At fourteen, I thought less about the future
and, unaware of Buddhism, lived in the moment.
Even a day was usually unplanned, spontaneous,
open to what the universe had planned for me.
If life is like a sonnet, the turn occurred when
the future became my focus and the present
rushed by out of control, and the past
became nostalgia, a read book fondly remembered.
At fourteen, I believed, without proof, in eternity.
The days unfolded unbidden and I was content
in thinking at some point I would be able to see
That fourteen-year-old’s future is my present,
slipping away from what I wanted it to be,
and even partially my past, now already spent.
This time of predictions and resolutions.
Year’s end reflection back, and looking forward.
That river of time, downstream as distant
and unclear as upstream, and before me
passing before I knew it was here.
Professor Galileo of Padua made his lenses
and the sky was 20 times closer.
Mountains on the moon, and more moons
around Jupiter, and a celestial Milky Way
that led him – us – towards the future.
In 1610, Galileo published the story of his telescope and the results of his studies as The Starry Messenger. He had been corresponding with German astronomer Johannes Kepler, who also believed that the Sun, not the Earth, was the center of the solar system. Kepler had been urging Galileo to go public with his theories for years.
I had believed that when Galileo was tried and convicted by the Church for heresy, he was tortured and excommunicated. But, in fact, he remained a loyal Catholic his entire life.
is an arrow of increasing correlations and
one’s perception is movement from known past
to unknown future, but we find randomness
that cannot be undone on this quantum walk.
Entropy increases but all the possibilities exist.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
She is a one-roomer – a Kafka character,
except they are never women – all alone.
Using all my blues to paint hers –
turquoise, cobalt, ultramarine, sapphire – her sad life
is still a cerulean past, indigo future.