Black Ocean

Looking down at the Earth, I can see it all. All of my cares are in one tiny bundle. All of my aspirations and hopes occupying an insignificant amount of space. The space from ear to ear. The distance from Arizona to Tokyo. Lightyears away from anything resembling insight.
My crew and I have been floating for eight months. All of the food in this mobile home has the same solid consistency and flavorless taste. We were sent up to take pictures of highly ionized atoms. Hold the frame still, point, and click. We document our images, store them on a disk, and relay them to a UV photo lab. When I left home, people in business suits told me that my work would shape the future. My vision spans across the time zones from California to Dublin. Is this the future? As an artist takes a ball of clay and molds it into a masterpeice I am here, watching. What forms is the product of ingenuity and creativity, but the substance remains unchanged. They sent my family a christmas gift basket filled with assorted cheeses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio white wine, and I didn't get a greeting card. After all, a scientist is just an observer. I spent years of my life learning about tools and practicing with instruments. These mechanical aids are nuts and bolts and chips soldered to perfection. Organic and inorganic alike, studying these molecules, these beings, these objects, I've assertained a plethra of facts. A world of tidbits, a cornucopia of trial-based observations fill my head. We are the pioneers of modern solar photography. We are the founders of chromospheric and coronal extreme UV photography. We press the buttons, float, and watch. Sometimes it's really hard for me not to be dissapointed by my line of work. Here I am expecting the answers. Here I am floating in space. But in return for my years behind a desk transcribing the scribblings of educated men, I receive the obvious. There is a reserve tank filled with oxygen in case of emergency on the ship, and that doesn't comfort me. To educate the next generation of spectators I'm drifting in orbit. With each new fact, a new category to place it in. Everything feels like a subsection of another thing. A heading in long list of alternative nomenclatures. I flip through the pages of notes I've taken on my trip and it reads like a thesaurus. The chemical reactions laden with little dots and obscure arrows, they meant everything to me once. Sitting at home you can flip the channel when a show gets boring. In space you have one station, and to make matters worse you really have to pay attention. Just once I'd like to lose responsibilty, lose my intuition and discover a new sensation. Strip mind from body and reduce life to its purest form. Ignoring thought or conscience, I want to experience that new frontier. I remember when education brought me that feeling of comfort and purpose. You wake up in the middle of the night and wonder what happened, what has changed. All of your work reaches its pinnacle and you have nothing to show. My home, my street, my city, and my Earth...it's all just a part of space. A subsection of nothingness is added to the list of things that exist. This ever-changing black ocean of chaos engulfs my ship and my planet. I find meaning once again.