There are so many reasons why I think stargazing is an excellent and enriching hobby to explore. The fascinating information you can learn about the universe, as well as the beautiful stories passed down throughout human history about the stars above, are incredible reasons to study the stars.
Yet on the dark winter nights when the sun quietly sets at 4:30 and the loneliness of the cold darkness becomes all too real, the stars can help guide us. There have been many nights that I have spent alone in grief and sadness. The winter months are harsh, and the pain can feel compounded and layered.
But I go outside on a crisp clear night, feel the cold air on my skin as I look into the skies above, and it feels like all the earthly worries and sorrows melt away under the gentle light of the heavens. I am reminded of my loved ones who have passed in the glimmer of a shooting star. The flickers of the stars bring a gentle peace into my otherwise turbulent heart. When I see some constellations, they feel like old friends, like a tree in your childhood garden that has grown with you through the seasons.
I believe it is our job as human beings to try to find the light. To keep the light within us glowing, to honour and respect the lights of others, and to share our light kindly and freely. A smile and a hug, a kind word and a kind thought, a generous act of service or a loaf of baked bread. These are all ways in which we can share light and uplift others.
It can feel hard to do these things at times. The weight of the dark nights and grey days can make us feel heavy and make it harder to smile or laugh. The grief our island has felt over this last year has been immense. It is important to hold space for the shadow, the pain and the dark nights of the soul.
Yet in the darkness, in the deepest winter nights when the warmth of summer feels impossibly far away, that is when the sky shines the brightest. When the clouds clear, a moment of clarity can occur. In the deep night we can glimpse the mysteries of the universe and see them unfold in front of our eyes. The light of stars impossibly far away shines down on us. The same stars our ancestors saw. The same moon that lit the faces of our loved ones. There is a reason why we often envision an afterlife out there, up in the night sky. There is something sacred and reverent about the light of the heavenly bodies.
I have cried beneath the moon more times than I can count. It has been my steady companion on the loneliest nights. Every time I stare up at her, I begin to feel uplifted. The gentle illumination is soothing and her shifting form reminds me that this too shall pass. The moon shines all across the world, she illuminates us all with her glow. You are never alone when you stare at the moon, for a million other souls will be looking up at her too.
The light of the stars is steady and soft. They shine each night, dancing across the sky in a celestial circle that promises eternity. When the bright light of the moon is gone, the stars shine brighter and reveal more intricate designs in the sky. The stars become more colourful in the icy winter air and shimmer with grace. They remind me of friends from a different time, moments in the past when I shared the skies with them. I still think of my dad who taught me my first constellations.
The stars are seemingly simple things, little flashes of light in the sky. Yet each one is a complex act of creation, an outpouring of energy and an intensely heavy mote of matter. They dance in gravitational twirls and spirals, they move impossibly fast yet seem so steady. Each has a place in the harmony of the galaxy. There are more stars in the Milky Way than there are people on earth.
I think humans and stars are more alike than we think. We radiate light and warmth, we form bonds with each other, we follow patterns and find harmony with our surroundings. We too are complex acts of creation that hold both a propensity for light and an intense gravity. We form relationships like star systems, create networks like constellations and orbit the central truth of love as if it is the centre of our universe.
Learning about the stars has fundamentally shaped me as a human being. They have taught me about time and what it means to be a human on this earth. They remind me to always find the light in the darkness. Astronomy has offered me another language to use, a celestial vernacular that acts as both a scientific tool and a liturgical language.
Researching the physical laws of this incredibly vast universe has liberated me from narrow-minded systems. The names of stars and constellations have become spells and prayers. They ground the aching of the heart and the wandering of the mind with ancient wisdom and modern fact.
I encourage you all to give the stars a chance. You can develop a relationship with them, come to know their names, the forms they create and the stories we have woven around them. You can tell your own stories, create new stories as you share in the light of the heavens with those you love.
If you plan on living through dark winters in the north for the rest of your life, I ask that you try to find the most beautiful lights in the darkness. The bright stars in Orion will be there for you through the years of your life. Sirius will continue to shine every winter, and the aurora will still come down and dance through the skies.
So over the next few months when the sky is clear, link up with friends, partners or family members, make a thermos of tea, bundle up in your Stanfield and wool socks, and make your way down to the beach. Put a blanket or two down in a dark spot and look up at the jewels in the sky. Make up stories, try to find some stars or constellations you know, wish on a shooting star and cherish the moments we get to share. Get out there and appreciate the preciousness of time, the gift of love and the brilliance of the lights of the stars.
May starlight guide you and bring you gentle peace in these dark months.
Vera
