent act
Turning night to day
rivaling the sun in brilliance
even across a great distance
emitting killer radiance
as if vindictive, unwilling to die alone
Taking the more fragile with it
those who unknowingly settled too close
we, safe in our beds, study
known hypergiants, yellow
as if to say,
"Yield! Beware!
I am awesome, but dangerous!
I provide the rawness you need,
the material that you will later consume!
That, used to build your heavier elements!
Bodies, you depend on. Energy, you use."
In the remnants
of exploding stars,
in a place once
condensed and too hot,
in the course of time
gave birth to life.
Having expanded out,
leaving behind space
in the wake of annihilation
the cooled particles
gave rise to larger elements.
Primitive and still poisonous
they continued to conjugate,
combining in new ways.
Assembling structures
that self-replicate.
Surviving through fitness
of the evolving environment.
In worlds like our own
they consumed hydrogen sulfide,
methane, and carbon dioxide,
Producing a new atmosphere
in which oxygen breathing
organisms could thrive.
The universe,
and all its complexity,
was growing exponentially.
This was an era
of self-discovery, of
learning its boundaries--
'What all could I be?
I may have started out small,
too hot to handle,
but in the cradling curvature
of Space-Time
I solidified…'
General theories came to life
and predictions realized;
humans ventured further
and further into its intricacies.
Threads and spooky stuff
began to tantalize.
In a world physics described,
an intuition was building.
A thought emerged, 'it wasn't all
figured out yet.'
As we observed small-scale effects
of what appeared to be:
Quantum mechanics.
it was nothing--
It curved without boundary
at temperatures
infinitely burning.
A dense spot
holding the ingredients
to our universe.
Particles racing around
too sexy to settle down--
it was the beginning.
In every equation
of general relativity,
the radius of space-time
starts at zero--
as do all our cosmological theories.
From this point, an expansion:
flat and smooth.
Science does not address
conditions before this--
they are not representative
of the universe we now live in
the one immediately after
the Big Bang,
past the point of zero.
The temperatures relented,
particles found each other
more attractive.
Some began to cluster,
bringing new particles into existence.
From quarks, we get protons and neutrons,
foundational parts of the atom--
not indivisible as once thought,
electrons included.
Photons colliding at high speed,
generating masses
give birth to both positron and electron--
particles, destined
many to annihilate each other,
reverting back
to the light that made them.
Second 1
Temperatures drop--
10 billion degrees Celsius.
Particles, once too hot,
begin connecting,
some with counterparts,
others their opposites.
Second 100
Temperatures drop--
1 billion degrees Celsius.
Many annihilated,
the survivors are caught
by the strong force--
a short-range attraction
where nuclei form
clustering together,
forging light elements,
the seeds of heavier ones,
and the unbound decay.
Our cosmos is now
full of elementary particles.
Helium, hydrogen, lithium, beryllium--
building blocks of the heavens.
Like alpha, beta, gamma,
it was the origin
of a new language.
Alpher, Bethe, Gamow
had made quite the prediction.
Traces of this evolution
could be detected
through photon radiation,
now just a few degrees above
absolute zero--
faint and red-shifted.
Still boundless,
now curved by masses,
cooled in the vast expanse.
The bread had risen,
the butter spread.
It was nothing,
but it was everything.
Part 2 -
how do we account
for the precision
in the afterglow,
the humming background
of the microwave static,
so finely tuned,
the critical rate
of inflationary expansion
resulting in
even heat distribution?
The zephyr of intention.
How many times
might it have played out--
an explosion
immediately retracting,
folding back in on itself?
The blank page
where words were written,
then crumpled, tossed
in the waste bin,
erased from existence.
The unknown unknown--
Creative Director,
Master Architect,
The Virtuoso,
Design Manager,
Technical Specialist.
Playing with the dials,
making adjustments,
iterating through loops,
testing the mathematics,
letting chaos loose.
Until the output tried,
uncaught, it printed.
Could it have as easily been
an act of chemistry?
A recursion of collisions,
generations of reactions,
interacting infinitely.
Until the moment
that changed everything
in a billion-trillion-trillionth of a second,
the possibility of human life,
our creation,
a probability.
But first,
helium and lithium atoms
began forming.
And within hours,
what was once fertile,
rich soil,
increasingly exhausted.
As photons fled and space widened,
temperatures continued dropping.
What particles remained
became progressively attractive.
Denser materials compounded
and compounded.
Curving the dark velvet,
drawing in larger structures
from the nearby
smoothed surface.
