There’s been something really incredible in the news recently.
Something so huge, so mind-blowing, that it makes the bitter drama of the
political season seem absolutely miniscule by comparison. Have you heard about
it, maybe? Heard that people – little human beings—built a tool so
precise that it could feel the
ripples in space and time? Hear the crash of two black holes
colliding lightyears away?
I can’t get my head around it. And I’m not even a science
geek.
That might be part of the reason I’m so amazed by this news.
I couldn’t tell you the first thing about Einstein’s theory, or how some
really, really smart people came up with the idea for LIGO. Gravity waves and
black holes are things that I honestly never spent much time or thought on
before now, and the minds behind this discovery are all much, much wiser than
my own.
But this whole idea is beautiful. And the part of me that
loves beauty and seeks it out—in art and poetry and movement—is also drawn to
this loveliness.
There’s
something to it.
Something
about it.
Something
about the fact that gravity moves like sound, in waves, and that
it can bend
space and time around like playdough
that harmonizes
with Genesis.
words, from
the mouth of a mind
more wildly
open than ours
describing
what was, and what still is.
God unlimited
by time and by
space
makes perfect
sense
out of the
mystery of
black holes
colliding
and stars
being born.
God spoke
and his voice
made waves
in space and
time:
and space and
time
rearranged
themselves
and novas
erupted everywhere:
bright stars.
glowing suns.
Let there be light.
gravity making
worlds.
and then—he
spoke again.
his powerful,
magical voice (with a different pitch this time)
stretched space
and bent time and they
burst into a whole
new substance
planets
twirling. asteroids spinning.
Let the dry land appear.
and on and on and
on and now—
we’re talking
about reaching even further:
an observatory
in space
to hear and
feel Your whisper’s echo
Let there be light!
frequencies
from the very beginning of the universe?!
oh, if I were
a physicist, a scientist— how could I doubt You?
But—
if I were a scientist,
I wouldn’t be
thinking like an artist.
