“Etoile prisonnière prise au gel de l’instant”

I want to be a starduster! I read an article in the New York Times a few weeks ago about interstellar dust particles that may have been collected during a NASA mission—and haven’t been able to get the stardust out of my head. So, NASA sent a spacecraft on a mission to collect dust particles during an encounter with a comet in hopes that some of the particles might turn out to be interstellar dust particles—potentially the building blocks of life. But the problem is that these particles are really, really tiny, there A LOT of them, and the scope of the search was overwhelming. 700,000 fields of aerogel—the whispy concoction that functioned as cosmic dust collector—would each need to be visually inspected for the “impacts” that signify these particles, so the scientists decided to ask for help. And that’s where I come in. Anyone can get on the site, go through a tutorial, take a test, and if you qualify you can take part in the research (http://stardustathome.ssl.berkeley.edu/). If you find one of the interstellar-dust-particle-impacts, not only do you get to name the particle, but your name will appear as co-author on the scientific paper announcing the particle’s discovery. http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/03/science/space/03stardust.html?_r=1&emc=eta1

The title quote was encountered recently while reading Bachelard’s “The Poetics of Space” and was simply too perfect. Translation: “Imprisoned star caught in the instant’s freezing.”

The year's doors open...

A few lines from a poem mentioned in Maps of the Imagination by Peter Turchi. Seemed appropriate for today. Also, a fantastic "found" image I've had for years (the back reads "a merry xmas to you all from alice and Charlie" and "Little Charlie pulling beans") with an overlay of a diagram taken from An Experiment With Time by JW Dunne (more on that soon). B

January First by Octavio Paz (translation by Elizabeth Bishop)

The year's doors open

like those of language

toward the unknown

Last night you told me:

tomorrow

we shall have to think up signs, sketch a landscape, fabricate a plan

on the double page

of day and paper.

Tomorrow, we shall have to invent,

once more,

the reality of this world.

Whimsical Water Fowl

Up early for a run this week and because it was very cold, at least for this geographical location, there was very little activity on the trail that follows the lake. To my surprise I suddenly heard what sounded like a large group of mitten-wearing-people clapping enthusiastically. I looked around, most curious as to the source of this large outburst of applause, and instead found what had to be at least fifty ducks flapping their wings in preparation of a lake landing. Still smiling from this encounter, I came across one of my favorite lake characters, a most lovely blue heron. I did what I usually do, which is to continue running while looking at the creature over my shoulder for as long as possible. Not too far down the trail I saw a flutter as my heron landed on a rock just ahead. I never stop during my runs, but I simply could not help myself. We stared at one another for what seemed an eternity. I'm not sure how much time passed, but I finally pulled myself away, walking slowly so as not to disrupt this gorgeous bird. That night, falling asleep to Anne Carson's An Oresteia and references to Zeus, I had a fantastical dream about wild geese (or were they swans) with secrets to share, but I was shy and the creatures were shy. I am quite terrified of water but we were all in the water and one of the geese finally swam to me, whispered in my ear, and as I put my arms around its neck, took me on the most beautiful voyage above and below the water and I wasn't the slightest bit afraid. Enchanting. B

Sailing Into Space

A delightful week filled with the usual thematic coincidences. Monday evening, the Harry Ransom Center screened early silent films by cinemagician Georges Méliès—my favorite of which was Le voyage a travers l'impossible, 1904, a story about a fantastical voyage to the sun involving a train with balloons, an automobile, an icebox, and a submarine. The film inspired me to look up an essay I wrote some time ago regarding moon folklore—let me tell you the story of a man stranded on the uninhibited island of St. Helena. He trains forty wild geese, called Gansas, to fly carrying a chairlike devise in hopes of escaping isolation. Following a successful test flight with a lamb, he and the birds depart the island, however, as the birds were inhabitants of the moon and their migration season had begun, an unexpected lunar voyage was made. Lovely. The next morning I came across an article about LightSail-1, with solar sails "as shiny as moonlight and only barely more substantial." LightSail-1 will be launched in 2010 with the hope of demonstrating the possibility of "navigating the cosmos on winds of starlight the way sailors for thousands of years have navigated the ocean on the winds of the Earth." With a big enough sail, there is speculation that speeds of hundreds of thousands of miles an hour could be reached. Take a look, it is quite fascinating: www.planetary.org/programs/projects/solar_sailing/lightsail1.html  

The article in the New York Times concluded with a quote from Dr. Dyson which I found irresistible concerning the overwhelming research that remains before the sails become practical, "think centuries or millennia, not decades" but why not, "we ought to be doing things that are romantic." B

Halley’s Shooting Stars

Lovely little surprise following mention of Halley in the diving bell post—the annual Orionid meteor shower will peak this evening and the next (early morning, October 21st and 22nd). What excited me is that the meteors happen to be debris left behind by Comet Halley—called the Orionids because the radiant point is in the direction of the constellation Orion, the Hunter. This shower has the potential to be of note because of a relatively moonless midnight sky. Viewing should be best between midnight and dawn. What a fantastic chance to see remnants of Halley’s Comet. B

Diving Bell

My newest obsession is the diving bell: a diving apparatus consisting of a container open only at the bottom and supplied with compressed air by a hose (date: 1661). I am currently immersed in compass and cartography research for a project and came across a lovely text about Edmond Halley, polymath, in Alan Gurney's "Compass: A Story of Exploration and Innovation." Many know Halley for the comet named after him (he accurately predicted its orbit), but this text introduced Halley walking along the bottom of the English Channel in a diving bell. How fantastic the scope of his interests (papers to the Royal Society during a one year period): "the transits of Venus and Mercury across the sun's face to determine the sun's distance from the earth; the physical mechanism of evaporation; measuring the thickness of gold upon gilt wire; Pliny's book of natural history; historical detective work; using astronomy and tides to locate the place and time of Julius Caesar's landing on England's coast; the speed of a bird's wing in flight; the measurement of wind and water forces; the refraction of light; the height to which bullets could be shot and fountains made to squirt; and a report on his diving activities where he had three men working for nearly two hours at a depth of ten fathoms." B

First Post

Welcome to Beetleness & Daffodility: Honoring the Creative Impulse. We should begin by giving credit to the inspiration for our name, Carol Kaesuk Yoon. Following is an excerpt from an article adapted from her book “Naming Nature: The Clash Between Instinct and Science.”

“No wonder so few of us can really see what is out there. Even when scads of insistent wildlife appear with a flourish right in front of us, and there is such life always–hawks migrating over the parking lot, great colorful moths banging up against the window at night–we barely seem to notice. We are so disconnected from the living world that we can live in the midst of a mass extinction, of the rapid invasion everywhere of new and noxious species, entirely unaware that anything is happening. Happily, changing all this turns out to be easy. Just find an organism, any organism, small, large, gaudy, subtle–anywhere, and they are everywhere–and get a sense of it, its shape, color, size, feel, smell, sound… and meditate, luxuriate in its beetle-ness, its daffodility. Then find a name for it. Learn science's name, one of countless folk names, or make up your own. To do so is to change everything, including yourself.”

We would also like to thank Brooke at Crosspollination for assisting us with getting this up and running.