Tag Archives: planets

Astrophysics for People in a Hurry (Book Review)

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

Astrophysics for People in a Hurry by Neil deGrasse Tyson was simplified enough that I could almost begin to fathom parts of it. The grand scale of the universe or multiverse or whatever hugeness is out there seems like a great imaginary tale. My little, tiny reality does not mesh with the vastness of trillions of miles as a measurement or billions of galaxies, our Milky Way being only one little spiral among many. Tyson says scientists think the gigantic, galactic, humongous universe, as we know it, was at one time smaller than one-trillionth the size of the period at the end of this sentence. It might as well be a magical fairy tale.

Some fascinating science-y things I learned:

  • Helium was detected in the sun’s corona in the 1800s before it was ever discovered on Earth.
  • Planets don’t really fly through space orbiting the sun but are carried across the fabric of space-time.
  • Iridium is the densest element we know of—2 cubic feet of it weighs as much as a car.
  • Pluto is not a planet. I have finally released my hold on the poor thing. It turns out, this mistake has been made before. Two other “planets” were discovered in the 1800s named Ceres and Pallas. We eventually figured out they were asteroids and now know Pluto is a comet. Sigh. I think we hung on so long because it was the first planet discovered by an American.
  • About 1,000 tons of Martian rocks rain down on earth each year. Possibly a similar amount reaches us from our Moon. When meteors and asteroids hit them, they send debris flying our way. When we pick up a rock and put it in our pocket, it could be from Mars or the Moon.

Tyson, Neil deGrasse, Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2017.

You Ever Wonder?

You ever wonder how we keep from flying off this giant muffin when it’s going over 60,000 miles an hour? Like, a spaceship made of dirt and water, it’s outer skin nothing more than a layer of air holding all us guts in while screaming through space at 60,000 miles an hour. And any second another chunk of rock could slam into our bowling ball hot air balloon and we could shoot off like fireworks spraying out of a soda bottle at 60,000 miles an hour. Unless we’re more like a frisbee ‘cause we’re flat earthers and this giant paper plate planet is flinging and boomeranging around the sun at 60,000 miles an hour. Maybe the whole way to survive in this solar system is to keep moving as fast as you can, ‘cause if we stop, we die, and nobody wants to die, well, some people want to die, but not like that in a crash going 60,000 miles an hour. And think about it, these doctors are trying to slow us down with all these meds, making us walk around like zombies eating our own brains, drooling in our sleep, and slurring our speech ‘cause that’s supposedly better somehow, even though they should be smart enough to know that we have to keep the wheel spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning at least 60,000 miles an hour, or we’ll screech to a halt and scream forever like that Munch painting where the squiggledy guy is slapping both hands on his face like the Home Alone kid all because Krakatoa blew and burned and bled.

Snail

(Poem 78 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/sPIUDo

The flame of wisdom
is held aloft by an aged
snail who carries a galaxy
on her back as she glides
through the universe
leaving a trail of stars
in her slow-moving wake.
The wax that drips forms
rings around planets and
her eyes see through
time to the essence of
reality’s lover—authenticity.
She’s best friends with
both integrity and prudence
and the enemy of hubris.
When she tires, she rests
on the banks of compassion
until her spirit is restored,
then resumes her course.
Her gravity is the perfect
balance of curiosity and
contentment, and her laughter
creates starquakes like
cosmic fireworks brilliantly
painting heaven’s expanse.

@Home Studio – 78th poem of the year

Runner ups for the snail candle photos to accompany my poem: