Micro & Macro Cosmic Debris

I munched into my canapé, sugar and bitter mushroom tangling on my taste buds. It was now fully dark, and the tealights around the bar were blown by a warm night wind.
“So it goes like this,” Ghandi continued, enraptured by his own expressions. “In this reality, we have two extremes. First, zoom outwards. Imagine yourself ten metres above the ground, looking down on this little beach bar. See the boat, and the coast, and all of us sat around talking. Then go up, just start rising up, until you can see the whole beach, the forest, road, the mountains inland. Up and up till the coast curves around, you’re above the peak of the mountain, and keep going. Now the coast connects up, you can see the whole island, but keep going! Soon, it’s a dot in the sea, then the coastline of Thailand. Keep going up and up till you can see Vietnam, the Phillipines, the China Sea, Japan. All of it, growing and growing yet shrinking and shrinking too. Soon you can see Indonesia, India, Australia, the whole south-east archipelagos. Go, go, go! Picking up speed, through the atmosphere, until you see the whole planet, but don’t stop there. Go out out out past the Moon, past Mars, past the asteroids, past the gas giants. Zoom zoom! All the way out till you see all the planets rotating around one another. Really go fast now, shoot out past the outer rims, into the clear black nothing, our sun disappearing into the distance, shrinking away till it becomes a dot amidst a million million others. If you keep going far enough, you’ll reach the edge of the galaxy. If you keep going even further, you’ll begin to see other galaxies too, until you keep going far enough, you’ll see all these galaxies, spinning around one another, just a glimmer in the vast, black nothing.
“That’s the macrocosm. The hyper-big.”
He pointed a scrawny finger into his own eye.
“Now come back down here. Zoom into my eye. Down through the skin and jelly and tissue. Down through the cells and stringy bits. Down into the cells themselves, the chromosomes, the nucleus, the mitochondria. Go into these, into the chemical formula. Break them all up into their composite chemicals, carbon particles, hydrogen molecules, then go within these, down to the atom. It may look like a sphere, but go deeper. It shatters into electrons, protons, neutrons. The spaces between these are molecularly vast, yet infinitesimally minute at the same time. Yet within these, it breaks up again, and again, until you realise there is a whole universe within all of us.
“The microcosm. The hyper-small. The space between molecules means we aren’t composed mainly of water, but of emptiness, of a space-like void. Yet both extremes, both endpoints, are governed by the same rules, the same ‘laws’, as we so simply call them. Really they are just constructs to allow us to better comprehend the incomprehensible. Belief, belief is the key that shapes our reality.
“And the best bit is, we, us simple, little monkeys drinking on a beach. We are the junction between the infinitely big and the infinitely small. The cross-over, the interchange, the fusion, the meeting point. We are the instigators and the victims of galactic and atomic forces.”
“We are stardust, we are golden … “ a spontaneous chorus, taken up by the company, swang into the night air. “And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”
“In this way, perhaps disasters, wars, plagues, starvation, could be seen as psychic epidemics, great mental upheavals of emotional and addictive suffering, sweeping through the collective unconscious, a tsunami of despair sweeping the populaces of the world. We great psychic apes! If we only realised what power we have on the world, realise that thoughts are things, thoughts are as real and effective at actions, more so, because they pump out all this invisible energy that is tireless, limitless, all-pervading. We are part of the same fabric of reality, a great limitless white cloth with little circles on it that we call ‘people’. But we’re all part of the same cloth and the circles are only drawn on in washable ink …when we die it’s all washed away and we are all one again. We have a responsibility to the whole world, to remain positive, to think right, not to pollute the psychic airwaves with our negativity.”
As if by magic, Yeoh revealed a paper pirate’s hat he saved for such moments. Plonking it on his head, he leaped on to a log and slapped his thigh.
“Ladies and gents, all aboard the SS Bob Marley. Departure in five minutes! All aboard!”
As the crew began to assemble, I made to move for my personal preparations. Christine grabbed my arm.
The touch was electric, it shot hot messages up into my cortex, her bare hand on my bare arm like Morse code in my brain. It said a thousand things whilst saying nothing.
“Are you not coming with us?”
“I’ll be joining you in a bit.”
“But how will you get to the boat?”
I smiled, and with a whooshing sound, thrust my arm up towards the stars.
She laughed. “You’re a rocketman! Like Elton John!”
We laughed and I fell in love with her, all the while feeling Nadia watching me greedily. Or was it jealously?

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~ by mightyjahj on February 8, 2009.

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