Stars

After years adrift in the sea of information, I have finally decided to come ashore. So shall it be written, so shall it ever be.

I've been home for awhile, away from the comfort of my college hovel, and invariably the "Frisco Syndrome" has set in. This place has always exemplified isolation, and it has always brought about an equilibrium of mulling around a home, reading, and generally wasting time. Whenever this is violated (say, by social occasions), it pulls us back to the unhappy rest state. I watch it happen to others, and also to myself. And so here I am, determined to be happy as this day dies.

I am happy. I went outside to smoke my birthday gift tobacco pipe, and all I could see outside of this suburban sphere was the globe of stars; Orion, in particular, was brilliantly located in front of me, that figure of legend, the hunter, the hero. Gone are the days when I could name the other constellations, but it would certainly be possible to regain that faculty of looking out, and instead of seeing points of light, see monsters and gods rotating overhead in slow nighttime procession. I take joy in seeing those things as I focus, yet I can also imagine somehow having a visor, or exquisitely educated brain, and seeing Gemini and Cassiopeia and Draco instead of stars as the default. The stars, points of light with no real meaning but emission spectra and luminosity magnitude, have little meaning for me. At least not normally.

For now, they are legends and adventures. Physical idea tags of history and art. In the slow dance one could see proof of devotion to that old knowledge. Better this, than the lack of appreciation most exhibit.

Even so, I demand more of this world than anecdote and trivia. Deep meaning comes from places and people, and new ideas. When I saw the aircraft flying overhead, this night, I could almost see them as stars themselves, though transient ones. We add thousands of stars each night to our sky. Some are even permanent now, fixed in orbit above us. Sometimes these stars carry or house people. And I am one to think that those stars, filled with people and their myriad stories and experiences, are worth more than a ball of plasma with a sixteen character alphanumeric ID. Better even than the old stories that still shape our civilization.

I believe my optimism and futurist hope shine through whatever situation I am in now, tinged as always with a hint of impracticality and over-enthusiasm . For I can think of nothing better than knowing that our permanent stars have stories, as well. Someday, someday. I resign myself to either waiting and hoping, dropping out and not caring, or somehow helping it to happen.

So here I am. I am young still, and I have time. A new year has arrived, and I resolve to do something beyond sitting and waiting. I have no tolerance for lack of mindfulness, so let the good times roll in!