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· 2 min read
Izzi

Now what. I have been creating short articles on space and the cosmos and the beauty and sadness of life, on and off for the past couple of years. I was not particularly inspired during 2021 and eventually realised that inspiration will never arrive and that I should probably just get on with it and start writing again.

What perfect excuse than to relaunch my blog posts with the wild and exciting news that the Big Bang never happened. It seems after all we just are. We are. Nothing started and nothing will end, we are in the cosmos and in order to start again, we will die. We are the only fuel to feed the perpetual motion machine, which is the Universe. It is, because we are. It is because we die. Then what. In a sense it is more intuitive than to try to figure out how something came our of nothing. Why out of seemingly nowhere, a Universe formed out of seemingly nothing. It never did make sense, now that we think about it eh? Although I am convinced it was a tiny smouldering straw religious fundamentalists still tried to hang onto. Why oh why, there cannot be something if someone or Something, did not flip the switch, surely. Well my friend, that is exactly it. The Universe is Endless, and Beginning-less.

· 3 min read
Izzi

Tonight we gather to sing scientific songs of praise to Orion and all hunters.

Against a star speckled dome we find the firm bright shoulders of the Hunter, Betelgeuse and Bellatrix. But now I wonder, should we upend convention and follow Herschel’s heed when viewing the constellation from a Southern Sky and name Rigel and Saiph the shoulders of Orion, while the knees bend through nodes and vectors of Betelgeuse and Bellatrix.

Let’s stay conventional for now and while the string of three stars astride the celestial equator remain in place, I am happy enough to see the strong shoulder that steadies the bow and holds a shield is Bellatrix. Aka Gamma Orionis, our Amazon Star. Female Warrior. Closer to Orion’s heart. Her brother, Betelgeuse the shoulder to swing a club, marks the hunter’s right shoulder. She is off course, less famous than her temperamental brother; but beautiful, graceful, steadfast and mostly consistent. Bellatrix will remain in the sky, steadying the shield, long after Betelgeuse had gone supernova.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, instead of turning the clock forward and speculating on what’s to come, let’s turn the clock back 9000 years or so, let us imagine a landscape in the Andean mountains. A hunter found, buried, in the Andean highlands. Under perhaps the burial took place under the skies of Orion’s belt, the same three stars the Aymaran people call the celestial bridge. The body rests with legs in a semi-flexed position, a collection of stone tools placed carefully next to them. The hunter was between 17 and 19 years old and one of a many buried around the same period in the Americas.

This hunter, named individual 6, by archaeologist has, like Orion in the Southern latitudes turned science on its head. Individual 6, like a substantial percentage of bodies found were female hunters. Looking at the research it seems 9000 years ago, men and women hunted shoulder to shoulder, much like Betelgeuse and Bellatrix. When we are equal and stand shoulder against shoulder, we are strong. We have a voice, we are heard.

Perhaps we can turn to Orion like the indigenous people of the Andes using Orion as celestial bridge, to help us find a way and reach out to each other across a world so polarised.

Let us then be reminded of the hunter, the celestial bridge that is Orion’s belt, and how the world can be united. To turn to that which is visible to us all, to understand and see that what we see and hear and feel is real, and that while validated, it is really just our vantage points that differ.

Our voices are the voices of people of the Earth, of coming together through looking and validation of what we see. What we hunt we hunt together and what we save we save for all.

https://www.sapiens.org/archaeology/female-hunters/

https://www.rmg.co.uk/stories/topics/south-african-star-myths

https://advances.sciencemag.org/content/6/45/eabd0310

· 3 min read

Sometimes we look up at the skies because someone told us to, or we read about it in the news and we don’t want to miss a once in a lifetime event.

“If you don’t look now, you’re never going to see this again. Ever.”

“Not again in your lifetime.”

“The last time this happened was in 1623!”