Clusters of elements
dancing in delicate orbits--
matter of all shapes and sizes,
in step with the center
of the heaviest collapsing masses.
Galaxies were forming.
Some spiraled,
spinning tightly
in their waltzes.
Others lacked rhythm,
two-stepping
into more oval objects.
Stars ignited
from hydrogen and helium gases,
breaking down,
creating thermonuclear fusions,
balancing a gravitational pull,
shining across a spectrum:
Yellow--
embracing phases,
shedding layers,
enriching future generations.
Red--
savoring the long journey,
still theorizing its end.
Blue--
burning out faster,
going in a burst of glory,
scattering carbon, oxygen, and iron,
or collapsing under its own gravity,
inviting suspicion, lore, and mystery,
where light does not escape--
a gravity trap,
the dark heart of the cosmos,
finally in '69
christened--
the Black Hole.
Where everything we think
we know about the universe
is tested, dissolves,
and breaks down--
inverts into a parallel world
or stores the records
of all past versions.
We search
for the information
at this horizon
hurriedly,
fearing it dissipates,
leaving a theory of everything
forever out of reach.
Part 3 -
rippling
in the darkness,
lacy traces
racing across the universe.
Encrypted
with messages
of our
veiled origins.
Not photon particles, clustered
and individually dispersing.
Characteristic crests and
troughs,
escape velocity, depending
on the
strength of nearby gravity.
Creating a point
at which light cannot escape--
not a wall, but a drain
collecting the lost remnants:
memories accumulating
from experience,
sights seen across the distance.
Traveling at constant speed,
streams of consciousness
are caught by these voids in space--
dense masses, oblivious
to their bending black bodice,
stretched seams,
and tight closures.
Lost in thought, focused
on future destinations,
light curves around these objects
along the nearest straight path,
toward eager eyes, gazing up
in anticipation of it.
The closer the waves get
to the center of mass,
the sharper their curve inward--
passing self-reflection,
diving in headfirst,
asking questions like:
What am I capable of?
What is life's meaning?
What gives something worth?
Until there is no turning back.
Speculation and contemplation--
all-consuming,
all cylinders fire off.
The fastest thing in the universe,
now trapped.
A Pandora's Box,
where only hope is left.
As darkness prevails,
nothing else stands a chance--
structures of the past
dissolve in a bitter romance.
The field of gravity,
being no match,
we pass the horizon
without noticing it.
An infinite free fall
into the abyss.
Where each crest
is farther and
farther spread.
Time appears to stop,
stuck within
a moment,
we didn't say
what needed
to be said.
As if
space
condensed,
our
lungs
unable
to contract,
our breath lost,
once
again,
caught,
in
our
chest,
ad
nauseam.
While
optimistic
onlookers
move
forward,
forever
in
wait
of
our
final
message.
Part 4 -
blowing out debris
across the universe
shining more brightly
than all the other stars in the galaxy
Proof it had existed, crowning
the glory in which it had lived
visible to the naked
peering eyes
of the future, in a violent act
Turning night to day
rivaling the sun in brilliance
even across a great distance
emitting killer radiance
as if vindictive, unwilling to die alone
Taking the more fragile with it
those who unknowingly settled too close
we, safe in our beds, study
known hypergiants, yellow
as if to say,
"Yield! Beware!
I am awesome, but dangerous!
I provide the rawness you need,
the material that you will later consume!
That, used to build your heavier elements!
Bodies, you depend on. Energy, you use."
Part 5 -
of exploding stars,
in a place once
condensed and too hot,
in the course of time
gave birth to life.
Having expanded out,
leaving behind space
in the wake of annihilation
the cooled particles
gave rise to larger elements.
Primitive and still poisonous
they continued to conjugate,
combining in new ways.
Assembling structures
that self-replicate.
Surviving through fitness
of the evolving environment.
In worlds like our own
they consumed hydrogen sulfide,
methane, and carbon dioxide,
Producing a new atmosphere
in which oxygen breathing
organisms could thrive.
The universe,
and all its complexity,
was growing exponentially.
This was an era
of self-discovery, of
learning its boundaries--
'What all could I be?
I may have started out small,
too hot to handle,
but in the cradling curvature
of Space-Time
I solidified…'
General theories came to life
and predictions realized;
humans ventured further
and further into its intricacies.
Threads and spooky stuff
began to tantalize.
In a world physics described,
an intuition was building.
A thought emerged, 'it wasn't all
figured out yet.'
As we observed small-scale effects
of what appeared to be:
Quantum mechanics.
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