Nova Pictoris, like many other so-called new stars, was an increase of an old star. For twenty-five years it had from time to time been photographed as a speck of the 12th magnitude.
There is nothing on any photographic plate to indicate that another star was going to collide with it. It went up, just as dimly shining, or only slightly active, volcanoes of this earth sometimes become violent.
No star has ever been seen to cross another star, but just such changes as have been seen in volcanoes of this earth have been seen in stars. Mostly, in their books, astronomers, telling of what they call "proper motion," do all that they can to give an impression of the stars as moving with tremendous velocities, but here is Newcomb (Astronomy for Everybody, p. 327) quoted upon the subject: "If Ptolemy should come to life, after his sleep of nearly eighteen hundred years, and be asked to compare the heavens as they are now with those of his time, he would not be able to see the slightest difference in the configuration of a single constellation."
And, if Ptolemy should come back, and be asked to compare the Mediterranean lands as they are now with those of his time, he would not be able to see the slightest difference in the configuration of any land— even though erosions of various kinds have been constant.
What Orion was, Orion is, in the sense that what the configuration of Italy was, it now is— in the sense that in all recorded time Italy has been booting Sicily, but has never scored a goal.
There is no consistency, and there is no inconsistency in our hyphenated state of phenomenal being: there is consistency-inconsistency. Everything that is inconsistent with something is consistent with something else. In the oneness of allness, I am, in some degree or aspect, guilty of, or infected with, or suffering from, everything that I attack. Now, I, too, am aristocratic. Let anybody else who is as patrician as I now am read this book, and contrast the principles of orthodox astronomy with the expressions in this book, and ask himself:
Which is the easier and lazier way, with the lesser necessity for effort, and with the lesser need for the use of brains, and therefore the more aristocratic view:
That for, say eighteen hundred years, stars have scarcely moved, because, though changes in them have often been seen, they are too far away for changes in them to be observed;
Or that the stars have scarcely moved, because they are points in a shell-like formation that holds them in place?
However, the orthodox visualization of stars rushing at terrific velocities, in various directions, and never getting anywhere, is so in accordance with the unachievements of all other phenomenal things that I'd feel my heresies falter were it not for other data— But what of other data— or of other circumstances?
In this day of everybody's suspicion against "circumstantial evidence," just what is not generally realized is that orthodox astronomy is founded upon nothing but circumstantial evidence. Also all our data, and repetitions and agreements of data, are nothing but circumstantial evidence. Simply mention "circumstantial evidence" relatively, say to a murder trial, and most of us look doubtful. Consequently I have only expressions and acceptances.
Other data— or other circumstances—
Last of March, 1928— that Nova Pictoris had split into two parts. Part was seen to have moved from part, as divisions occur in this earth's volcanoes.
So then, when changes of positions of stars do occur, the stars are not so far away that changes of position cannot be seen.
Ten little astronomers squinting through a tube— or more characteristically employed— or looking at a mirror. They had been told, upon the highest authority, that the star Capella had a companion. Said they— or announced they— they saw it— or perceived it. Having calmed down, in the matter of "dust from an African desert," but seeming to have a need for something to be furious about, I now turn my indignations upon "companion stars." Most persons have, in their everyday affairs, plenty to annoy them: but it seems that I must have something of exclusiveness to my annoyances. If stars be volcanoes in a concave land, surrounding this earth, the notion of "companion stars" perhaps enrages me, because I do not visualize one volcano revolving around another volcano. If some stars do revolve around other stars, I may as well give up this book, as a whole— or I shall have to do some explaining.
Which won't be much trouble. Explaining is equilibrating. That is what all things phenomenal are doing. I now have a theory that once upon a time our existence was committed as a bad error, and that everything in it has been excusing itself, or has in one way or another been equilibrating, ever since. It is as natural to a human being to explain as it is to a lodestone to adjust to a magnet.
