In orbit

A giant laboratory to search for the particle. A tiny room, compared, in size to this workbench of a star and its system.

From the window, a view opens, overlaid with grid lines and paths of orbits.

The bounds of the window belie the vastness of this vista. It all seems so conceivable this way. But press the face close to the glass, make the walls disappear.

And suddenly the immensity — what seamen called profundity — becomes erupt to the eyes. It's too much, and the brain doesn't know how to handle the absence of ground and the apparent emptiness. That is, the lack of context.

With nothing to hold the eyes in place, they float away, they float out into this lab, and turn in different directions.

Now they can see more than one thing at once, turned directly apart from each other, they gather nearly the entire universe in their sights. But they are unpartnered and uncritical here on their own. Who can tell if one is lying about what it sees?

Better to gather the oculars back in. But keep the head close to that window. Darken the interior lights. No glare. Become a detached observer. Knowing only that you are more than sight from the rumbling in the chest as vertigo roils for release.