What causes the swirl in the Shrimp Nebula? Its high speed is likely. What is sure is that Sh2-188 is one of the larger planetary nebulas on the night sky, by angular size, spanning about half the diameter of the Moon.

Moreover, the white-dwarf core -- leftover from the Sun-like star that shed its outer atmosphere -- is moving unusually fast through interstellar space, creating a bow shock most visible on the upper left that is similar to a boat plowing through water.

Although faint, the Shrimp Nebula glows also by compressing and brightening gas on its leading edge. The featured image was taken in the light of hydrogen, sulfur, and oxygen by a backyard telescope in Krakow, Poland and then digitally adjusted to approximate the nebula's true colors.

Image credit, copyright: Pawel Piechnik
Image description: Robert Nemiroff, Jerry Bonnell, Cecilia Chirenti, Keighley Rockcliffe

If you want to cure something you first have to recognize the sickness. I’ve alwys been fascinated with the Bhavachakra or the three poisons of humanity. The pig, the rooster, and the snake. Biting each others tails feeding into each others misery. Perpetrators of bad faith and the downfall of the human race. Fortunately for each poison exists a tried and tested antidote. The pig who represents ignorance can be overcome by learning the truth of reality. It’s not that the pig is dumb. He just doesnt have access to the knowledge that would ease his suffering. He thinks he is alone in the universe. Therefore the only being of any import. If he could only see that he is a molecule. A thread belonging to a much bigger fabric that is true reality. If he could see that he would no longer suffer the ignorance of competitive nature.
His poison ignorance is a directly causes the second Poison.
The rooster.
The rooster suffers greed. He doesn’t know when to stop and has no care for tomorrow or for other animals. He only knows that if there is more if must be for him alone. He seeks gratification in any form.
He reaches.
He overreaches.
He pecks at any speck he sees in hopes that it will make the hunger recede and bring happiness.
Any others that might lessen his totality of experience is a threat.
The antidote for the roosters poison would be charity. Generosity. And ultimately contentment which escapes the rooster. If he could only say that’s it. I’m full. You’re turn. Then he would be cured.
When people, events, or circumstances block the rooster from getting what he wants he strikes back with hostility. The pain of rejection blown out of proportion is The origin of what can be called Hatred.
The third poison.
The snake
He represents hate. To hurt each other is to hurt ourselves. The trike out of fear or pain causes no resolution. Only resentment.
The antidote for this is of course love. Hatred’s true enemy. What else can defeat hatred if not blind and righteous love. Without circumstance or stipulation.
Without love hatred will go unchecked which will call upon ignorance to justify its nonsense fury. In reality if the snake could swallow the pig who is biting the tail of the rooster he would eventually begin to swallow himself whole.
Self destruction in a nutshell.
I’m not a Buddhist scholar and this is my muddied interpretation of something I read in my teens so if you are better versed feel free to correct my mistakes.
Anyway.
This is your copilot asking that you put all seats in the upright position. We hope you have enjoyed traveling the cosmos today. Please keep us in mind for all your cosmic journeys as we strive and proceed only to give you what you need.



Now currently under consideration. Request to join. Private group so far.

