Whenever I listen to classical music, I am always taken to an unknown place; it is a new adventure for me. Sometimes I feel as if I am floating into space, watching the creation of the universe before my eyes. Within the pieces, I am taken to the vast reaches of our solar system, and I can see the formation and destruction of stars. I pass through pockets of gas, wind through asteroid belts. I don’t know time or space; I am simply floating. I see tiny particles of what can only be named dust gather together in a cloud. Flashes of light click between the particles; I want to run my fingers through it and watch the trail of light sprinkle across the black, but I can’t. I am just an observer to the vision of the music. I’m not a participator. More particles rush toward the lightning ball, and the cloud grow denser and darker. The current changes and everything begins to circle inward toward the vast supernova in front of me. I am trapped within the metaphysical vortex of my mind, drowning into deep space that Schubert constructed on parchment with ink.
A light such as I have ever seen illuminates the void, and I stop. I swear I think I see Asteroid B612, but as I blink, the image is gone. The explosion of the supernova caused everything to freeze within the space it fills; I am motionless, as are all the particles around me. As quickly as the universe began to draw me in, the universe begins to fill, swirling gas and dust outward, encompassing me. It is a reverse blackhole and I am in its wake. The system spills out at my feet, and the motion return, but at a slower pace. I lie back, floating toward the center, while the universe builds up around me, in a vacuum mitosis, splitting and pairing while I wait in limbo. Note after note, chromosomes of sound duplicate and replicate and pull apart at their DNA strings, in a throbbing fortissimo of actuality. Life, as I know it, is beginning. Soon molecules will bind and build. Reactions will occur, and I will bare witness to them all. A comet shoots by, and I wave, as the black of the symphony falls before my eyes and the orchestra quiets. A light pulses in the distance, as the strings rise up, and I catch my breath at the sight. My hand reaches out, ready.
Planets and moons form; rotating to their own metronome. Seasons form as I slumber in my asteroid bed. When I wake, the Milky Way is waiting. There is cause for such celebration, yet who do I celebrate with? I am alone within this vastness, but it does not matter. I lie back, listening to the hidden music of the cosmos, and wait. Someone will be by soon. One cannot be sure who one will see in the vastness of space. I’m not the only person in the universe. That is the beauty of life: creation is continuous. Loneliness is momentary.
He closes, a few plucks of the cello in the background. I wake, still floating, drifting into purple then blue, until my feet touch the floor. And I continue in to the world, plump with the knowledge of the universe within.