This is my sixth post in a WP challenge (“Bloganuary”) to write something every day throughout January with the aid of a prompt. The above title is the prompt. As it is now 31st January, I have failed miserably in this challenge. No excuses – further comments when the Met police have finished their investigation ( a little political aside for those following “The Sue Gray Report” here in the UK).
It is a sad comment on the nature of my daily life that I rarely take time to look at the stars. Often the view is obscured by blankets of cloud or diluted by light pollution from the town, but these are poor excuses. Most of the time at least a few stars are visible.
Maybe it is precisely because I know how looking at the stars makes me feel that I avoid it. The feeling is a good one, but it perhaps comes at a cost. Firstly, there are all those strange cognitive contortions I go through, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. The fact that I am looking at the far distant past, not just some twinkly lights in the sky. The distances, the darkness and vastness of inter-stellar space, the large/huge size of the galaxy, of the universe. The possibility of other life forms out there somewhere – and, if there really is no other life out there, then a sense of cosmic loneliness and wonder. If there was no life anywhere, the universe – in terms of the vast amounts of energy – would still be there. Why? How? Of course, there may be philosophical issues here – can anything exist if it is not perceived? (I’m sure you have “heard about” the tree falling silently in deserted forest).
Secondly, the complex mix of emotions arising from all that galactic cogitating can be exhausting and overwhelming. There is also something about only sparingly visiting special thoughts and feelings lest they lose their impact over time. As Jean-Paul Sartre noted in his book “Nausea”:
“For a hundred dead stories there still remain one or two living ones. I evoke these with caution, occasionally, not too often, for fear of wearing them out.”
{This also applies to music – for me, Stay With me Till Dawn by Judie Tzuke is the prime exemplar.]
My favourite time for star gazing is when on holiday by the Black Sea in Bulgaria. Mostly free from light pollution, there is an amazing sharpness and clarity in the night sky. I also have fond memories of my holiday in South Africa, gazing in wonder at the Southern Cross amidst an abundance of stars spread across the sky like a celestial banquet. Oh, looking at the stars also makes me feel romantic and poetic!
The overall feeling of wonderment is tempered by feelings of smallness and insignificance, which is no bad thing and helps me get a more realistic perspective of whatever life problems I am grappling with at the time. Maybe I should look at the stars more often – paradoxically, as a form of grounding. Or perhaps I should just learn to gaze, free from cognitive contortions, and allow my mind to wander free…like space dust.
The Frothy Filosofer 