Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Star Gazing

There’s something indescribably wonderful about a clear night. Like tonight. There’s no moon and since it’s 12.30 in the night, all the intrusive, jarring shop lights are, bless the stars (excuse the pun!), switched off for the night. With only insubstantial, light, fluffy clouds scuttling across the sky, the sky is so open and the stars are bright.


It’s only too easy to let the imagination run wild and think of our ancient forefathers looking up at nearly the very same sky and, inspired by it, writing their mythology based on the wonders they saw there. The fancy almost instantaneously creates a picture of the dying Keats looking up at the sky, yearning with all his heart to be an immortal, steadfast star and penning with the blood of his soul, his last sonnet. The very sight of a dark, endless sky conjures pictures of philosophers, saints and heroes staring upwards into the vast unknown, yearning for home, knowlege, divinity, inspiration! Although I know that more than the iron bars of the window–and centuries of civilization that gave birth to the buildings around me–separate me from those ancient men and women, it only takes a little bit of imagination and a glance at the beautiful night sky to take me far into other realms.


The little pin points of the stars shine like diamonds and only deepen the mystery of it all. Science fights for its say: Yes, in these ‘enlightened’ times, we do know that stars are actually brilliant balls of gaseous substance burning an unaccountable number of light years away. The mind registers as the eye sees the stars that the light from the star is so ancient that one of those stars is probably long dead, yet the light shines on. (The mind begins to hum stuff like, Shine on you crazy diamond!) But science can never really take away the mystery, the romance of ‘the starlit dome’. In fact, sometimes it deepens it.


I never come away from a star gazing session without feeling deeply humbled. Is there any greater proof of the insignificance of man than the knowledge of how huge Space is and the sight of the night sky? A star twinkles suddenly, very fiercely, and all I can think is, imagine how bright, how huge, how mindbogglingly hot it must be for its light to reach across the long stretch of dark space to this little blue-green planet, and these even tinier, feeble human eyes!


Only a step away from these thoughts are the thoughts of… other eyes. Other kinds of senses than are known to man, registering the very same phenomena from other planets. Across the unbelievable “out there” that we call space, surely there must be other life forms–or something beyond human definitions of life forms. Surely they must be looking up at the sky too, perhaps close enough to register the sun’s light. Would they feel the same wonder, the same sense of smallness? Would they want to discover all the secrets of the universe? And would they, as I do, step back from a window to say, let the universe keep its secrets?


Sure knowledge would take away too much of the uncertainties that open up the skies, not only physically but also in my mind!

Disclaimer!

The opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of my employer, not necessarily mine, and probably not necessary.