I doubt that Rilke had the Galactic Center in mind when he wrote this poem, but it certainly seems a vivid description of what we know of the G.C.
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almond self-enclosed, and growing sweet–
all this universe, to the furthest stars
all beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.
Now you feel how nothing clings to you;
your vast shell reaches into endless space,
and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow.
Illuminated in your infinite peace,
a billion stars go spinning through the night,
blazing high above your head.
But in you is the presence that
will be, when all the stars are dead.
Buddha in Glory
–Rainer Maria Rilke