Let anybody look up "determinations" upon the "dark companion" of Algol, for instance. He will find record not of a theory, but of theory after theory replacing one another. In the matter of the light ones, let him look up data upon the "light companion" of Sirius. He will read in the textbooks that around Sirius a light star revolves, with a most accurately known period, which demonstrates the soundness of mathematical astronomy. But, in scientific journals, which are not so uncompromisingly committed to propaganda, he will read that this is not so. A faint light has, at various times, been reported near Sirius, in positions that do not accord with the calculated orbit. For no mention of this discrepancy, read the books that reach the general public.
March, 1928— the split of Nova Pictoris. There was cataclysm in a southern constellation. At the same time there were catastrophes in southern parts of this earth. See back to other expressions upon seeming relations between parts of this earth and parts of the sky that would be nearest to each other, if the stars be points in a shell of land that is not enormously far away, but could not be appreciably nearer, if the stars were trillions of miles away. I take all data from New York newspapers. Quakes in Italy, and a glare in the sky at the time (March 31st) of a quake in Smyrna— "sky aflame." The heaviest rain in 50 years poured in Honduras, April 9th— Peru shaking, this day— such a fall of snow in Chile that 200 persons and thousands of farm animals were reported to be buried in drifts— quakes and panics in Mexico—
Orthodoxy— all this by mere coincidence—
Our expression— that nebulous rings were going out from Nova Pictoris, just as rings of smoke and dust go out from Vesuvius, during an eruption.
The 14th of April was the day of the Bulgarian devastations. Quakes continuing in Bulgaria— quakes in Mexico— towns rocking in southern Mexico— quakes continuing in Peru. Quakes in Greece, on the 19th— a violent snowstorm in Poland, this day. Torrents were pouring upon the quaking land of Bulgaria. A De Ballore, or a Davison, or a Milne, would not mention these torrents, in an account of this quake. The severest shock ever recorded in Johannesburg, South Africa, occurred upon the 21st. The next day, Corinth, Greece, was wrecked, and torrents fell from the sky, at the time of this quake.
Nova Pictoris broke into four parts— and the cities of Greece wailed rushes of people. Seeming discharges moving out from the new star— and "A five-hour rain of mud filled streets ankle high, causing terror at Lemburg and Cernowitz, today" (New York Sun, April 27th).
Wails of the cities of Greece— and they subsided into sodden despairs that were processions of stretchers. Somewhere in a building that collapsed, fell a sparrow.
The road from Corinth— refugees and their belongings—
Terrified mules, up on their hind legs, hoofing storms of bundles— yells and prayers and the laughter of jokers— a screaming woman, shaking bloody hands— her fingers had been hacked off, for the rings on them. Crying kids, whose parents were pulps— prayers to God, or to the blessed something or another— the screams of the woman, with stumps of fingers—
Sudden consciousness of a pulsation.
A rhythm of gleams appears in distant sunlight.
Stars that are watched through the windows of prisons— or through openings in any of the other hells of this earth— and it may be that if all the stars should start to twinkle in unison, the hells of this earth would vibrate out of existence.
There's a rhythm of gleams on distant bayonets. Along the road is marching a column of soldiers.
The swing of these gleams— and it tranquilizes panic. It glistens into new formations. There are long lines of sparkles in sunlight— tin cups are undulating toward soup kettles.
Somewhere else there is an injured sparrow. Storages in its body are giving to its needs from their substance— the tranquilizing of its heart beats, and the reduction of its fever— the rebuilding of its tissues.
A British squadron appears in the Bay of Corinth— an Italian warship— an American cruiser. From centers of the American Near East Relief are streaming 6,000 blankets— 10,500 tents— 5,000 cases of condensed milk— carloads of flour.
If we can think that around this earth, and not too vastly far away, there is a starry shell, here are the outlines within which to think of our existence as an organism.
Nov. 28, 1930— an enormous fall, from the sky, of dust and mud, in France. I shall not get perhaps all worked up again about this, but I mention that it was attributed to a hurricane in the Sahara Desert.
Dec. 5, 1930— the poisonous gas, in Belgium. See back to the account, in this book.
Accept that these two phenomena were probably volcanic discharges, from regions external to this earth— if for them there be no terrestrial explanation— one in France and one in Belgium— arriving relatively near each other, but a week apart— and here is another of our data of this earth's stationariness.
This earth broke out, as if responsively to disturbances somewhere else— volcanic eruptions and disastrous quakes.
