Liber Saturni - Chapter 1

Verses

The telescope does not show a god. It shows weather, hydrogen, ice, shadow, and a mathematics too large for my kitchen table.

I was taught that wonder dies when measured. This was false. The ring became stranger when I learned it was rubble.

Each bright band is made of innumerable small obediences to gravity. No priest arranged them; no priest is needed.

If Saturn speaks, perhaps it speaks by period, pressure, resonance, and the patient correction of bad guesses.

The hexagon at the pole offended me at first. Nature had drawn a symbol without asking whether symbols were permitted.

I do not worship the planet. I confess only that my instruments become humble when pointed toward it.

A ring is not a single thing. It is a crowd agreeing, for a while, on how to fall.

Somewhere beneath the spectacle is no solid floor for a pilgrim to kneel upon. I find this comforting.

The old astrologers called it slow. They were right about the slowness, if nothing else, and slowness is enough to build a myth.

When I die, do not say Saturn took me. Say my atoms kept their appointment.

Still, if you must light a candle, light it beside the data. The darkness is impressive enough without lying about it.