I like to read about science, mostly because I don’t understand it very well. I’m at home in a history book. I’m never uncomfortable with a novel. Science, though, well, science takes some effort. Maybe that extra effort is what I like.
So, I was pretty damn entranced when scientists figured out that violence is common in space. Seems humans now have better “hearing aids” to drop in on what’s happening trillions of light-years away. Like the security camera outside an all-night mini-mart, the new equipment captures a lot of conflict.
Out in space, all kinds of things crash into each other. Black holes. Planets. Big masses of energy.
All sorts of mangling takes places as a result of this conflict, and scientists using the high-tech “hearing aids” can hear the violence of the universe. It comes through as kind of a “chirp,” usually just one note, but sometimes two. It goes on all the time, too, not just on long weekends or when the weather gets hot.
The second time the scientists heard one of these post-violence chirps was on Christmas night last year. They believe these huge, violent collisions don’t happen very often, but anyone who has worked as a reporter on a daily paper can tell you that Christmas is not a silent night.
It changes the way you think about the stars, which always look like bright little lives to me. Now, I have to think of the terrible violence happening just inches from their shining heads. Worse yet, any cries they might make won’t be picked up by scientists for centuries in our time. By the time we hear it, it will be too late.
I’ve never owned a telescope. In fact, I think looking at the stars more closely might ruin them for me. Sometimes, after working a newspaper night shift, I stop on the path that leads to my front door and look up at the stars, which are always clearer and purer than the press conference or street-corner shooting I’ve covered that night.
Now, when I look up, I just picture the stars ducking and dodging, frightened and trying to flee their orbits as some huge, violent collision bears down on them from the deepest reaches of endless, dark space.
It’s not a pleasant thought, though I’m sure it won’t stop me from working, getting my truck inspected, eating candy bars and mowing my lawn. Whatever terrible thing is going on out of my sight doesn’t touch me, not really, and I can always look down at the ground when I’m out at night. Nothing is safer than looking down at the ground.
I wrote this three days after hearing that a group of stars stopped shining in Orlando, Florida. For three days, I’ve watched America walk around with its eyes on the dirt because it’s safer than looking up at the stars.