Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

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space oddities

I always like the part when Mr. Bowie sings "here am I, floating in a tin can, far above the moon". I see that my entries posted count just crossed 1,001. Although I am still 1,000 entries short of Arthur C. Clarke territory, I nonetheless have a millenial feeling. I've read smug pop scholarship that suggested that civilization pretty much stopped until the 1,000 A.D. milestone had passed, as raptures apparently come in 1,000 year intervals.

I like that in the Baha'i writings, it's made clear that the current revelation is not the final one, but is warranted for 1,000 years. I want my revelations to come with mileage guarantees.

Although after 1,000 entries one would imagine that one would have exhausted one's personal subject matter, I think I'll post a few more.

Sometimes it feels like floating in a tin can, watching life happen a thousand million miles away. The lifeline keeps me connected to my own spaceship, but otherwise I drift and watch. Major Tom required a sequel, of course, about drifting in space. "We know that Major Tom's a junkie--strung out on Heaven's high, hitting an all-time low". But I prefer to see that space is quite vast, and not entirely unfriendly. Once in a while the impulse comes to delete this universe, but I chalk it up to solar radiation.

Perhaps I am an empath--so many times the gasps of pain are not my own, but those I read. May I make my handkerchief into your red badge of courage? Unfortunately not--I'm just out here in cyberspace. But I do fancy that one can radiate a little heat and warmth, even at distances of light years away. In Bible school we sang about little lights'o'mine that we were gonna let shine. "Hide it under a bushel? No! I'm gonna let it shine". So many folks would enjoy a bit of burning bush, but so often there are just twinkly stars, obscured by those cloud-like streaks in the Milky Way.

I listen to my short-wave radio, flipping the dials to find something in English I might enjoy. Each shortwave radio station is a journal post. I never compare the stations with my life, but just listen to what they have to say. I get amused and pleased with juxtaposition, as when a Danish station does a feature on highlife music. When a song previously unheard erupts from a radio station to which one can connect only if the weather is right, there's some sort of salvation experience.

I think that salvation works itself into one's life one experience at a time. I think that one posts in one's journal a set of ideas and notions, because one has one's own space. It's not important that one's space is "ordinary" or "extraordinary". It's not about comparisons at all. It's about letting words go into cyberspace, so that radio telescopes can pick them up, and discover there's life out there.

As much as one would sometimes wish to share a cup of coffee, or a good long "it's okay" hug, or a two in the morning debate over pancakes at IHOP with someone, all we really share is words. But words are good. Words travel. Words pierce minds, like ultraviolet rays. I am drifting, content, in a universe of words.
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