While it provides the spark to ignite a lifelong love for the stars and skies, I also find it a little absurd. This fear of missing out on a galactic scale. I first experienced it in 1986 when my mom woke me early one morning to behold a feint smudge of something she said, was Hailey’s comet. Today, it is not the comet I remember, I remember the moment with my mom, and I remember her. I cherish the memory of that moment because I know each moment is unique. Every interaction with a person, plant or animal is unique in that moment. A singular conjunction of conscious observation.

You see, we are able to make accurate predictions where it concerns which bodies in the heavens will be in conjunction with which. There is a frenzy of interest and activity as everyone is keen to observe the "closeness" of Saturn and Jupiter brushing past each other, cheeks touching, while the rest of the universe is hurtling past, flurrying further apart. We do not know if the person on the street, in the shop, the neighbour, the sister or brother that we assume will be there, will in fact be there next year. We are somewhat intelligent but we are so vulnerable. We do not know how long we have, who does? We cannot predict when we will be as close as we are today. For all we know today will be the closest we will ever be.

Let’s wake up to knowing that every conscious moment on earth is a once in a lifetime event. Because, this moment, this very moment in which you read this sentence, pause and stop. This will never happen again, you will not experience this again. Every moment is your conjunction to behold and to cherish the bonds you have with other life on this planet.

Let’s cherish the present, because this moment is all we will ever have.

The next Great Conjunction between the two planets – although not nearly as close together – is due in November 2040. An alignment similar to the one observed on 21 December in the images posted here will take place again in March 2080.

www.slooh.com

We can be close while we practice social distancing, perhaps like Jupiter and Saturn.

· One min read

I looked up at Antares

but Antares did nothing to acknowledge me.

I looked down at the dandelion

and it could care less.

I walked toward a tree and scared half a dozen birds.

I stepped on ants, scared a harmless snake and

a gecko left left its tail behind,

for me to find

nature is simply a brief diversion from

what lies beyond this precious moment.

· 4 min read

I observe two nurseries hanging in the sky outside my window. Vastly different, yet shrouded in equal mystery as both still hold on to secrets, rewarding the brave and patient, those who unravel the cosmos in systematic and careful observations from one data point the next. My own observations are sporadic and impulsive, I look up and outside -- the first nursery sways about 10 feet away from me, a bulbous bunch of nests, expertly woven in the wind, home to Cape Weavers who we’ve shared our garden with for almost 5 years now. The green braids of grass, fading to brown within days in the ultraviolet rays of the sun.

{{< gallery caption-effect="fade" >}} {{< figure thumb="-thumb" link="/uploads/m42.png" caption="Orion Nebula" >}} {{< figure thumb="-thumb" link="/uploads/open-mouth.png" caption="Young Baby Birds" >}} {{< figure thumb="-thumb" link="/uploads/vink-nes.png" caption="Weaver Nests" >}} {{< /gallery >}}

The second nursery, hangs outside my window, about 1400 light years away. It is the Orion Nebula, and this candy-coloured cocoon announces the birthplace of about a thousand stars. My human eye has collaborated with light and atoms to weave shades of red and pink with some hues of purple and blue shaping this marvellous emission nebula.

Allow me to break it down for you, the birth of baby birds, the fading of grass and the chemical process of ionization that colours and shapes our observations of places and spaces of births.

The Orion Nebula is classified as an emission nebula. These are huge clouds of ionized gas that emit their own light, in the same way that a neon light glows. This happens as young hot stars emit high energy ultraviolet photons (light). As the young stars shine so bright, their UV photons mingle with hydrogen atoms that are found in abundance. This connection and reaction, causes the hydrogen atoms to undergo changes in their state, they move from a neutral state, to an excited state, back to a lower energy state again all the while emitting tiny packets of light at a wavelength in the red end of the spectrum. This emission, weaves strips of candy coloured red and pink hues like giant cocoons where young stars live. How beautiful is that?

