My fear of falling prompts me to reflect how science around 100 years ago was dominated by 2 alternative theories of gravity. :-)
When Arthur realised he could experimentally prove or disprove
Albert's theory
(that space-time is bent by the gravitational field of objects that lie within it)
by photographing
(during an eclipse)
the light from a distant star as it bends round the sun,
he set off to Pràncipe – an island off the coast of Africa,
to take the pictures.
The morning of the eclipse was stormy,
but just at the right moment,
the clouds parted and the moon passed in front of the sun.
The greatest experimental physicist of his day
proving the theory of the greatest theoretician.
Practice and theory,
coming perfectly together.
So:
that the love of my life
wants to get married in a balloon,
even though I am terrified of heights,
makes complete sense to me.
After all it is closer to the stars
from which the key ingredients of our viability came
and from which comes most of the energy on our thin planet.
When 14 billion years ago the universe started,
it was either because there wasn't anything better to do,
or because it couldn't help it,
or for some other reason or absence of reason.
But now 14 billion years later
her and me are up in a balloon,
the fat pair of us, a couple of random lives,
considering whether
to love each other until death.
I would love her until death anyway,
but previously you only had my word for that, whereas up here in the balloon,
you also have the evidence that I face my greatest fears
(that massive objects really do bend space-time),
in order to prove or disprove the theory of our love.
The light of a star,
the heat of a burner,
the drift of a cloud,
the weight of a sun,
the lift of a balloon,
the strength of a basket,
the shadow of a moon,
theory and practice,
Arthur and Albert,
me and she.
At the turning point where the light from a distant star,
passes around the sun,
there is a moment of complete stillness
where all these things hang in balance,
waiting to be proved or disproved.
The light-beam just sits there reflecting for a moment or two
while she decides whether to bend to the will of General Relativity,
or stick stubbornly to Newtonian Mechanics.
But just maybe,
once in a lifetime,
if you are very, very lucky,
and you just happen to be on an African island
that stands for one moment under the moon's shadow,
the universe will conspire in your favour,
the clouds will part at just the right moment,
space-time will decide that she does afterall
like being curved in all the right places,
and the love of your life will say "I do".
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 814 times
Written on 2010-10-30 at 09:46
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Theory and practice
When Arthur realised he could experimentally prove or disprove
Albert's theory
(that space-time is bent by the gravitational field of objects that lie within it)
by photographing
(during an eclipse)
the light from a distant star as it bends round the sun,
he set off to Pràncipe – an island off the coast of Africa,
to take the pictures.
The morning of the eclipse was stormy,
but just at the right moment,
the clouds parted and the moon passed in front of the sun.
The greatest experimental physicist of his day
proving the theory of the greatest theoretician.
Practice and theory,
coming perfectly together.
So:
that the love of my life
wants to get married in a balloon,
even though I am terrified of heights,
makes complete sense to me.
After all it is closer to the stars
from which the key ingredients of our viability came
and from which comes most of the energy on our thin planet.
When 14 billion years ago the universe started,
it was either because there wasn't anything better to do,
or because it couldn't help it,
or for some other reason or absence of reason.
But now 14 billion years later
her and me are up in a balloon,
the fat pair of us, a couple of random lives,
considering whether
to love each other until death.
I would love her until death anyway,
but previously you only had my word for that, whereas up here in the balloon,
you also have the evidence that I face my greatest fears
(that massive objects really do bend space-time),
in order to prove or disprove the theory of our love.
The light of a star,
the heat of a burner,
the drift of a cloud,
the weight of a sun,
the lift of a balloon,
the strength of a basket,
the shadow of a moon,
theory and practice,
Arthur and Albert,
me and she.
At the turning point where the light from a distant star,
passes around the sun,
there is a moment of complete stillness
where all these things hang in balance,
waiting to be proved or disproved.
The light-beam just sits there reflecting for a moment or two
while she decides whether to bend to the will of General Relativity,
or stick stubbornly to Newtonian Mechanics.
But just maybe,
once in a lifetime,
if you are very, very lucky,
and you just happen to be on an African island
that stands for one moment under the moon's shadow,
the universe will conspire in your favour,
the clouds will part at just the right moment,
space-time will decide that she does afterall
like being curved in all the right places,
and the love of your life will say "I do".
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 814 times
Written on 2010-10-30 at 09:46
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