Black Hole, Sun

 

For the past five minutes I've been staring at our galaxy's black hole.  Did you know we had one?  It's true - right smack in the middle of the constellation Sagittarius, where several stars are orbiting around what appears to be...nothing.  But of course, we know better, right?  It's actually this massive, dense, soul-taking vacuum, masquerading cleverly as a tiny black spot. I often feel a kinship with this black hole (named Sagittarius A*, but I prefer to call him Alfred) and it's tell-tale cohorts. It sometimes seems I'm caught in an endless whirlpool of banality; circling, circling a hungry nucleus, slowly sucking all the light.   Yet I wonder - do we have a say in the things or people we choose to orbit?  Are we born on our trajectories?  If we want it badly enough, can we break away?  Or do the brutal laws of the Universe apply to us as unforgivingly as they do for Alfred and his hapless victims?

There was a time, not long ago, where I found myself drawn elliptically to a Sun, of sorts, burst unexpectedly onto my horizon.  At first, it was empyrean.  I hadn't realized how cold I'd been for so long until I found its heat.  The warmth and illumination kissing my cheeks felt exquisite - renewing, reviving, enlivening.  I basked, turning fully to its radiance and pronounced it my favorite place in all the Universe.  I allowed the magnetic power of its gravity to pull me in, hold me close. 

Still, the vastness of space pressed at my back, barren and desolate.  I feared the emptiness fiercely and began to crave my Sun's brilliance with a dire need.  The larger it loomed, the more convinced I became that I could not be without it.  Compared to it's seductive umbra, the cosmos seemed to fade away.  Yearning for full eclipse, I tightened my orbit.  It loomed... and then consumed.
  

The tale of my eventual escape is not a pretty one.   I was blinded by the blaze; seared and scorched.  I was teared at, torn, and had to leave pieces of myself behind.  But I did escape; finally free once again to carve my own path.  And in the pain of breaking away, I've come to understand more fully the price of freedom. 

Sagittarius A*, aka Alfred.  Can't see him?  Look closer.

I wish you could see the sky tonight.  The moon is swollen, luminous and the heavens beckon me to join them in a midnight dance.  Alfred the Black Hole says it's really a shame that you're not here to stand in the snowy solitude and stare at him, as I am.  (Alfred's a bit of an egomaniac, but he means well).  I tell him that you are busily orbiting your own celestial bodies - homes, children, shoe closets, parents, ailments, lovers, treadmills, narcotics.  Hungry suns, barren moons or, if you're lucky, a handful of lush green planets.  I try to explain but Alfred happens to be good friends with The Universe, who cares not for the intricacies and delicacies of human interaction.  Furthermore, Black Holes are used to getting their way.  So I argue with him for a bit, but eventually give in and agree that yes, that really is a shame.  At my admittance he puffs up with pride, swallowing several planets in the process.  Greedy bastard.