Closer to home again, the weavers’ nests turn brown against the blue sky, our sun gives life and as evening gets closer and the sun begins to set, I hear and see pleas of hungry baby weavers eager to get fed. Later still, the dark further saturates and I look up to where Orion’s Belt and Sword hangs, I draw a line to where it ends and find the Orion Nebula (M42), eagerly emitting and splendid.

All things considered, life is an immense chemical reaction, from the faded brown nest swaying against a sky, to the red and pink hues of nebulae. To fully appreciate it we too, need to stay open to all possibilities, to mingle freely, to interact and allow chemical bonds to form and break. Life and death lay equal claim to our minds and hearts. There is so much life to be found inside what appears from the outside to have faded, really, we need to consider the beauty in the unlikeliest places. Prepare to be surprised. When we, like atoms are moved and energised we begin to transfer energy to matter and become fully alive. Always consider the beauty. Always.

To explore the skies, join us on Slooh, where amateur and professional astronomers join in learning, exploring and teaching.

On Slooh, you can join quests and learn more about Emission Nebulae and other types of Nebulae, such as Reflection, Dark Nebulae and Planetary Nebulae.

· 3 min read

Like any well respected middle-class family in the 70s, we had Linda Goodman’s Sun Signs on our bookshelf. I loved the Pan Macmillan dust cover. Neither my parents nor siblings held firm believes over star signs and the supposed influence on personality and life-paths. The book made it to our shelf, testament to Mom who followed the book columns in the local press and for that matter her heart, because we had Colleen McCullough’s Thornbirds in our collection too! And it was only a matter of, well "time" before Hawking’s “A Brief History…” joined Carl Sagan’s Cosmos. Judging by the books in our modest, yet eclectic family library, we were well on our way to interpret and comment on a polarized world about to tear itself apart in the 21st century.

Linda Goodman’s Sun Signs became a placeholder for me to map new friends and family to. “It is aunt Marie’s birthday tomorrow”, mom would exclaim, and I would more often than I’d like to admit plot their birth-date to where they fit in the cosmos according to Linda Goodman.

Until 1978 I did not know any people born under the Scorpio Sun Sign. But then things changed, my sister started dating a scrawny “Scorpion”, born on November 13. I instantly claimed my sister’s new boyfriend as my best friend. He knew everything about Lego, electronics and things called computers and Space! We watched Buck Rogers together and he was so much fun to be around. He taught me chess, we play-wrestled, he made me do push-ups until my arms and shoulders hurt and showed me his ninja stars and "nunchaks", but I secretly thought he was way cooler than Bruce Lee.

I was 7 and he was 18 when he started dating my sister and I was 10 or 11 when he became my brother-in-law. Even then it was clear -- he held a firm belief that any girl could achieve what boys can. He sold me science and literally instructed my dad to buy me my first computer. Thank You. I was headstrong and I remember how I refused to listen to my parents and sisters when I was instructed to remove spider-webs of mascara, lipstick and lip-gloss from my face. But when he said that I was beautiful enough and did not need all the makeup at 10. I listened. As a matter of fact he was so convincing that I decided to ditch the idea of wearing makeup for good.

We grew a little apart as years flowed on, no doubt caught in vortices of work and culture and surviving in a polarized world that pins us at opposing ends – my brother-in-law: the so-called privileged white male, and on the flip-side, there’s me, female-gender-queer and deeply and disturbingly for most unclassifiable.

But, just as I cannot be bothered to believe the drivel astrologers claim to assign to people born under some star sign. Or the unverified claims held of people who are not the same as us, I am headstrong and unapologetic and will not allow myself to be discriminated against and will fight with equal fervor those who discriminate against me and those who seek to vilify men like my brother in law, I am eternally grateful for him. The sting in his tail, is filled with diamonds and wonder and he is precious to me. Happy 60th journey around our Star, Pieter. Thank You, for everything.

· 2 min read

Today I observed a dandelion, stalked by the midday sun, its star-cluster head intact and deceptively simple, because astonishingly each of the seeds in the crowned head, can have a different genetic makeup. I playfully map imaginary constellations, tracing starry pin-pricks of seed points. A geocentric simplicity in a contained Ptolemaic cosmos -- home to hundreds of individual flowers.

