Starry Night
I just got back last night after spending a few days at the Grand Canyon with my parents. Yes, the canyon is awesome, and so is sunset over the canyon. No, pictures don't really do it justice. Especially the feeling of walking along the canyon rim trail and peering over the edge to a several thousand foot drop off. But I am a pretty odd person so the two most memorable parts of the trip for me had little to do with the canyon itself.
The first was a very small excavation site of a pueblo village that existed near the canyon around the 12th century. It's really not much to look at--just the foundations of the basic living quarters, storage area and the ritual kiva space. The kiva was the coolest. There is a small hole just in front of the fire that represents where the ancestors came up into this world from the underworld. I think this is the 4th world. No, I don't know how many more there are, but there is at least one above us, because celestial beings come down from it. Anyhow, I just thought it was really neat to see this small remnant of people gone for hundreds of years.
But the most amazing thing was getting to see the stars for only the 2nd time in my life. I know, I know, you're all thinking you can see stars anywhere. And you're right, you can see a FEW stars anywhere. But even in small town like Wheeling, WV or Greencastle, IN, there is so much light pollution that you see only a tiny fraction of what is visible at a place like the Grand Canyon, 70 miles or more away from any inhabited area, and of course there is no light coming out of the 10-mile wide abyss of the canyon itself. Anyway, there are MILLIONS of stars, not the few dozen you can usually see even on a clear night in most of the settled areas of the world. It is absolutely mind-boggling to look up at that night sky and see the Milky Way, the big band of stars that flows all the way across our sky, our galaxy, just looking back at you. It just gives you this absolutely incredible feeling--there is so much light out there in the universe. Millions and millions of points of light, each one as brilliant or even moreso than the one that cast glows of red and pink and purple over the canyon just a couple hours earlier.
As you stand looking up at THAT sky, I can't imagine ever having the kind of feeling I referenced in that poem from my senior year of high school awhile back--that staring at the stars, asking God why, there is just no answer and it leaves you with this feeling of total emptiness and loneliness. Looking at the sky the way it truly is, with all those dazzling points of light, it doesn't even cross your mind to ask the question. And I can't look up at that sky and feel anything like alone or empty. The universe is full of light and life. But we've blocked it from our own view.
I want to start a foundation or something to lobby for two hours of darkness a month--to turn out all the lights of our own and let the stars come out. I think there would be fewer lonely, empty people if we did.
The first was a very small excavation site of a pueblo village that existed near the canyon around the 12th century. It's really not much to look at--just the foundations of the basic living quarters, storage area and the ritual kiva space. The kiva was the coolest. There is a small hole just in front of the fire that represents where the ancestors came up into this world from the underworld. I think this is the 4th world. No, I don't know how many more there are, but there is at least one above us, because celestial beings come down from it. Anyhow, I just thought it was really neat to see this small remnant of people gone for hundreds of years.
But the most amazing thing was getting to see the stars for only the 2nd time in my life. I know, I know, you're all thinking you can see stars anywhere. And you're right, you can see a FEW stars anywhere. But even in small town like Wheeling, WV or Greencastle, IN, there is so much light pollution that you see only a tiny fraction of what is visible at a place like the Grand Canyon, 70 miles or more away from any inhabited area, and of course there is no light coming out of the 10-mile wide abyss of the canyon itself. Anyway, there are MILLIONS of stars, not the few dozen you can usually see even on a clear night in most of the settled areas of the world. It is absolutely mind-boggling to look up at that night sky and see the Milky Way, the big band of stars that flows all the way across our sky, our galaxy, just looking back at you. It just gives you this absolutely incredible feeling--there is so much light out there in the universe. Millions and millions of points of light, each one as brilliant or even moreso than the one that cast glows of red and pink and purple over the canyon just a couple hours earlier.
As you stand looking up at THAT sky, I can't imagine ever having the kind of feeling I referenced in that poem from my senior year of high school awhile back--that staring at the stars, asking God why, there is just no answer and it leaves you with this feeling of total emptiness and loneliness. Looking at the sky the way it truly is, with all those dazzling points of light, it doesn't even cross your mind to ask the question. And I can't look up at that sky and feel anything like alone or empty. The universe is full of light and life. But we've blocked it from our own view.
I want to start a foundation or something to lobby for two hours of darkness a month--to turn out all the lights of our own and let the stars come out. I think there would be fewer lonely, empty people if we did.