Beyond the Atmosphere

I stood staring up at the spaceship for the longest time. Wondering if I should board. Lost, frightened in the ominous shadow, cast by its immense egg shaped body, blocking out the sun. Dare I take the risk and climb that great metal staircase up to that tiny door situated somewhere high, itself already lost in the clouds, up on its sleek body, the only blemish on an otherwise perfectly aerodynamic piece of engineering wonder. I was afraid of that long tiring climb. Would I make it? Or would the seemingly endless trudge, my feet clanking monotonously against the grated metal of the steps, one at a time, upwards get the best of me? I was afraid I would fail to ever reach what I longed for... to blast off.

And if I did, would I have survived even that? Though would it really have been safer to remain on the ground, caught forever in gravity's dependable, yet static pull. I stood staring forward at the four great fins, reaching outward, curving down to the ground to support the great mass of the ship with a might that belied their delicately thin appearance, and encompassed in their midst, coddled in their grasp, sat the boosters, a conical trinity of dormant power, hissing quietly among themselves, ready at any moment to explode, belching out their deadly mixture of hydrogen and oxygen. Would it really be safer to remain?

And now I sit in the ship, apprehensive of where we will go. Questions of space and time rip through my mind as the ship raises itself slowly, cautiously from the earth. As it pulls out of the atmosphere, I feel the last remnants of gravity slowly fading, and find I am just as lost and confused in this new world, where up is down and down is no where to be found.

Where is this ship headed, to what great unknown system is it bound? I do not trust myself at the stick, at the helm. I cannot guide this immense beast alone, through bright, gaseous nebulae; past slowly dying dwarfs; through the vast empty blackness; toward dry, desolate, sulphurous planets; or those abundant in water and life. Surely I would pilot this thing, in an attempt to reach the stars, straight into a black hole, the smoldering remains of the only star I could ever hope to reach of my own volition. But then I realise, I am merely a passenger aboard this ship. In front of us He sits, in His Captain's chair. He is Pilot, Navigator, and even Flight Attendant, guiding this ship where He pleases. And though He may not take us where we like sometimes, we can be sure these engines will never falter, for He designed them as well.

Sometimes God places the most Beautiful things in the lowest of places...

I actually wrote this in the summer but never got around to uploading it until now. Kind of odd I guess, but I figured I hadn't said much lately.

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A short walk from where I live there lies a small secluded spot. The patch of tall marshy grasses along the creek is only accessible by crossing on a fallen tree and traversing up stream about 20 meters or so along a narrow path through the trees.

The place is always quiet, so I go there often to sit and think, or listen, or watch the water foul. There's a couple of mallards there. A male and female swimming together. I believe they had ducklings recently, though I didn't see them this last time I came. There's also those ducks with the big heads that like to dive under water; I forget what they're called (not that I ever knew). Bright red dragonflies flit about along the tops of the grasses, and fish (trout?) are often seen breaking the surface in a flurry of silver flashes as they catch insects mid-air.

Sadly, all around this sanctuary are signs of our modern and often reckless and domineering human existence. The buzz of traffic on the highway nearby can be heard. Various coloured markers can be seen hanging from tree branches; what they signify, I know not, but fear the worst; I pray the oft needed but sadly destructive hands of housing development should never find this place. It would be a shame to see such prime water front property marred by a couple of houses. The creek itself passes in a large concrete culvert under the highway from the hospital on the other side, and the tractor trimmed grass of a large dog park and walking path lie just on the other side of the narrow band of trees that lines the opposite bank.

Yet, despite the close proximity of these human influences, the creatures here seem hardly perturbed by any of it. There's a wildness about them. Upon my approach the ducks and mallards swim hastily away, hiding under the low hanging branches of a tree that graze the surface of the water. Eventually, they grow less weary of my presence and reemerge from hiding; still they try to avoid and ignore me. This is of course in contrast to a place like Beacon Hill Park where the ducks swarm you hoping for food.

I often wish I could be like these animals, and this place. Always safe and secluded in a quiet sanctuary. The self-destructive modern human society all around, yet somehow unable to fully penetrate. To be always aware of it yet never corrupted and drawn up into it. To be able to always live the life God created me to live, allowing others in to share some of the experience, yet still weary of them should they attempt to tear down my heart and rebuild it into a cold mechanical pump of secular sludge and waste, turning my life from a Godly Sanctuary into a Devilish Suburbia.

Tokyo... 2