A cosmic chant

& the art of simply existing

I was sitting on the ice capped shore of Lake Superior (which is actually an inland sea) in the dead of winter the first time I felt it. Few people travel to the far reaches of the Porcupine Mountains at that time of year, magnifying the significance of the moment. There is a silence winter brings that makes it better for hearing.

The waters undulated, a deep roiling motion reminiscent of the east or west coast oceans. This ocean was covered in cracked ice though, merciless and endless. A witch tap, tap, tapping her iron fingernails on the surface of her ice water mansion as the fractured surface collided again and again.

Underneath the sounds of waves crashing against the frozen land, there was something deeper there that maybe could only be felt at this time of year, in this sort of place. It was a repetitive thrum, beating slowly, almost too low to notice. It was a hymn that pulled at the soul, begging it to answer.

Experiencing such a thing was like gazing up at a wide open night sky full of stars, feeling the enormity of it all press down upon you, intriguing and terrifying all at once. We are too far away to hear the hum of the stars, though there is an essence of it that reaches us nonetheless. This ancient ocean however, was right in front of me, singing the song of the universe.

In the height of summer as we are now, it is harder to hear with the wilding of green things. But on a windless day when you sit quietly to observe how every single blade of grass, plant and tree sways ever so slightly even without a breeze, it is there still. They know the lyrics to this chant too, rippling up from the heart of the earth. I imagined there were great drum bearers somewhere out there setting the beat for all of creation. It turns out I might not be that far off.

The cosmos are an odd place. Because of its sheer size, most things cannot physically be observed. Astronomers instead observe pulsars, which are rapidly spinning neutron stars leftover from supernovas.

These pulsars flash beams of radiation towards the earth as a result of different activities throughout the universe. Scientists have discovered how to read these flashes to measure masses and forces deep within the universe. They are like telegraph receivers relaying morse code to us earthlings.

Many of these messages are high short frequencies like the crashing of ice on the surface of Lake Superior. But one of the messages these pulsars is sending us is a series of low-frequency gravitational waves, such as those that come from the depths of Lake Superior’s belly.

Astronomers concluded just last year that these waves created a background hum, the steady bass to a chaotic symphony. It permeates throughout the entire universe. A metronome that tick, tick, ticks so deep and so far that its reach is boundless.

Scientists of course want to know what is creating this universal heartbeat. One theory is that it is created by pairs of supermassive blackholes originating from the early universe that are slowly spiraling around one another, in the process of merging into one. Two drummers doing an ancient dance of life and destruction.

Of course it could be even wilder. These waves could actually be ripples in the fabric of space, resonating from the birth of the universe itself, from the Big Bang. Our birth still ringing throughout creation. Another theory is that the frequencies could be caused by cosmic strings: flaws, cracks, defects, folds in the universe. Though that may be a topic to ponder another day.

Like here on earth, the cosmos are a brutal, unforgiving, magical, fantastical place. It knows nothing of right and wrong, pain and pleasure, heaven and hell. Its only concern resolves simply around existing, creating, expanding no matter what the cost. This is what I learned that day on Lake Superior.

Sometimes it does me good to sit on frozen shores and remember how eagerly those waves would devour any living thing, dragging it to a place where time ceases to exist all together. How we love it just the same, call it beautiful even.

I listened to a podcast where scientists were talking about the many phases of extinction that took place here on earth. One scientist said it was a miracle that we were still here really. He said “the universe has been trying to kill us for a long time”.

While I don’t think its a conscious act, I think we are at the whims of some unfathomable forces. I don’t think I love it any less. Maybe I love it more even.

Benevolence is an illusion we paint into poetry, but the truth grounds us to place, time, reality. Hum along and find out.

We tap our feet to the beat of those old drums, a death chant, a life chant, a war chant, a love chant. Gazing out at the seas and laying under the stars, hoping for gentleness but acknowledging the wildness. It’s chaos here on earth, it’s chaos out there in deep space. But be still enough and the hum, that bone rattling chant, eliminates everything save for the simple act of existing.

Much love,

Val