I’m as stymied, of course, as he is about death, of being exiled from awareness (the thing we treasure more than love). Which is why in the middle of the night, confounded by such thoughts, my mind soars often to the solar system—its mysteries, logos and lexicon. Null infinity, event horizons, nebulas bright and dark—all the ways by which things we don’t understand are consolingly contained by larger things we understand even less.
