THE BLACK HOLE
They say, ‘ as above so below’, as it is in heaven so it is on earth. So when people say they are in a black hole they literally are. And it is exactly the same as a black hole in space except these holes exist inside of us.
I have known silence and emptiness. I have come to the edge of myself, the event horizon so to speak. This portal into nothingness.
A black hole sucks up everything, even the light. It’s where time eats space. Gravity’s pull is magnified.
The event horizon is the last place that anything entering the hole exists. The event horizon is the last time you see the stars glitter. Once you past through this threshold, all is vaporized and lost forever, no proof of anything ever existing. That’s what science used to say. Then along comes this genius, David Susskind, who says that instead of vaporized and vanishing, it’s more like the thing being sucked into the hole is smeared onto the event horizon itself. The effect something like going from 3-dimension film to 2-dimension film. Or a 3-dimension plane to a 2 dimensional plane.
At this edge of myself, inside myself, I crossed over the event horizon. In many ways it felt like being vaporized, regardless I had no real attachment to the feeling at all because like David Susskind said I was not completely dissolved but some fragmented, smeared, flattened version of me.
Inside the hole, I sat calmly, stilly, looking out, detached, which made me think of enlightenment. I did not feel any light. No hope let alone enlightenment. And it just was.
I felt the dark eating the light; I felt time eating space leaving nothing in its wake. I felt nothing like the nothing I was bound in.
I wanted to vaporize my words and have none to say, nothing to whisper.
I took a vow of silence because I knew better than to speak. I had learned about silence from ancient things, both within and without myself.
I had learned about silence as a weapon, as protection, as healing, as safe, as sound. I knew about answers and responses and creation being born in silence.
I had heard, I had read, I had understood that words hold power, that they are magic, but silence is stronger.
I had experienced the joy, the folly, the fun, the merriment, the newness, the familiarity, birth. I had watched death, felt death, felt life, and felt movement inside my being, felt feelings so full and it was good. It was enough. It was everything.
So in this place, this place of pure detachment, this hole which I solely owned, made by me to swallow me up and suck me down, gravity holding on to me so tightly not because I fought back because that’s all gravity can do.
I watched and walked softly. I had practiced much these moves as a child. Moving in and between buildings, people. Building my awareness to things that felt wrong, people who were cruel, mean. I lived in a warehouse district and the few scattered houses between the buildings were filled with the outcasts of society. Perverts, people who liked torturing animals for fun. I tuned my senses into instruments of survival. At 14, I was surrounded in a parking lot by thugs with baseball bats. I knew how to deflect that, how to hold my space without taking space. People trying to push me into their own black holes. Physically pushing my body. Me standing strong, not raising my voice, making enough eye contact to connect but not enough to threaten. They paced around me, hitting the bat on the concrete, pushing my body, hitting my body. I do my best to be calm and to calm my attackers. A friend has gone for help his older brother drives and he comes racing into the run down parking lot screeching his car to a halt. He leans over and opens the passenger door. I jump in and we are off.
Now all these years later these skills and others of survival came back to me. The neighborhood comes back to me. Silence the best choice. To lay low and not draw attention to myself. Attention will only bring me trouble.
I found myself disconnected to everyone. Nothing felt personal anymore, nothing felt anything anymore. I knew my feelings were just out of reach smeared, destroyed and seemly irrelevant. I hid inside the hole to reconstruct myself.
I have reasons to go on, people who “need’ me, I have promised to be many things which no longer matter. I sit and ponder. I sit in silence, my vow of silence. To give no more power to the things that have hurt and tried to destroy me, weaken me, take my life.
Gravity holds but eventually lets go cause I have nothing left for it to hold and I am spit back out into myself. Put together in different ways. Leaving behind on that event horizon things those things I no longer need, things that only pull me back in ways I cannot afford.
I am made new again. I am true again. I am purged. Emerged. I am here again. Alive again. I like it again. And when alive I breathe in and out. I give praise. I give thanks. This is the meaning. This brings meaning. This keeps the holes in their place somewhere lost in my inner space. As in outer space so in inner space.
In silence I am born. Oh death where is thy sting? A human fetus in the womb dies off so as to live. For example the hand is webbed until it begins to slough off the cells that die and as they fall away the hand is made. It is the death of those cells that turn this webbed appendage it into a hand. In this way we are shaped and formed.
Sloughing off what stops me from being what I wish to be. Sloughing off opinion, beliefs, thoughts, people, doctrines, and medicine, everything that is not for me.
I am life incarnate. I am creator in that void, that nothing. That stillness, that silence.
I speak again. I use words I choose to match who I am. I move in ways that can reverse gravity because I know how to let it let me go, I taught it there when I visited that hole. Letting go made me whole.
Now out here, inside myself, I think of Thoreau, who said that famous quote “I came to the woods because I wanted to live life deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…”
He lived in a cabin in the woods owned by yet another great thinker of his day, Emerson, but that is for another time.
Thoreau practiced what he preached and learned from nature, listened to it. Reveled in it.
At one point Thoreau’s Aunt got furious with him and his odd habits. She paced and complained while he sat outside in a meadow listening to frog’s croak for 30 minutes. As he returned indoors she lectured him for 30 more, he smiled. His 30 minutes in silence outside hearing the sounds of life on the earth was better then the hour she had spent being angry dwelling in thoughts that served no one well, lest of all herself.
I guess it’s true what’s inside is on the outside. Like when you squeeze a lemon what comes out is lemon juice. When you squeeze me, my truest purest self comes out.
As within so without. As above so below.
When I look at the heavens, the black holes are few and you can travel forever without ever seeing one. Which is fine by me. I survived and those things I left behind on the event horizon I’m happy to leave them there, to slough them off, so to speak. I have formed much better.
I see nothing but the sun, moon, stars, infinity and pure life.
Just like me.