From the Desk of Madame Zuchini

Death of a Star. Not Barbra Streisand

Pulsars are the spectral remnants of stars that have gone supernova.   Gravity makes a star want to contract, while the heat and energy in its core make it want to expand, it is a precarious balancing act, not unlike that of a wine glass on the arm of a rocking chair. But when the balance becomes uneven the star explodes – goes supernova and a pulsar is the residue of the star’s life. As the pulsar ages the slower the rotation, much like humans who are fascinated with Proof that there is life after death. A beautiful death, a beautiful after life.  The Crab Nebula which was created in the year 1054, is the remnant of a supernova – death of a star. But Nebula’s can either be the graveyard of dead and dying stars, or clouds and gas that create new stars. Even planets!  One of the more prolific star  forming nebulae is the Eagle Nebula, captured in Nasa’s famous (perhaps not) “The Pillars of Creation”.  How will one know which way the worm will turn? Well not until at least a thousand years has passed.  Yet there it is, still awesome and beautiful.  An undeniable proof of existence after death.

Why is it as we age that we do not become more beautiful? We watch our beauty ravaged by wrinkles, sagging skin, and liver spots. Our deaths are anything but beautiful, although some have a moment of revenge. Madame predicts an existential supernova will explode and create a new life; a residue of life; throbbing on and off like a pulsar. Yet just because Madame believes this, does not make it so.

But look to the heavens for your afterlife, the colossal cacophony of color and light, and this from a death no less!  Do we explode into colors of awesome magnitude? Does our residue pulse on after our balancing act has ended?  Is the religious “heaven” The Heavens as we see them? Oh to be a part of the beauty, the glamour  the stunning imagery of what counts as a death in The Heavens. They say we are all made of energy and energy never dies, it has to go somewhere. So do we become a table or part of The Heavens. Do we supernova or do we merely wrinkle away until our core can no longer expand? Would we want to expand? (Some of us spend our whole lives trying not to expand).

Madame predicts that the death of our body will be the supernova of our soul and our energy will live on in Heaven. Whose heaven? That is subjective, or objective depending on what you do with your Sunday’s.  Life is not always fair, or black and white; there is not always a right or a wrong answer; the grays sometimes win. And they should, for until we supernova out of this world and relinquish our Will into our own private pulsar, the chaos of not knowing will continue to plague us, dizzy us; design webs of intrigue and war for us.  Whatever the result, Madame predicts there will be no fear, nor pain, nor anything to envy or put under our jackets in a store.   Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and we will be set free.  Just let go of the fear and trust the supernova, pulsars and Nebulae! Great Gaud in Heaven soon we will come!

And now Madame must open her bottle of a 1967 ( a very bad year) of Cabernet,  and imbibe away this mad existentialism. Madame out.