Looking up at the night sky at an out-in-the-boondocks National Park sent my thoughts wandering, as only the night sky can. And then a shocking thought -- how long until we humans can no longer see the stars?
Sitting up and scanning the land around me I saw the bright dots from tiny little towns -- and, alas, the Park itself -- enough "light pollution" to hinder me from observing what The Ancients or Magellan or even Shakespeare would have seen in their day.
Growing up in the desert of California the stars danced over my head. As a Girl Scout I consulted a guidebook, sought out the major constellations and relished the romantic stories behind them. The kids now living in my old house most likely never see those big beautiful balls of gas -- the area has grown too much and too bright.
Don't get me wrong -- I enjoy being able to see where I'm going at night without tripping and breaking my face. Human progress has given me much -- the ability to read comfortably in bed or not getting attacked in a dark alley being among my very favorites.
As long as I'm being honest, I'll admit that the entire space business, for me, is a bit frightening. I find it rather daunting to think that I'm but a speck on a speck dancing around this outrageously huge universe. I don't cotton to being insignificant -- it messes with my self-centered human sensibilities.
Seriously, I totally get why the stories behind the constellations were written and how the stars were tied up with so many belief systems. People like me have to bring the stars "down to earth" somehow or the entire thing just gets too much for us. If I didn't have anything to do at night but look at the stars, I'd be connecting with them like a big dog -- just to make sense of the whole thing.
Following along dutifully as our Park Ranger pointed out the Pleiades -- those seven beautiful, virginal sisters sent off into the sky for the safekeeping of their virtue while poor pent-up Orion chases after them for eternity…
Again I sat up with a ghastly thought. My future grandkids (if it's in the stars) might never see this. I began to wonder why this was so distressing to a thoroughly modern naysayer like me.
A major reason would be our connection to our past. How can we possibly teach about ancient societies to a kid who has never really seen the stars? How difficult it will be to explain that the sky provided our ancestors entertainment, guidance and moral teachings before the discovery of CSI Miami, Nintendo and the Metroplex Cineplex Imax 36 to a child living in a city with every up-to-the-minute light emitting electronic gadget.
As for the Explorers -- those incredibly brave, ballsy men who found new worlds, trade routes and famous landmarks -- the stars must have been wondrous indeed. I imagine that, even today, if a person is hanging out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean those celestial orbs are plenty bright to guide the way to his destination. No longer needed for navigation, I wonder if a ship's crew look away from the GPS systems long enough to enjoy the beauty of the night sky. Do passengers leave the gaming tables, endless buffets and showrooms to visit Orion and his taunting little virginal vixens?
What if Shakespeare hadn't seen the stars? What would we have lost?
Would Romeo and Juliet be those achingly beautiful "star-crossed lovers" without the night sky? No, we could have ended up with "blood pudding-crossed lovers" or, worse, just two more teenagers in another tragic story.
I hope for my future grandkids to understand society, history, romance and literature in a meaningful way. Then and there I vowed that I would be the one to show them the stars.
I laid there pensively looking up at the stars dreaming up ways to trick the little buggers into leaving their state-of-the-art satellite cell phones at home, if only for one night.
Veronica, GypsyNester.com
