A Matter of Alignment

The mysteries of the Universe have long been a fascination, spawning wild and divergent theories over the centuries, as well as the revelations of astronomers over just as many years. But the observations and discoveries as more recent man-made objects travel ever and ever further into the depths of our solar system, bringing forth images we once could never have imagined, fascinate me no end. 

I remember the first time I saw Saturn through a telescope. I knew what it looked like, with its magnificent rings making it so distinctive from the other planets, but to actually see it, rings intact, out there in the void, simply minding its own business and just doing its thing, amazed me.

Among several other celestial discoveries, astronomer and physicist Galileo Galilei was the one who first brought the rings of Saturn to the world's attention. I can only imagine the ecstasy he would feel to be able to observe the heavens through one of today’s massive telescopes. What he discovered in his lifetime with the equipment he had to hand is mind boggling enough, but even with all his immense knowledge and dedication to research, he proved he wasn’t all theory and seriousness.

                            The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent on it, 

                      can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do.

                                                                   - Galileo Galilei   1564 - 1642

We were treated a week ago to a planetary alignment, or a planet parade as others were calling it, for it wasn’t like they were all neatly queueing up in a straight line to be counted off, but six planets all in the eastern sky at the same time was quite a sight. Venus and Jupiter were the brightest, changing positions in the night sky as the days passed, seeming to brush past each other on one night, even though they’re some 600 million kilometres apart on different elliptical paths. Something in me said there had to be a poem in there somewhere, so quickly penned this.

Before night’s end
and dawn’s first light 
in the early morning eastern sky
there they were in a row
Venus and Jupiter all aglow
while higher up and not so bright
hung Saturn with its mighty rings.
Neptune and Uranus also there
but too far out for the naked eye,
then sneaking up from down below
Mercury deigned to join the show.
Such celestial sights
on a crisp clear night
this merry dance of giant spheres,
while barely seen in the void of space
the waning moon took second place
content to let the others shine.
If our lonely planet could be inclined
to take their cue and be so aligned
what wonders in the universe
could be reflected
down here
on the Earth.

We are left to despair that our beautiful blue-green planet will ever be given the respect and care it deserves. We’ve made an awful mess of this world given over to our stewardship. There is no Plan B, for there simply is no Planet B. What you see is what you get, and fighting over who has the rights over this bit or that bit does no one any favours. It’s all ours, to manage or mismanage as we see fit, and we seem hell bent on the latter while others strive endlessly to save it. I feel author Iris Murdoch’s observation of the state of the world was a very pertinent one.

Perhaps when distant people on other planets

pick up some wavelength of ours

all they hear is a continuous scream

                                                                    - Iris Murdoch   1919 - 1999

Time Marches On

It’s been four and a bit years since the beginning of this particular iteration of my spasmodic attempts at writing, and eight months since my last entry of reflecting on little nuggets I find which fill my books of quotes. I read prolifically, mostly fiction, so you’d think the wealth of scribblings in my notebooks over the last twenty-odd years would have me running to the keyboard at the end of each book to share the insights burning to be freed from my brain and foisted on anyone who cares to listen.

But have I done that? Of course not. I could lay out all manner of excuses, hide behind the fact that my days, mostly consumed with work outside the home, leave me worn out by the time I walk through the front door, whereupon I assume all the creative cells within my brain have also been exhausted and can’t be called on to do anything other than shrivel up as my body flops in the chair.

Mind you, I do need that chill-out time after work. If I didn’t have my afternoon snack pick-me-up I’d probably remain in the chair like a vegetable until bedtime. Now that’s not nice, I like vegetables. What’s wrong with vegetables? Why do we say someone is in a vegetative state? Why don’t we say they look like a lump of meat instead? Don’t insult the vegetables, they’re good for you.

But I digress...obviously.

I retrieved my notebooks from the box where they’re stored, wondering why I do that. Write down all these wonderful sentences and paragraphs and insights from other authors, only to put them all away. So, they are now out of the box and fighting for space on one of the bookshelves in my study which are already crammed full. Something else is going to have to go to make room for them. Why collect these pearls of wisdom if they’re not at my fingertips and I don’t do anything with them, which was the reason “Don’t Quote Me” began in the first place. I have both an Oxford and Penguin book of quotations, which make for fascinating reference, but I find the gems that speak to me as I enter the worlds of characters of an author’s imagination have much greater impact.

I’m on my twelfth notebook, so had a scan of the first, which was more a personal journal at that time, and came across this entry from my 40th birthday.

Well, 40 years old eh? Still wonder if I’ve ever really achieved anything with my life yet. Or whether I’ll ever give myself permission to pursue my dreams. Will I ever feel like I’m in control of my life, instead of just sliding into things to fill the gaps. Seems like such hard work to make it all happen.

So here I am, 34 years later, and I could just as easily be writing that today. Have I made any progress? That’s debatable I guess, depending on what you consider is of worth in a person’s life. The dream was always to be a writer, but along with self-doubt and laziness, life in general and a million other reasons, that dream never reached its potential. It’s not that I’ve achieved or contributed nothing to the world around me, but a few lines have jumped off the pages in recent months to prick my conscience and remind me of my lack of motivation.

Mikki Brammer put it well in The Collected Regrets of Clover.

I began to realise how hard it is to be anything but what the world already thinks you are. 

Is that how I live my life, fulfilling the picture others have of me, not daring to stray outside those carefully drawn lines, too hesitant to do something unexpected?

And from Emily Howes’ brilliant debut novel The Painter’s Daughters, based on the life of artist Thomas Gainsborough and his family.

It’s hard to tell, sometimes, the difference between what you want and what you’re supposed to want. 

Somehow, it’s too easy to drift into roles and jobs and careers, with their attendant responsibilities and expectations both from ourselves as well as others, only to find down the track you find yourself wondering how on earth you arrived at this particular point in your life. For some there is satisfaction and fulfilment, though for many there can be disappointment, disenchantment or despair, or maybe more so a sense of regret or niggling restlessness. The dream lives on, but with more years under my belt to look back on than those to look forward to, I wonder if I have the wherewithal to become more of who and what I wanted to be, more of who I’m meant to be.

I’m reminded of a line from one of my favourite chick flicks You’ve Got Mail. 

Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life…valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave.

Bravery doesn’t come naturally to me. It suggests an element of risk, maybe even a crisis, and as much as we would like to believe we’d stand our ground, I’m probably amongst the hordes who would act on instinct and run in the opposite direction as fast as our feet could carry us when faced with hairy situations. All hail to those who choose to face the dangers we mere mortals flee from, the fire fighters, police, emergency workers, and all those in every branch of military service who have committed to do the hard stuff on our behalf. Their courage is required on a regular basis, and they bear the scars to prove it.

But I’d like to believe there’s another kind of bravery, one maybe a bit more manageable, but it means I have to hoist the mainsail and grab hold of the rudder if I want to steer this little sinking boat to a more favourable destination. It requires action, something I’m not good at, for I’m a creature of habit and habits don’t always serve us well.

Karen Hawkins put it rather succinctly in The Book Charmer

Sometimes habits, especially comfortable ones, can hold you back.

Time to make some new ones.