Matter close to a black hole formation appears to be deterministically included inside its event horizon at its birth, millions of years before it is actually swallowed.
As our science is that of the whole, hence of the hollow, all ideas around its center are bound to be parsed, reduced by a dimension, and holographically impressed on its edges.
As our science is that of the full, hence of the hole, all arguments expelled around its axis are bound to be radiated, backgrounding the whirlwind of only-apparently structured matter which cannot escape gravity.
As the whole is the only, and the void is the negative of its borders, in the mirroring of the Cosmos against what it is not, the ripples of stars’ implosions are a shiver down the spine of Creation, a sensation resonating from its skin to its heart, and from its deep back to the edges.
What are books of words and acts of goodwill to such a scripture of heat and waves?
Burn, shine, implode: make the Cosmos feel its own dream.
YLE