A 1000 light years from the dandelion in my garden hangs an arrangement of about 80 or 100 stars in an open cluster. It is believed to be about 220 million years old and observed, catalogued and described by Claudius Ptolemy in the 2nd century as Object Number 567 in his Almagest – the “nebula following the sting of Scorpius”. In 1764 Charles Messier catalogued this cluster as M7, and it’s with this catalogue in hand that I map my nightly missions across space with Slooh.

Because the stars in M7 were all born at roughly the same time, they have the same chemical composition and are as precious as the diamonds they resemble to scientists studying stellar evolution and structure. With wonder I ponder and exaggerate the sameness of stars in a cluster 25 light-years in diameter and the diversity in the dome of a dandelion seed-head.

As the stars in the M7 Cluster age, the brightest of those diamonds in the tail of Scorpio will violently explode as supernovae. Eventually the remaining faint stars will slowly drift apart, they will barely be recognizable as a cluster.

You can read more about the fascinating world of dandelions here:

Each unit of a dandelion is actually home to hundreds of individual flowers clustered together. Because dandelions can reproduce both sexually (through pollination) and asexually, every seed emerging from a dandelion’s head can have a different genetic makeup.

https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/article/dandelion-seed-flight/

https://qz.com/1428565/physicists-discover-new-form-of-flight-thanks-to-dandelion-seeds/

If you want to take pictures of stars and planets, visit slooh.com

Slooh is where amateur and professional astronomers alike, help, play and learn about the wonders of the cosmos.

· 2 min read

I wish I were a tree, so I would count my years as rings hidden from the outside by bark and moss. The only clue to how much I have accumulated would be in the thickness of my trunk and my long-limbed branches outstretched to the stars and moon above.

As a tree, I would not have to name things or write them down to remember. Everything would be perfectly stored in growth rings, I would be one with what I have become and have the perfect memories to prove it. Eventually I suppose, once felled or fallen, I may divulge all memories of environment and climate, else it would stay hidden and uncorrupted.

I am not a tree, I look up at the heavens, I plot the journey of stars, I observe the moons of Saturn, commit their names to memory and trace the link between Phoebe and the corresponding orbiting ring. I make lists in notebooks, I learn and study and leave traces of what I experience outside of myself. I learn from traces other humans leave, thus I marvel as I review how we have categorized the rings of Saturn and in equal splendor named them.

I am not a tree, I don’t form geometric memories; my memories are imperfect. They tilt and twist and turn and fall apart under the heaviness of emotion. Alas we don’t count our years like trees. Perhaps we count our years in what we experience, what we see, hear, taste smell and interact with. Layer upon layer of story and interaction, those memories follow us, they are bound to us. Exposed, like the rings of Saturn, not those of trees.

· 3 min read

My brother was a teenager in the sixties. He kept scrapbooks -- the 60s analogue version of Instagram and Facebook. The books were filled with profile pics and signatures of race car drivers, a collage of science and fiction, the stuff that inspired boys of his generation to become astronauts and race car drivers and conversely inspired tomboy sisters of my generation to dream and do and follow in their footsteps. I sleuthed through his treasures; newspaper clippings, popular science magazines, sketches of cars and foldouts of rockets and engines, his 7-inch 45rpm vinyl record collection. Roy Orbison sang about a Pretty Women, The Beach Boys called her Barbara Ann and The Troggs made “everything groovy”.

{{< gallery caption-effect="fade" >}} {{< figure thumb="-thumb" link="/uploads/sb-01.png" caption="Scrapbooks of Cars" >}} {{< figure thumb="-thumb" link="/uploads/sb-02.png" caption="Newspaper clippings" >}} {{< figure thumb="-thumb" link="/uploads/sb-03.png" caption="Scrapbooks of Cars" >}} {{< /gallery >}}

One day, I found a fold-out in one of his magazines of the Apollo Program and entranced by the Project Apollo insignia, the Moon indeed hinted that I could explore beyond. Urged on by The Troggs begging, “Come on, come on wild thing”, I took a pair of scissors and defiled the collectable, crudely cutting around the edges of the insignia. There were things to discover, more magical even than an older brother’s scrapbook collection and he wasn’t around to stop me!

