third contact

1

& here is the outside stimuli you asked for

& here is Gaston Bachelard — the dreamer — opening himself to the world

& here are the mechanics of it all & the spinning & churning & coalescing

& here is the sky rioting & here is my heart knotted up

& here is a reminder that the next UK eclipse will be 2090 by which time i will be dead

& here are inconclusive theories & unanswerable questions & imponderables which offer an escape from our insignificant crises & here are our earthly concerns seeming comparatively minor

& here is feeling that the universe is utterly oblivious to our loves & losses

& here are the edges of our imagination

& here is some kinetic & shifting language & here is a contagious theory about powerful forces & the unboundedness & the wildness of the skies

& here it is — expansive & tentacled & unpredictable & pervading all categories

& here is a struggle to contain what is being witnessed & here you are — barely able to converse

& here are the three steps of shattering & splintering & surrendering to the unfathomable

& here is a reminder that as the light falls we also fall into awe

& here is truth floating to the surface & here is wonder & disturbed sleep & unstable tears & fatigue & new beginnings

& here is 1999 & my dad saying don’t look at the sun

& here is the BBC saying don’t look directly at the sun

& here is the mollification of my mind

& here are our thoughts scored to the mechanics of the sun & moon aligning & here is time operating in terms of billions of light years & here is my day contingent on waiting

& here we are standing with our eyesight saving equipment & saying weird — i’ll be dead in 2090

& here is a dance with mystery where being rich isn’t counted in possessions or beauty but depth of experience

& here is the world itself splitting open