Against the backdrop of the cosmos,
the earth at night is nearly invisible. If a ship were to pass close to our
chaotic orb at the moment when the earth would eclipse the sun behind it, the
earth would be dark, lit only by the veins of light from the body of man. But
those points of light are nothing special on the greater canvas of nothingness.
We might recognize some cluster of lights as New York or Dar Es Salaam, but
from some visitor’s perspective, it’s no different from Sagittarius or
Betelgeuse.
Just
a minute later, the earth would continue to rotate and revolve, and a sliver of
blue would emerge. A thin semi-circle of sunlight passing through our
razor-thin atmosphere, and spilling blue out into the black.
It’s
a small universe of its own; each point of light represents some lifeblood,
where intelligent life may reside. One particular point, burning bright down
and left from the circle of darkness we call the Gobi, is where I lived once.
It’s where many of my friends still live. As I imagine it from space, I only
see a point of yellow light. That’s enough for my mind to run, and my memories
project out across the stars, playing a movie of pain and love for the universe
to see. I see the little yellow light bend and contort, and form the yellow
shape of Bombay. Then I focus on the string of yellow that is the Sealink, and
follow the stream of yellow cabs and rickshaws up the yellow Linking Road,
until my little yellow Sabita glows out, and the little yellow light that was once
my room beams back at me.
That
faint light is like a ghost from the past.
Maybe
right now, Lukas is drinking an Old Monk and coke, laughing and arguing with
the good ol boys down at Yacht. The smell of smoke, stale beer, and chili
chicken would leap from the crumbling concrete walls and iron windows. Maybe
Nelson is sitting in Starbucks, or Bru, reading and thinking about life. He
would surely start up a conversation about what he wants in life, and the
secret to living a good one. The heat would hit with a brutal reminder of reality
as he stepped out of the AC coffee haven.
Maybe
Munah is finishing up dinner: fried chicken and some green beans. The kitchen
would be sweltering, a molten combination of drier heat, stove heat, and no
ventilation. He’d leave the meal with a plate turned over on it, to keep the
bugs away. Then he’d slip his broken and worn sandals on his calloused feet,
and call out, “I’m going, sir.”
Maybe
my motorcycle is downstairs, like a dog that has found its way home. It would
be leaning on a cracked kickstand, with a small oil leak blotting the white
tile of the downstairs garage. It’s surely just waiting to be kicked to life,
and roar through the Bandra night air once again.
Maybe
Bandstand is covered in lovers. They would be hiding on the rocks, flirting with
danger from parents and the ocean. Some might stop and get a roasted corn cob,
and dodge the sparks as the wind carries the embers away.
Maybe
the Mumbai local is carrying an exhausted man home from a long day at work.
He’d be staring out at the yellow lights of the night sky, thinking about
nothing, and listening to music too loudly on his Rs. 20 headphones.
Maybe
the oil refinery at Wadala is shooting flames into the air.
Maybe
a rickshaw is crawling along the Western Express, obviously in one gear too
low.
Maybe
Juhu beach is causing another traffic jam.
On the other side of our marble,
I’m wasting the night away consumed by maybes. My little house is casting light
out into the windy shadows of the night, photons bouncing over cracked maple
leaves, dead grass and wet dirt. They shoot out across the river valley,
eventually tying themselves together into one point of light, stuck to the
eyeball of an observer from across the valley.
From
as little as a mile away, my current existence can be completely captured by a
single yellow dot. From Jupiter, all of our existences, all that has ever
happened to humans, can be summed up in a pale blue dot. Onward to infinity,
everything eventually coalesces into a point.
These
points are key to understanding the forth dimension. As much as I’d like to
understand what the forth dimension would be like, as much as any human would
like to understand it, it’s impossible for us right now. Everything we know is
completely defined and confined by three dimensions. We can’t even really
comprehend the first or second dimensions.
The
first dimension is simply a line. There may be two or some infinite number of
points, but they are all connected by a single, straight line; a single axis is
the single dimension. Why can’t we imagine this? It seems simple enough. Well,
go ahead and try to picture a straight line. What does it look like? You may
see a black line, perhaps against a white backdrop. The problem is that the
line you just imagined has a width to it. You see black, so there has to be
some width to the line to make it visible. Once there is a width, it’s no
longer the first dimension.
What’s worse is that you can’t even
imagine it in the second dimension. The white background you see is another
plane, upon which the line sits. If it’s drawn on a piece of paper, the ink or
graphite is standing on top of the paper, giving the line not only width but
height as well. Even on a computer screen, the line has the height of the
thickness of the screen.
We are creatures of the third
dimension, and for now we are completely relegated to it. But can we try to
imagine the forth dimension? What would that be like?
The first dimension, as long as we
can admit we can’t actually visualize it, is the x axis. The second dimension is the x and y axes, and the
third dimension is the x, y, and z axes. Every time you step up in a dimension, one more axis gets
added which is perpendicular to the existing axes. This is easy enough to
imagine up to the third dimension, but the fourth is a lot more difficult. In
fact, it’s impossible. Go ahead and try. Imagine a fourth axis which can be
perpendicular to all the edges of a cube.
We can’t imagine where that axis
would go, but some have postulated that the additional fourth dimensional axis is
time. If that were true, and we were in the fourth dimension, we could travel
through time as easy as we could jump or walk.
Now, imagine the earth from space
again. We’re going to go on a four dimensional journey.
Find where you were born on the
earth. Let your finger guide your squinted eye over the mountains and oceans,
and rest upon where you first bloomed into existence. Now let your finger walk
again to the furthest you’ve ever been from home. Focus again. Why were you
ever in that place? Was it a vacation or something greater and more
significant? As you look at this new place, let the lines of the earth re-tell
your tales. Maybe you swam or dipped your toes in that nearest body of water.
I can’t tell you the exact images
and memories you should have, but let your finger run around the earth like a
whirring satellite, silently observing humanity in the dead of space. Don’t
focus on borders or rivers or landscapes, but instead focus on the memories you
have attached like flags to the various points on earth.
As you do this, imagine as well
what those places are like right now, without you. Life is undoubtedly
continuing on. There are people still being born, still dying, falling in love,
hating work, getting stuck in traffic, burning pancakes, and all of it is
happening right now.
You’ve done it. You’ve just taken a
short journey through the fourth dimension. Your eyes darted around the three
dimensional planet, but your consciousness travelled through time. You were in
London in this moment, but your awareness was in London years ago.
Maps, our guide through the third
dimension, may be the best way for us to imagine the fourth.
Tonight, if you are lucky enough to
be blessed with a clear sky, look up at the stars. As you do, know that the
little light from your home and city is casting itself out amongst the giants,
and placing you as a point in space and time. Your beacon is lit and unique,
and will never happen again like it’s happening now.
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