Constellation Station
Page 2
Karl washed and dressed, took his best binoculars, and was seated for breakfast in the dining car over pancakes and bacon before he knew it. At 7:30 everyone was invited into the Bullet’s observation car which was constructed completely and seamlessly of Steuben glass. For several moments, silence pervaded the car and then all lights were dimmed as the great swan, Cygnus took shape and came into view.
“Good morning,” she said. “I am Cygnus, the Swan. I am grace and serenity. I fly high over your summers with my companions, Lyra, the Harp and the soaring Aquila, the Eagle, to form the great summer triangle which can be seen extending over your entire northern hemisphere. My length spans from the double star Albireo at my head, to my alpha star, Deneb, one of the sky’s most magnificent supergiants among stars, at my tail. Albireo is a scant 380 light years from the earth, while Deneb, with a diameter larger than 60 of your suns, and brighter than 60,000 of them, is more than 1600 light years away. Alas, between my head and tail there stretches more than 1200 light years! So, it is no wonder that despite his luminosity and size, Deneb, second perhaps in awesome brightness only to the blue giant Rigel, in Orion, appears to be the faintest in our summer triangle. For Lyra’s Vega is 26 light years away, and Aquila’s Altair is only 16 light years from the Earth.” Everyone gasped, as Karl pondered the vast discrepancy of distances which, nonetheless, had managed to form, and so clearly reveal, this heavenly alliance.
“To the left of Deneb,” Cygnus continued, “is the North America nebula. From here, it may look only like a hazy cloud, for it lies some 2700 light years away, but its shape is strangely, exactly, like the continent of North America. It is larger than that, however. Its actual diameter, from ‘coast to coast’, is 100 light years. And, I might add, nearly all my stars lie amid the riches of the Milky Way, our galaxy, and have no want of light or companionship. So what we share with you is the same: light, grace, friendships and joy. And beneath our canopy of the great summer triangle the lesson that, despite distance and difference, the linking of grace, beauty and power, that great connection, can be made and discerned and can become one.”
Karl looked through the dome of the great observation car, through the seamless, almost invisible glass, as the constellation Cygnus, the Swan, seemed to fly away into the heavens and disappear into the infinite expanse.
“Lyra, the Harp”
“There is more, ladies and gentlemen,” said a voice. “If you look left, you will see the beautiful constellation Lyra.” Everyone gasped as they turned. It was the most beautiful constellation Karl had ever seen. The closeness, the elegant majesty, the gold immensity and symmetry of the harp and the somehow eloquent brilliance of the great star Vega, fourth brightest in the sky, was more than captivating. It was stunning. In its simplicity, it was complex.
Karl knew he could never tire of this sight and would never forget it. Lyra had always commanded interest from his perch behind his house on Earth, but here, in its overwhelming dimension, Lyra outshone everything he had ever known. Karl could almost hear her music. Her presence was commanding.
Inside the observation car there was complete and utter silence. Somehow, there seemed to be little need for any sound. The vision of Lyra was eloquent enough. But then, there was a sound. Karl had never heard anything quite like before. It was faint, yet clear and overpowering. It was completely and fully harmonic. It was soft and unimposing. Then the voice of Lyra. Karl knew. It seemed to come from within.
“I am Lyra,” said the lovely voice. “I am comfort, beauty, truth! John Keats said it. Beauty is truth, truth beauty. All you know on Earth, all you need to know. Look to me in the fullness of summer, think of me, so far away, as I look across the skies to you. Think of me in winter when you can no longer see me, but listen and hope, and wait, and we will meet again. We will not lose each other.”
Suddenly Karl was aware of Vega herself and saw the illusion. She was not gold as the rest of the constellation had at first appeared to be, but a lovely, definite, blue. He knew, too, he would never forget her, and would, no matter where he was, look for her always.
Altair in Aquila is 10 times as bright as our Sun!
As the music grew fainter and Lyra became small and distant, the quiet was broken by the familiar voice of the conductor.
“And on your right, ladies and gentlemen, behold, Aquila the Eagle.”
It was thrilling to see; prominent and defined; like a giant kite…like…an Eagle!
“Its grand star Altair, the third member of the summer triangle, is only some ten times as bright as your sun. Hardly the 60,000 times boasted by Deneb in Cygnus. But we have come millions of light years over time and we have endurance and proximity. We boast closeness and staying power. See the power of the Eagle, his brightness! See him soar. Take comfort in that when you see him in the heavens. There is not the beauty of Lyra but there is the pride, power and strength of the Eagle. Aquila, the Eagle sees you!”
“Lunch is served,” said a voice on the loudspeaker. And Karl, joined by starry-eyed companions, filed dreamily into the brightly lit dining car.
After a fine lunch of sandwiches, complemented by some of Karl’s spicy vegetable chips, cole slaw and soda, Karl, still munching the last of an orange-icing cupcake, stole off to his compartment to contemplate what he had experienced that morning, joyfully anticipating the late afternoon’s meeting with the great constellation, Bootes, the Herdsman.
