Last night, once again, I was blown away by the stars.
I’m not talking about the ones who dance on that reality TV show. And I can’t describe them with any sort of scientific detail, or identify their most popular representatives or constellations. I’m simply in awe of the stars in general; those massive, distant suns that dot the clear, night sky as far as the eye can strain in any direction.
They remind me that I am very small. Not insignificant, but small. They teach me that our successes, challenges, joys and heartaches are but a frail sliver of a large, multi-faceted divine existence that is boundless and timeless.
I gaze at the stars for a few minutes, and I’m humbled and amused by the thundering realization that I do not have all the answers. Or even a fraction of the answers. And that no one else possesses them, either.
Last night, sitting on a pool deck and gazing up at the stars, I had a funny, random thought: What if after we die, our spirits soar among the stars…and we see things clearly at last, noting the interconnectedness of all living things, our unlimited minds expanding exponentially with knowledge and peace?
I wondered if I had this little fantasy because the stars often seem to beckon me. Perhaps they are the metaphorical “doors of perception,” through which we might be cleansed and truly see things as they are.
It’s kind of a shame that none of us will get up close to a star—which appears so tiny and far away—in our lifetime. But perhaps meditating on this celestial distance can help us to keep our everyday problems—which appear so large and up-close—in perspective.
