Looking at the Stars
On warm summer evenings when I was young, I would set up a small tent on the lawn in the backyard of our house, so that I could spend the night outdoors. Standing outside the tent, turning my eyes upward in the dark, I could survey the awesome spread of stars twinkling overhead, picking out the shapes of constellations and watching for the glittery flash of a meteor. Because my neighborhood, which adjoined a patch of open land, had only a few streetlights, the sky above me presented a splendorous array of celestial objects for observation, inspiring my lifelong interest in astronomy.
I remember that when I had my first view, many years ago, with a pair of binoculars, of the galaxy known to astronomers as M31, a spiral galaxy within the constellation of Andromeda, I was struck with deep wonder. As I stood absolutely still for a moment, gazing across millions of light-years toward a tiny patch of brightness in the dark expanse of the night sky, I felt an inward thrill, as if I was viewing the truest sight that I had ever seen. It was a fleeting impression, but it was unforgettable.
Whenever I gaze upward now, decades later, looking at the stars on a clear night, I am keenly aware of feeling a strong connection to them. They seem immeasurably distant, and as someone without any special training, I can lay claim to having only a small understanding of their properties and a scant comprehension of their origin, but to me they signify an elemental truth that inspires awe in the core of my being. I know that within those remote spheres of light, untold actualities are waiting to be discovered and grasped by the human mind.
Beyond the familiar planets of our solar system there is a wide array of mysteries and uncertainties, older than time itself, innumerable in quantity and infinite in potential. Who knows what forms of life might dwell on other worlds? Perhaps our own world is being observed from afar by knowledgeable eyes, at the same instant that we are looking outward in their direction. Or could it be that we are actually alone in the cosmos? Is human life on our planet without any alien counterpart? Is mankind meant to go its own way forever, fulfilling a singular destiny?
I remember that when I had my first view, many years ago, with a pair of binoculars, of the galaxy known to astronomers as M31, a spiral galaxy within the constellation of Andromeda, I was struck with deep wonder. As I stood absolutely still for a moment, gazing across millions of light-years toward a tiny patch of brightness in the dark expanse of the night sky, I felt an inward thrill, as if I was viewing the truest sight that I had ever seen. It was a fleeting impression, but it was unforgettable.