Looking Up

Milky way

I brake for meteor showers. Or, at least I get out of bed and go outside to watch 'em. It's a point of pride for me. In fact, I suspect that when I finally lose the motivation to do so, it will mean I have officially become an old lady in the stodgiest sense -- infirmity or ennui  will have at last quelled the illogical sense of enchantment that has sparked my life since childhood.

So you can imagine how appalled I was when I realized I'd forgotten about the peak of the Perseids in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday morning. I'd slept right through and would have to content myself with whatever residuals might yet be streaking through the sky the next night.

It was a promising night, anyway. Mild and still, and not much moonlight. I grabbed a pillow and a blanket, the latter not so much for warmth as for cushioning, and set up station on the deck for upward gazing. Usually this is a solo expedition, but much to my surprise, Monte said he'd join me, which put a whole new spin on things. Suddenly it was a shared experience, a little bit like camping, but camping in the nicest way, the rare and unlikely way that involves no work and allows for an immediate retreat into your own bed whenever you're ready.

Another benefit was that I would now have a clue as to where in that vast sky I should be looking, since Monte actually has a sense of direction, a skill that I lack to the point of disability.

Also, it was just kind of cozy.

We lay down, looking up. But imagine first the sound of crickets...the sound-surround of crickets...and now and then a hushed hoot of owl or quick brittle brush of leaves on rock tossed by an occasional current of air or crunched on the ground by the footfall of a stray cow grazing.  And all around, a night sky strewn with galaxies. There were stars, oh stars, and the white feathery streaks of Milky Way encompassing space filled with infinities, and that inevitable feeling of our own insignificance, but also an awareness of being part of something fathomless and far greater than ourselves.

And truly, that would have been enough. But we did see a few Perseid stragglers among the stars...bright fast streaks shooting, yes, they really seemed to be shooting...across the sky.  Then we went sleepily back inside, still our same old selves, but maybe more aware of something that is always there.

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I've been reading a book lately by Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield. He talks about a sacred thread, and about how of each of us longs for meaning, illumination, and connection with something profound. Sometimes it requires the deliberate act of getting out of bed and positioning ourselves attentively, and sometimes this mystical thing, whatever it is, just takes us by surprise in the course of an ordinary day. It happens. It's there.

And I'm trying to stay with this. It's a way to be.

******

Notes: The Milky Way picture above is an image I found on the web and I don't know who took it, but I didn't want you to think it was mine.Also, I seem to have witten about meteor showers in this blog before: a search for "meteor"  yielded several entries, such as this one, titled Sky Watcher. )