kalopsia
“I’ve never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life.”
A replayed image of myself in a red single-piece swimsuit. My hair is dark and tied in a low bun. I stand in the middle of a rotting pier awash with the ocean. The salt is itchy. My feet are cold. The water is dark beyond the surface. Black.
I am a red gash against the iridescent blue.
There’s a ship ahead, a great wooden apparatus. Without understanding why, I know that I must swim through the cold ink to get to the watercraft. Shading my eyes from the harsh sunlight, I see others adrift on metal and wooden wharfs stripping down and splashing into the water. Their belongings are in bags tied to a wrist that float behind them as they paddle towards the ship.
A girl with curly hair and thick lips swims by me. Where are your things? She cries out, flipping to her back so she can gaze upwards at me. I don’t need anything, I reply. You’re going to be cold on the other side; you’ve no clothes. Or shoes. What will you wear?
I hadn’t thought about that part.
You better hurry; we’re leaving. She swims away, her little plastic bag bobbing behind.
There is no hesitation in me; I jump. My body is lithe as a dagger. I paddle with my head up to keep my eyes on the ship. Small, rectangular wharves surround the boat where people surface and wait to be welcomed aboard. Everyone bears a case of personal items. I arrive at a dock and pull myself from the water. The sky darkens to match the water. My teeth hurt with the cold.
Heavy ropes are flung from the ship's edges. You have to climb; we cannot help you! A voice calls down from the mast. How do we carry our bags? The wind answers. My heart pounds at my fingertips and toes. I grab the rope. It’s rough; suitable for climbing. I tug it twice, hard enough to detangle it from its origin. It holds.
I wonder, will my shoulders and back bear the load?
I start my ascension. I hold tight and pull, pull, pull. I steady each foot against the ship's side. It’s slippery. I don’t look down. I keep my eyes trained upright to the sky, a near-black boiling cauldron of dark matter. Above, I hear a breeze. Below, I hear current.
My hands bleed. My feet feel like rubber. My heart spirals as Andromedia.
Ascension takes a long time. Patience, perseverance, passion for the unknown. I bite my lip to hold back a scream. I cannot waste the energy. My body throbs with the concentration it takes to arrive. Keep pulling, I tell myself. Straddling the metal, my pelvis turns upward to face the ascendant. I pause to feel my breath. I’m panting like an overheated pup.
The sky gets lower as the light fades. The pressure to become withstands. Dark energy is the force propelling the universe into expansion. It is the darkness that thrusts—onwards and outwards. I push and pull until I break and disband. A massive compact halo object envelops the star’s orb. Dark Matter makes up 80% of the universe—what we see is a mere 20% of what is.
Am I the sphere or its aura?
I ponder and press on. Blood flows in small creeks from my palms to each wrist and forearm. Red as my swimsuit. I taste iron. I want a bath. I imagine my legs are steel as the ship and move my body with its rhythm. A gentle rock that shifts me from side to side.
Memories strike my body like pellets from an owl’s mouth. A lecture at the Lowell Observatory on May 2nd, The Conditions of the Stars. The New Moon is in Taurus; the best time to take a constellation tour is during a dark moon. I wore a leather satchel and took notes against my knee. The host had a nervous manner and bounced foot-to-foot. The slides are out of order and he curses into a walkie-talkie.
The acceleration of Dark Energy began five billion years ago. Dark Energy is overtaking the forces that hold the world together. Cosmologists have determined that the Big Rip could end the world—the host had paused here, allowing terror to decant—in approximately 22 billion years! All matter will tear itself apart at an atomic level due to the overwhelm of Dark Energy in the gravitational and electromagnetic fields.
The crowd had gasped and many lingered after the speech to ask questions. What can we do? How do we slow it down? What happens afterwards? I wanted to select the sparkly laser pointer and swipe the smug look from our host’s face. Fear is a cheap and banal motivator. Dread dispels, compassion enchants.
I’d have told the audience that it’s the age of the Kali Yuga and humans won't’ be around in 22 billion years. Just relax, take care of yourself. Go home and make love to your partner. Build a garden. Only take what you need—redefine your relationship with necessity. Commit to public transit. Eat local. Pose questions to your heart. Listen more than you speak. Focus on the quiet, subtle orators. Do a little movement every day. Cook for your neighbour. Read to your kids. Play in the sunlight and sing with the moon. Put your garbage where you can see it. Clean your living space. Push past the fear and keep pulling, up up up. Don’t look backwards. Never look away.
When I surmount the cold rails of the ship, there’s no one on deck. It’s just me and the effervescent luminaries. The Big Dipper points to Polaris; I am a long way yet never that far from home. I shuck the red swimsuit and toss it over the rail. I do not watch it land.
A horn sounds. Its ring resounds in my being. I open my mouth to meet the rain and allow the ichor burst from my veins.
I am a pearl at midnight.
An exhale dispels the dream state. Firm mattress. Lumpy pillow. I am cold from my shoulders to toes. I rub my palms together to create a little warmth and place them on my belly. I breathe deeply to assimilate the unconscious; I make decisions based on the 80%—conferring the matter I cannot see. From bed, I watch the sky lighten my room in Flagstaff.
Photo source.