December 24-26— violent quakes in Argentina and in Alaska— and, between these far-distant places, there was a spectacular arrival of something that may have been a volcanic bomb from a stellar volcano. New York Times, Dec. 26, 1930— the great meteor that was seen and heard in Idaho. "The crash, heard for miles, was described as `like an earthquake.'"
The deluge that was "only a coincidence," poured upon the quaking land of Argentina. "Rain fell in such torrents that the water was three feet deep in several parts of Mendoza City." A "strange glow" was seen in the sky. "Great spears of colored lights flashed across the sky."
Into the month of January, 1931, disturbances upon this earth continued. There may have been a new star. I have the authority of amateurs for thinking so. New York Times, Jan. 7, 1931— that, at San Juan, Porto Rico, morning of January 6th, from ten o'clock until noon, a strange star had been seen in the western sky. According to an opinion from the Weather Bureau, it may have been, not a star, but the planet Venus. This Venus-explanation of lights that have been seen in the sky, in the daytime, is a standard explanation; but according to records it has often not applied.
Catastrophes and deluges— and, if we can accept that around this earth there is only a thin zone of extreme coldness, which, by the stresses of storms and other variations, may often be penetrated by terrestrial evaporations, so that, unless replenished from reservoirs somewhere else, this earth would go dry, we can understand a mechanism of necessary transportations of floods from the stars to this earth.
Flows of insects and the patter of frogs, and the Pilgrims cross the Atlantic Ocean. Metabolism in the foot of a frog— and in the United States a similar readjustment is known as the Civil War. The consciousness of philosophers and theologians and scientists, and to some degree of everybody else, of a state of Oneness— and my expression is that the misinterpretation has been in trying to think of Universality, or the Absolute. Give me more data for thinking that around this earth there is a starry shell that is not vastly far away, and here is the base for a correlation of all things phenomenal.
Chapter 32
STAR AFTER STAR after star— and the signs that there were, at the times of them. Quake after quake after quake— and the sights in the sky, at the times of them. Star after quake after deluge— the sky boils with significances— there are tempests of indications.
There's a beam of light in the sky, and it dips into a star. Spattering ponds of ink, it scribbles information. The story is that a vast and habitable land surrounds this earth. It is fertile, if showers of organic substances that have fallen from the sky, came from there. The variable stars are intermittent signs that are advertising enormous real estate opportunities. The story is declaimed by meteors, but most of us stolid ones aren't going to be persuaded by any such sensational appeal to the emotions. The story is more obscurely told with clouds of dust that strew Europe. Most of us can't take a hint the size of a continent.
The searchlights of the sun play upon a celebration in the sky. It has been waiting ages to mean something. Just at present known as the Milky Way, it's the Broadway of the Sky, and some day explorers from this earth may parade it—
If this earth is stationary.
According to a great deal in this book, that may be a matter of no importance, nor bearing. If we accept that Teleportation, as a "natural force," exists, and suspect that some human beings have known this and have used it; and, if we think that the culmination of a series of tele-operations will be the commercial and recreational teleportation of objects and beings, we are concerned little with other considerations, and conceive of inhabitants of this earth willing themselves— if that's the way it's done— to Mars, or the moon, or Polaris. But I take for a proposition that there is an underlying irony, if not sadism, in our existence, which rejoices in driving the most easily driven beings of this earth into doing, at enormous pains and expenses, the unnecessary— the building of complicated telegraph-systems, with the use of two wires— then reducing to one wire— then the discovery that the desired effects could be achieved wirelessly. Labors and sufferings of early Arctic explorers to push northward over piles of ice, at a rate of three or four miles a day— then Byrd does it with a whir.
Consequently, I concern myself with data for what may be a new field of enormous labors and sufferings, costs of lives and fortunes, misery and bereavements, until finally will come awareness that all this is unnecessary.
Upon this basis of mechanical and probably unnecessary voyagings— unless to something disasters to the beings of this earth be necessary— the most important consideration is whether this earth is stationary. There can be no mechanical, or suffering exploration from something that is somewhere one day, and the next day 60 × 60 × 24 × 19 miles away from there.