I stapled the crudely cut Insignia to my jacket, put my brother’s crash helmet on and moon-walked across the green lawn.

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away.

My brother’s scrapbook entries abruptly stopped -- around the same time three brave men lost their lives in what was supposed to be the first manned Apollo Flight. Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee were conducting a simulation on the launch pad in Florida, when a flash fire broke out in their capsule. (Jan 1967).

In March of 1967, NASA announced that the mission originally scheduled for Grissom, White and Chaffee would be known as Apollo 1. and the first Saturn V launch, scheduled for November 1967, would be known as Apollo 4. No missions or flights were ever designated Apollo 2 or 3.

My brother wasn’t around to keep newspaper clippings, or foldouts, as he was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident on 25 March 1967.

By the time I arrived on Earth, two years had passed since Apollo 11 and Neil Armstrong left footprints on the Moon.

I still have my brother’s scrapbooks and he inspires me every day.

Wild thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything groovy

- The Troggs 1965

Read more about the Apollo missions here:

Remembering Apollo 1

Apollo Mission Patches

· 3 min read

This is the Crab Nebula Messier Object 1, it is not the best image out there, but bear with me, it was my first mission to visit this M1 and I am happy to add it to my SLOOH gallery. While you look at the Crab Nebula, travel back in time with me, only a thousand years or so. We set our time traveling machine’s dial to 1054, and we are going to the Sung dynasty in China.

When we arrive some time in July of 1054, we see Yan Wei-te, (the Director of Astronomy) prostrated before the Chinese Emperor. He is tasked with the unfortunate burden to report the appearance of a “guest star” out of nowhere – this failure to have predicted the event could lead to public prosecution. The life of an astronomer in the Middle Ages was stressful.

It is possible to pick up the disposition he was in from the style of his observation. It is written with clarity and sensitivity expected from a scientist, while he navigates and manages the political landscape and risk, as best he can.

I humbly observe that a guest star has appeared; above the star there is a feeble yellow glimmer. If one examines the divination regarding the Emperor, the interpretation [of the presence of this guest star] is the following: The fact that the star has not overrun Bi (a Chinese Constellation) and that its brightness must represent a person of great value. I demand that the Office of Historiography is informed of this."

All officials congratulated the Emperor, who ordered his congratulations be [back] forwarded to the Office of Historiography. First year of the era of Jiayou, third lunar month, the director of the Astronomical Office said

"The guest star has disappeared, which means the departure of the host [that it represents]." Previously, during the first year of the Zhihe era, during the fifth lunar month, it had appeared at dawn, in the direction of the east, under the watch of Tiãnguãn (Zeta Tauri). It had been seen in daylight, like Venus. It had rays stemming in all directions, and its colour was reddish white. Altogether visible for 23 days.

I’ll refrain from commenting on the arrival or departure of “a person of great value”, in the context of the American Election which is taking place today, 3 November 2020. However, I want to mention that I find inspiration in Yan Wei-te's precise observation which shines through and outlived the political correctness in tone. At its core his observation provided scientists with enough evidence to increase the plausibility that was eventually confirmed in 1942 beyond reasonable doubt that the Crab Nebula could be identified as the supernova remnant of this event the astronomer observed and “humbly” reported on.

Women and men that deem themselves of great importance come and go, it is however strangely comforting to know that the clarity of scientific truth is classic and outlasts the whims of political ideology.

If you want to learn how to capture images and observations like this one, visit slooh.com. On Slooh, professional and amateur astronomers work and play together to make Astronomy accessible to everyone on planet Earth.