HOW
TO GAZE UPON THE STARS
Since
the earliest days of man, one of the things that has captured his
imagination and set him to wondering unanswerable questions has been
the stars. Star gazing is an ancient pursuit that speaks to the hidden
spaces in our soul, and creates an unutterable longing for keys to
the mysteries of the universe, keys which we hope will also unlock
secret places deep within us. There is something about the stars that
seems to tell us we are just as grand, that there is something just
as immense inside us. The link is sensed, the connection is felt,
but the questions remain.
There are probably as many ways to gaze upon the stars as there are
people. Ask anyone. They will tell you, but their answers will all
be different. Away from city lights, they will say. Out in the country,
they will answer. From a mountain top. The plains. The deeps of a
valley. Through a telescope. The point of view depends on where the
person is. Of course. But there is one way that is by far the best
of all - through the eyes of a child, holding your father's hand.
This is not to say that it can happen anytime one is a child. No,
I would not want to imply that, for not just any age will do. To be
too old or too young would be to miss the wonder. The moment belongs
to the age of innocence, before wisdom and knowledge can cloud the
reason. Yes, it has to be when the child is ripe with wonder, like
an apple so full of its wonderful juices that it can no longer hang
on the bough. It has to be a moment like that, when the eyes are wide
and trusting and the heart is able to perceive the magic that only
a child can recognize.
You have to choose your season, too, for to do it in the midst of
winter is to be distracted by the cold. True, stars are bright and
clear in winter, but the concentration is disturbed by the need to
stay warm, to not be outside too long. The wind tugs hard at the muffler
wrapped around your face, and hands seek the lingering warmth of down-protected
pockets. Yes, it is hard to lose yourself in magnificence when your
extremities are getting numb.
Neither would Spring be best, for that is when the juices begin to
flow. The tremor of new life is in the air, and all around you things
are happening. It is very hard to be still when Nature's exuberant
activity surrounds you. When you can actually stand there and hear
the pine trees popping their cones. When you can feel the new grasses
pushing up from the ground, and more sense than smell the scent of
Spring's excitement upon the gentle breeze. No, there is too much
to think about to try to do it in the Spring.
The same is true of autumn, for that is the other end of the cycle.
Things are winding down. Nature’s cycle is coming 'round full
circle. Musty leaves send up their pungent odor, and the smell of
crackling bonfires is in the air. The edge of winter nips at your
imagination, and overhead the restless call of birds disturbs the
chance for peaceful contemplation of silent mysteries.
Yes, it would have to be summer. It would have to be a warm summer's
night, when the world is still, and the birds are asleep, and you
would be, too, were it not for the fact that your father has something
to show you. Rarely are you up this late, so you know it must be special.
You know it has to be something worthy of so great an exception. When
the sun goes down after so long a day - far longer than any other
time of year - that makes it very late indeed, especially when you
are so young. Yes, that is most unusual.
Nor could it be just any father. It needs to be someone who has shared
his lap with you. Someone who has tossed pennies in the ring with
you. Someone who has taken you into his workshop and called you "Chief"
as you helped him with his projects. Someone who made you feel special,
even though you were only seven. When you have that kind of father,
staying up late becomes even more important. The anticipation is all
the more exciting, so that when dark finally does come and he takes
you by the hand, you know this is truly a moment of moments. This
is something you will not forget.
So out you go, together, hand in hand, and he shows you. He tips your
face up to the sky, and you see them. Like great, luminescent pearls
in the vast vault of heaven, they hang there, and you know they are
just for you. Just for the two of you. And so you look, not even wanting
to speak. Just letting your soul feel the immensity that would somehow
overwhelm you, but for your father's hand.
Then, after a while, after you have made friends with the silence,
and the stars, and the mystery, he tells you the ancient legends.
He shares their secrets with you. He unscrambles the puzzle for you,
so that out of all that myriad of blinking stars figures appear. The
Big and Little Dippers. The North Star. Orion and the Pleiades. The
planets. The Milky Way. He tells you how they have guided man since
time began, and somehow you know that they will always be there, that
they will guide you, too. It's a holy moment, a moment that only a
child can experience, only a child can understand.
In that moment, you know that once he was a child, too, that once
upon a time someone took him by the hand, and somehow you feel connected
to the mystery man has shared since his conception. Even though you
don't yet know the answers, you realize you have tasted just a little
of the question, and in that realization you know you are special.
You know that he knows it, too. And somewhere in the private corners
of your heart, you tuck the memory away. You keep it with the treasures
that can only be kept within you, so that even though the days may
pass and the years may flee away, deep inside you is the knowledge
that once upon a time you gazed upon the stars, and they belonged
to you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~Donna Miesbach~