A USER’S GUIDE TO SPACETIME

In Spacetime, should you waken, rub your eyes. Can you see, through your maze, how rockets rise, The universe bends, and, proud in the skies,
The shuttle blends, and the astrobot plies?
Then hurry, hierophant, and mend the world. Maintain your craft; astride the station curled— Sublunar hermeneut in Chaos hurled—
Transport the rebis, mirror neurons twirled.

But what is the gist of Creation? —This: Both Compaction’s point and Unity’s bliss; After the Redshift and ions that hiss, Through recombination photons that kiss. Cyborg, you manifest what Ge has tried. Though galaxies surpass you, still you ride: Male in the D-brane, in the bulk a bride — Small as Purusha, Prakriti as wide.

Dressed in your Kevlar, to Cerberus cling; Clasp in your hand a ball of cosmic string: Embedded in Saturn’s tenuous ring,
A tiny moon that, entangled, you bring. Transparent as the sun, like dust you roam. Enter the torus: wormhole that you comb. Your capsule but a body made of foam, You are on a journey—this is your home.