I was mystified by space as a kid. I wasn't looking for stars or suns or anything, I was trying to find some proof of life, whether it be aliens, god, anything--just some higher power or scheme grander than my bland life to justify it, give it a reason. I'd sit on the roof with my sister, who'd count out stars and very frequently point out passing airplanes as shooting stars. I'd get annoyed as she'd interrupt my train of thought as I pondered my 'deep' thoughts.

One day I had found my answer, sitting in the little bubble of the classroom, I had discovered the center of the universe, the reason for our existence. In a telescope, people had found a picture of god in the sky, lightyears away. A watching eye. A reason for faith. And I just stared desperately, as if it would be able to have an answer for my 12 year old existential crisis.

The magazine detailed the Helix Nebula, a formation in space spotted by the Hubble telescope, an example of man extending his reach with technology. It became tagged and emailed around with many names, most notably as the eye of god. The idea there was a force there watching us was reassuring, filled me with hope and perhaps meaning. Perhaps there was something out there, giving us meaning to our existences, a reason for me. And in this picture in the national geographic, I found answers and fulfillment for all the trite existential insecurities that I would be embarrassed to admit I ever had later in life, but I come on, I was twelve at the time.

But then, a passing teacher explained to me that these pretty stars and formations were just a conglomerate of gas and dust, sitting in empty space.

Just dust. Like us.

The feeling of elation sank. What momentary hope for an answer dissipated. But as I thought more, a realization seemed to lift my sagging shoulders.

It didn't matter anymore. With a name the pieces of the universe became more than dust--they became symbols. Mankind had found the the helix nebula, the eye of god. It was a discovery with a name that is man made and makes man, a compelling dialectical force . I pick up the picture and stare into the deep pools as we would into a mirror, seeing god in ourselves, just hiding in between the bonds between our atoms, between the lines of music and literature we compose, and between our spirits. I can't explain how the moment revealed itself to me, but, for that moment everything was understood. I understood our place here--MY place here. The basis of our existence, the reason beyond reason. Finding life from dust, finding beauty in bits of rock superheated gases in the blank space, the world was here.

Just protein, just dust. But universe is all there for us to find, to make real. We can make it all exist, in the world of science or the worlds we create as artists, or somewhere between the two overlapping domains. Every act of perception lies an act of creation, turning natures' scribbles into words, words to thoughts, thoughts to worlds--discovering a vast universe in the grandness of space or within a single cell, the infinite within the infinitesimal.

And those airplanes my sis had pointed out WERE shooting stars.

I felt as if mankind had matured,nurturing his talents knowledge until he was able to look god in the eye and confirm His existence and his own. We extended our reach to be able to spot god--or perhaps we had merely become complex enough to allow Him to take notice.

But I think now that peoples' greatest consolation wasn't the confirmation of a supreme being watching us, but in the fact that we could watch him. We stood on equal ground now.
Ultimately we are reassured only when we found him ourselves, even as we try to convince ourselves with blind faith that he is trying to find us.

With this picture, our awareness becomes the source of spiritual fulfillment, not a divine hand or the divine eye--but our own. Our discoveries become a metaphor for our own condition, finding the basis of our existence in the Helix Nebula. Like the discovery and unraveling of DNA, this discovery may provide insight to the basis of our lives and the human condition.

We all just stare at the photo, at the helix nebula, staring at the origin of man Himself, watching our own reflection in the pure blue lens of his eye. And we are reassured.



But on some days---

the day I stared blankly at my sister's closed casket, her fragile body deemed unpresentable after getting tangled beneath the car of an old man too-fucking-drunk-to-see, three days before she was scattered along the coast,

everything returns to dust in space.

On days like that I ask the big question everyone asks, and get the same ugly conclusion we try to pretend away--the one that doesn't answer anything. The one that says, 'theres no reason for reason.' The one that that says there'll be no one left to ask the questions, or even remember them when they have been answered so why bother. The one which belives the three sets of eyes: Man's, hers, and god's--all just specks of gray in the void.


I put away her pictures along with the clippings of Hubble's eye, shoved them deep into the recesses of my my head. When I try to retrieve them now, they've meshed into one image, one eye.
And when I stare at the it, I fall and drown in the iris. But if I keep I hold my breath and dive deep, trying hard not to wince, I can see the ghost of an answer to the big Why? at the center of it all,

nothing.


Some nights I still go up to the roof. I stare at the sky, maybe a little desperately, searching for an answer that can only be found in the dark. And I squint my eyes as the sun throws its bright veil over my understanding.


Some nights I just look for airplanes and try to point them out for you, but I hope you'll have a better view than me.



Rest, Please Emily. (September 1, 1996- august 4, 2003)