Space, as seen through his window, speckled and streaked with galaxies and stars, blues, yellows, oranges and whites, seemed infinite. How could it be, thought Karl, that this went on forever and ever? And if there was an end to it, what was there at its end, a wall? And what would there be beyond that?
Karl peered out at the infinite darkness and thought about it. Then, suddenly, he knew! Just as in Columbus’ time it appeared impossible to imagine someone in front of you, setting off on a straight line journey to eventually arrive behind you, so it seems now impossible to think of a space ship soaring off on a straight course, eventually arriving exactly where it began! But, just as the two dimensional plane of the Earth is curved, so is the three dimensional plane of space curved. As all points on a straight line on Earth lead back to themselves, so do all points on a straight line in curved space fall back on themselves. You keep going…farther and farther out…but you arrive back at your starting point. There is no wall…there is no end! Space simply doubles back on itself. It is finite, but in its vast curvature, at the same time, infinite. Of course it would take a very, very long time…but there you have it.
The Majesty of Arcturus in Bootes, the Herdsman
Then, settling back, Karl thought about Bootes. Ever since he first began reading about the stars, and the skies, and the constellations, he remembered seeing the name: ‘Bootes’. At first he pronounced it ‘boots’…as in cowboy…or ‘booties’ as in baby shoes…or, on seeing its often used abbreviation, just ‘boo’, as in ghost. But then he learned it was pronounced Boh-oh-tees. It was mentioned in nearly all of Karl’s books with great frequency and so he began to look for it in the night skies of the spring and summer. And one night, there it was, larger than he imagined while reading any of his books, but unmistakable, and oh, so quiet and grand. Looking up at the majesty of Bootes revealed the constellation to be the most impressive thing he had ever seen. Karl found himself awed with its size and the great sense of serenity the odd constellation seemed to convey. Now, finally, they would meet.
Karl had dozed, but not for very long. He was awakened by a chime, and the conductor’s voice. “On your right, those of you in the odd numbered compartments, is the great constellation Bootes, The Herdsman.”
Karl gazed through the glass into the darkness. The light of the stars was clarity itself. The grandiose, slightly crooked and unique shape of the constellation, something like a huge, elongated, crooked kite, was somehow sad, but noble. There was a lofty stateliness in its shape, even at this proximity. And there was just no mistaking it. The voice seemed directed at
Karl.
I’ll never feel lonesome again
“Bootes is the Herdsman, the Sheppard. My pride is the venerable giant, Arcturus. But Arcturus, the brightest light in the northern sky, that quiet elegance, is my sadness as well. For as this giant, some 20 million miles in diameter with luminosity more than one hundred times that of your own sun, soars through space at 90 miles a second…and will soon be leaving us. Arcturus, my alpha star, is one of the prominent few stars to reside high above our galactic plane.
A mere two million years ago Arcturus was some 800 million light years from Earth. Now, he is only 37 light years distant. But soon, as the time for his Milky Way visit draws to a close, Arcturus will leave us in this galaxy forever, bound for regions toward the constellation Vela in your southern hemisphere.
We will miss his soft brilliance, his dignity. But for many springs and summers yet to come, if you are lonesome or alone, look up. Gaze upon and enjoy the glow of this guardian of the bear while you may. In half a million years, you shall see his splendor no more. But for now, we wait for you and shall be your companions in the night. And you will never be alone.”
Karl felt sad…but somehow no sadder than when he first beheld Bootes in the summer sky that cool night. Distances seemed to be of little consequence. But now, he knew, he would never feel lonesome or alone again. He had but to seek out Bootes in the quiet darkness of the spring and summer skies. And enjoy the warmth and powerful dignity of Arcturus while he could.
It’s a book of maps
There was a take-along supper given out to all aboard while the Bullet made its way back to Constellation Station. And as Karl prepared to detrain, the conductor approached him with a jolly smile and a book-shaped package. He handed it to Karl.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t visit that lovely jewel box, the Pleiades, this trip. We were running a bit late, and you know, trains, especially great trains, must never, never be late! Perhaps next time, when we plan to pay a visit to Pegasus, the Flying Horse, as well. But, I do have a memento of this trip for you.” The conductor handed Karl the package.
“What is it?” asked Karl.
“Why, it’s a book of maps,” said the conductor. “With careful reading, it can guide you right back here, if you feel sad and miss us. You’re never alone with a good book, you know!”
Karl knew he would be back to see the regal Leo the Lion, Ursa Major the Great Bear, Hercules, and Taurus, the Bull. But for now, he thanked the pot-bellied conductor, who was consulting his watch again, and headed for home.
Karl knew he’d be back!
As he walked away from Constellation Station, Karl couldn’t help but feel a little sad, but it was a wonderful trip and somehow he knew he would be back.
You’re never alone with a good book
In the distance, the soft, warm glow of familiar house lights became visible. It was good to be home after all.
Karl opened the book of maps. Inside, however, there were no maps. There seemed to be…a story! It began:
Through his room window Karl could see the night was thick but he could see pinpoints of gold and patches of orange light scattered along the horizon. Soon, thought Karl, he would reach Constellation Station…