Gravity

Gravity is a strange thing.

You can't see it, or hear it, or smell it, or touch it...but it is everywhere.

It surrounds us always, afflicting our every move, and there is nothing we can do to escape it. Here we are, living amongst this slurry of space-time, perpetually subject to its power as it grabs us and drags us toward some giant rock spinning in space. It doesn't compromise or change in shape or attributes. It is static and reliable, without shame or pride. It usually prevents us from floating, which is probably why we enjoy floating so much. And, even humanity's most intelligent physicists don't know exactly what it is.

One might find it amazing we have learned to live amongst this immutable, morpheus manifestation if it didn't define the movement of every physical object in the universe. Perhaps it is actually far from amazing that we can tolerate it. In fact, I suspect our lives would be much more intolerable without it...

Consider the following example. Without gravity you cannot pour yourself a beer. How tragic is that? Consider beer floating in blobs of liquid deliciousness inches out of reach. You are thirsty, and can even smell the floral hop aroma, yet, you are hopelessly doomed to die of thirst floating in some crazy twirling axis near your objective.

Thankfully, we have gravity. Actually, everything that has mass has gravity. This is good, not just on earth, but also in the vacuum of interstellar space, which I frequent when Earth's gravitational pull gets in the way...

For example, if I am drifting toward the Andromeda galaxy and a rogue asteroid of a similar mass to myself is floating from Andromeda toward me...and, say this is the most awesome asteroid in the universe with a keg of Surly Darkness and an attractive bar with a tap...it will tend to gravitate in my direction without any encouragement whatsoever. Now, it won't fall towards me from light years away, but only as its delicious cosmic maltyness approaches my gravitational sphere. If we are on a direct collision course we are both dangerous projectiles which may shatter one another upon impact like unfortunate Hadron particles...even if we were only traveling a few thousand meters per second. Most likely, this delicious spectacle will approach and drift just close enough for me to gaze upon its sparkling, polished draft mechanism and pint glass perched upon an oak bar with a bronze rail. I will watch it pass harmlessly by.

Though it passes I do not despair, for I estimate our speed is not great enough to escape one another's gravitational field. Like a comet around the sun, the last bead on the chilled pint glass will not have evaporated before it makes a return visit. And, it will always drift by again, likely a bit closer and brighter, even close enough to see the silly logo of a disgruntled beer drinker on the side of the keg. (Naturally, refrigeration is not required due to the already low temperature of interstellar space.) And, as it passes, I watch it depart from view again, knowing its path and calculating my own trajectory.

Of course, the asteroid is not only captured in my gravity, but I also in its, and we will continue to revolve around one another like a binary star, increasing in velocity, until my hand can approach the tap handle at which time I will savor 5 ounces of the world's most delicious Russian Imperial Stout. Yum.

Of course, by this time both me and the bar will be spinning around one another at several thousand revolutions per minute, as the effect is much like a spinning figure skater retracting into a spindly blur. But, in fact, we will be stationary and the universe will be spinning violently around me and my sweet malt beverage, which I will enjoy in complete peace somewhere between the Milky Way and Andromeda until the two themselves collide, which is estimated to occur roughly 3 billion years from now.

When on Earth I sometimes revel silently of my voyages trouncing about the cosmos. Although I cannot always plot my own course, nor that of my objective, I can take comfort in the fact that, of cosmic-like things, there is no escaping the inevitable. Some things fly by never to be seen again, others strike us directly, causing giant red raspberries, and still others subtly cross our event horizon from the most remote of places, occasionally without our knowledge.

One thing is certain: Beyond that indiscriminate point in time and space the laws of physics cannot be changed, as wily and unpredictable as they are. I may hope for the impossible beery asteroid or curse the inevitable direct hit. But, the law does not hear my pleads or my screams. I might even listen closely to hear it chuckle at the insanity of my presumptions and remember that some things are not mine to release or to restrain...or rather, nothing is. Instead, celestial bodies simply are, and frequently have no choice in the matter but to accept what they must, enduring all with whatever minuscule capabilities are available to them.

But, I consider the possibility that if we accept our fate, and welcome that which we know we must, there just may be a moment or two available to us, in our lifetimes, when those eternal laws may be suspended in favor of our own (adhering to the most rigorous standards of plausibility and only when absolutely necessary).