1.3 Light-Seconds from the Farthest Human Wish

Chasing a "certain Slant of Light"

Aha! I knew hoarding marbles would prove useful one day . . .

Did you know that no human has traveled more than 1.3 light-seconds away from our world? This is the distance that it takes for light to voyage between our planet and the moon, or 240,000 miles.

That means that no human outside of an astronaut on the moon has ever made a wish farther from Earth. Perhaps someday there will be humans making Martian and Europan lunar wishes under sealed biodomes and far rays of sunlight! But as for now, the record stands.

And as for me, I know that I will never be able to make a wish in this life that darts beyond 1.3 light-seconds from Earth. However, I do believe that there is a power in the brain that defies the bonds of gravity and velocity.

Oddly, this ability is often only fully sharpened after defeat—resignation—the blunt acknowledgement that the world is sometimes too wearisome and painful to bear even one split-second longer.

In her poem, “There’s a certain Slant of Light (320),” Emily Dickinson speaks of the heavy oppressive light of winter afternoons, declaring, “’Tis the seal Despair – / An imperial affliction / Sent us of the Air –”

I live in the northern United States, so I deeply feel what the poetess names that “Heavenly Hurt” during this ice-gripped time of year. Currents of fierce energy frost in the veins, and a chill claw shadows every waking thought. This is not a world for living things.

One must cast their imagination wide to find them flourishing, like strange flowers between melting ice slabs . . .

And search for pockets of paradise when the world gives only cold puddles and snow dams.

Charge! Past shores of salt crystal tears to oceans of wishes in the heart that still flicker and burn—

For no frozen darkness or cruel season in life will ever be stronger than our own seed-bound scintilla. At least, this is the tale that we tell ourselves, because that is how we outlast our fate for even a few seconds longer—

“Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s. ”

~ Anaïs Nin

But how do we fly inward, faster and farther than 1.3 light-seconds, and reclaim the lost anatomy of our dreamscapes? I struggle with that question quite frequently, as anyone who grows old with their bones will keenly understand. Here are two “gem-tactics” that I roll around in my mind now and again:

Gem-tactic 1: Do the weird thing just because you love it! Gain +1 joyous slant of light.

*I’m currently sketching one random horse per month because I used to love drawing as a child, and I want to cultivate that happiness again. Here’s my Artweaver practice sketch for February: a pink-dappled beauty that pays homage to this whimsically elegant and luxuriantly priced (also sadly out of stock) unicorn brooch. I added an amethystine heart twist as a tiny nod to Valentine’s.

Gem-tactic 2: Carry an invisible talisman that reminds you who you are beyond ash or ember. Reboot 97% stardust (*the amount of atoms we share with the stars).

*This talisman doesn’t have to be fancy or erudite in complexity. For me, I thread the jaded cracks in my heart with a simple ribbon of ink. This poem was written by my late mother a very long time ago. I realized I could sing her kind message to the traditional tune of “Rose Red,” so I swapped my name with the word “child” to make it a lullaby for others, too.

Bonnie’s Song

Child happy, wild, and free, running 
Towards all that she can be 
Child, lovely, kind and strong, never stopping 
Till day is gone. 
Child, dancer, artist, sprite don’t ever hide 
That radiant light 
Hold it high, that all might see the fire that 
Brings such joy to me. 

~Bonnie Bess Bickmore Page

I wavered over whether to include her poem as I sometimes worry about oversharing my most precious memories of my mom. But as I have no children, the shining remnants of her words will one day vanish with me like a forgotten bookmark. I hope that by sharing them here, I may leave a bright mote of warmth for someone else, too.

I want to end this issue with a certain slant of silliness, for I believe that is the strongest power the brain possesses—to revel in ridiculosity!

The Swallowtail

Undaunted by the scorner’s scoffs, 
The nosy earwig, or the multi-pedian 
Myriapods of discontent—
She
Believed in flying. 
Her essence distilled in threads,
Tender-binding, silken strands
That wrapped her plump, ember-body 
Round and true (As a seed). 
Moon and sun orbited her cocoon, 
Stars trailed by in a milky gauze; 
A new world evolved within a Word. 
At last, 
Lucency called her out. 
So, leaving the ground behind
For the bliss of air-spent ways—
She gave her grace to wings. 

*If you enjoyed this poem, you may find more such inktacular musings in Tangible Creatures.

Sources:

Dickinson, Emily. “There’s a certain Slant of Light (320).” The Poetry Foundation.org.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45723/theres-a-certain-slant-of-light-320

Nin, Anaïs. Goodreads.com.

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/156703-had-i-not-created-my-whole-world-i-would-certainly

“‘Seeing’ the Earth, Moon, and Sun to Scale.” Nasa.gov.

https://www.grc.nasa.gov/www/k-12/Numbers/Math/Mathematical_Thinking/seeing_the_earth_moon.htm

Howell, Elizabeth. (1/10/2017). “Humans Really are Made of Stardust, and a New Study Proves It.” Space.com.

https://www.space.com/35276-humans-made-of-stardust-galaxy-life-elements.html