A Call to Stargaze
Stargazing is for the astrophysicists, the cosmologists, the astronomers, right? Only scientists qualified to explore the magnitude of the cosmos have the right to speak on the tiny bright lights suspended in the night sky? Surely they have the time. We’re far too busy to acquaint ourselves with the celestial, with the otherworldly, with the mysterious bodies in the galaxy.
No. Of course not. Allow me to argue that stargazing stems from an integral element of our humanity. Below is a piece of prose I wrote after surrendering to the stars on my back porch:
It’s so strange how futile yet precious human life is. My existence is but a minute compared to the age of the universe, a millisecond compared to eternity. And still I shiver when this breeze brushes over my arms. Still I marvel at the way the trees sway in the wind. Still I cried when my grandpa passed on, no longer here to feel and sense it all: a hot cup of coffee at dawn, the face of his beloved wife, the birds in the cusp of spring, the sting of his alcohol. Life is fleeting. I searched the deep sky for stars, straining to see a flicker behind the pale glow and wispy clouds. And when but for a moment the clouds parted, I caught an indulgent glimpse of the twinkling, glorious, incandescent bodies of fiery magnificence. I could not grasp the thought that I presently beheld a star from hundreds of years ago, a star of such great magnitude incomprehensible to a mere human being like myself. But if I looked at them for too long, they seemed to disappear, and I feared I lost sight of them. So we agreed to sit together in silence—simultaneously yet years apart, in the same place yet so far apart.
So far apart, “separated by astonishing gulfs of empty nothingness,” yet still they keep me company as I wander through the soundless dark, stumbling through rustling leaves, drunk on the somber quietude of deserted parks and sleeping streets and empty train stations. There is a serenity in the night, a sense of deep and boundless tranquility under the glow of the moon and the vast indigo vault of burning stars. It is a stillness otherwise disrupted by the humming engines of society and success and business and productivity—arbitrary, temporary, aimless ideals of individuals and communities trying to hold themselves together, aware that if they awake from their slumber and step outside to stargaze, they themselves will fall apart.
Life is fleeting, however real and intense and imperishable it feels. Hanging on to it is like trying to grab vapor and hold it in your weak and trembling hands. Just breathe it in and let it fade away as it must. I think I breathed in the stars tonight, and I hope that stardust runs through my veins for however long my heart will beat.
In the words of Alain de Boton: “At night, with the window open and a clear sky above, it is just us and the universe—and for a time, we can take on a little of its boundlessness.”
Don’t be afraid to take on that boundlessness. I challenge you to step outside, even for a mere five minutes, and see what the stars teach you. Let their grandeur make you feel small and remind you of the “brevity and littleness of human existence.” Let go. Surrender.
(all quotes from Small Pleasures by Alain de Botón)