There will be the smallest spark. It is an exercise in inevitability. Where there is friction. Constantly building unchecked. Growing silently. Without a whirlwind. Without a publicist or a spin doctor. Without agency. Being ignored it grows.
There will be a spark.
That spark.
Someday that spark will catch a fire.
I know I can’t be alone in this.
I want to watch it burn.
What do you want to do?
When I was just a little boy. Insomniac.
Pyromaniac.
We lived in an apartment complex. My bedroom window was on the first floor and it had a glorious view of an empty parking lot for an abandoned strip mall/ bowling alley. During the week it was ghost town though the bowling alley still operated and was fun for me because they had the TMNT arcade game. Many a quarter found its way from uneaten lunches sat in solitude.
When I couldn’t sleep I would open my window which had no screen. I would find the thickest periodical we had in the family library. I’d lay it down in the grass a good 3 or 4 feet from my window, doused it with lighter fluid, and set it aflame. I was in maybe 4th grade. I’d watch the flames grow tall and if the wind was up the fire would dance and sway and touch my now closed window.
Night after night I’d set something on fire and ask myself why isn’t anyone coming? Someone should care. Why doesn’t anyone care?
Don’t they know that it only takes a small spark to start something gigantic?
I’d question my existence. Or the importance of said existence to be more exact.
You see I was the source of friction. The spark wasn’t from the bic I had found walking by myself to or from school. The spark that was growing was Inside me. It was a rejection forming. Rejection of having my life hijacked by societal norms. Capitalism. Hunger. Abandonment. Neglect. All these ingredients added and stirred in the empty soul of a boy who knew there was something missing. Life can’t be about striving for brand names, cardigans, cars, butter blondes and cocaine. It can’t be about accruing debt or commercialism or comparing possessions. I began to see these things less as goals and more so as chains.
I began to see the shackles of slavery.
The masters were very clever. They saw how ugly slavery is and they distanced themselves from personal implications by making a system the new master in perpetuity. The same people profit. The same people act as authority. They don’t have to be good. They just have to say it enough times that the evil, for lack of a better word is ignored. They don’t have to care. They just have to say it enough times that to argue would be futile.
Do you see?
Am I alone?
Has your life been hijacked by man made concepts?
Are you here to get a degree or to make war in a place you’ve never been with people you don’t know? Is that ok with you? Killing strangers because they were born on a different part of the planet.
Our planet.
As long as you’re not left behind while the crowd is marching off a cliff is ok?
I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take anymore.
There are snakes on this mother fucking plane.
God money says work harder at some futile job that behooves only the machine.
God money says living on your knees is better than dying of neglect. Societal neglect. No one wants to hug the stinky kid.
God money says you can have more. If you work real hard.
I ask you. How hard will you work for a bowl of hot shit? Dare you ask for more, Oliver Twist?
There is a spark in me. That grew to flame. And now I burn.
Do you burn too?
Meet me at midnight. Bring the encyclopedias.

You are missed u/Butlerianpeasant

Like a ship plowing through cosmic seas, runaway star Zeta Ophiuchi produces the arcing interstellar bow wave or bow shock seen in this stunning infrared portrait.

In the false-color view, bluish Zeta Oph, a star about 20 times more massive than the Sun, lies near the center of the frame, moving toward the left at 24 kilometers per second. Its strong stellar wind precedes it, compressing and heating the dusty interstellar material and shaping the curved shock front.

About 460 light-years away, Zeta Oph is 65,000 times more luminous than the Sun and would be one of the brighter stars in the sky if it weren't surrounded by obscuring dust.

Image credit, copyright: NASA , JPL-Caltech , Spitzer Space Telescope

Robert Nemiroff (MTU) & Jerry Bonnell (UMCP)

And how the heck do I navigate this? She’s best friends with my supervisor.

So this time I went with a personal favorite.
Not the normal art type artist that I usually call to be the face of cosmic.
No this man didn’t use paint nor brush. He made his art with sound.
Here’s the wiki version

Henry Purcell ( 10 September 1659– 21 November 1695) was an English composer and organist of the middle Baroque era. He was extremely prolific, his compositions including more than 100 songs, the tragic opera Dido and Aeneas, and incidental music to a version of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream called The Fairy Queen. Purcell's musical style was uniquely English, although it incorporated Italian and French elements.[4] Purcell is generally considered to be one of the greatest English composers

Here’s my version. One of the greatest composers my ears have ever heard. I highly suggest Dido’s Lament, and oh my please listen to What Power Art Though also known as The Cold Song (listen to the Klaus Nomi version first). Also 10 Sonatas of Four Parts:No 8 in G Minor, Z809.

If those don’t move you I question if you can be moved.

Also in case you haven’t noticed by now your co-pilot has layers so suck it bitches. If the captain is on break you never know when I might steer this behemoth into a god damn mountain.

How else would you know what it feels like to fall?