Listen to Jim: https://youtu.be/DhP2v7ScuA8
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Life, actually…
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THE HEAVENS DECLARE THEMSELVES
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When young, I used to lie nights on the roof of my parents’ home and listen to the stars.
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You can hear stars, you know. It just takes some patience.
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All you need in order to listen to the stars late at night on a roof is a ladder, a quilt or blanket, a notepad, a pencil, maybe some binoculars or a small telescope, perhaps a penlight, possibly some long sleeves and pants to deter the biting and stinging critters.
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All you need in order to listen to the stars late at night on a roof is a ladder, a quilt or blanket, a notepad, a pencil, maybe some binoculars or a small telescope, perhaps a penlight, possibly some long sleeves and pants to deter the biting and stinging critters.
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If you can’t find all these objects, you will discover that you don’t need them at all.
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All you have to do is find a way to the roof and hope against hope that ambient human-made lights won’t occlude your view.
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Just lie flat on your back face-up, cradle your head in your hands, and spread yourself open to the immediately viewable universe.
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Don’t expect to be overwhelmed at first. It takes a couple of dozen minutes for your eyes to adjust to the night.
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Then, hold on to the sky and traverse the heavens with ears and eyes and all operating senses.
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There will be color. You will see every fine shade of color you can imagine, colors you never knew were there all along.
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If you lie still long enough, you’ll see meteors—tiny instant streaks of literal stardust that etch the view. Now and then a lone and steady aircraft will arc from horizon to horizon. On really lucky nights, you may glimpse an earthling-crafted satellite scurrying above to the nearest available rabbit hole.
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During special times, you can spot a comet floating solid against the turning sky.
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Sometimes the Moon grins at you, its mystic reflection of the Sun often so bright you can’t see the surrounding sister suns. Once the Moon has gone away, on another night, the points of light will reappear, even though they never went away at all.
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If you’re fortunate, an hour or two of this ancient practice of staring up will set everything in life in proportion, make daily annoyances seem petty and time-consuming, make you humble and grateful all at once—humbled by the incredible expansiveness of it all, grateful that you bothered to stare somewhere besides at the consistently pervasive abuse of the spirit caused by activities of daily living on the small planet.
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Once your eyes begin accepting the handiwork of the heavens, you’ll begin to hear the stars. They will speak to you, tell you stories, impart their philosophies and ideas, cause you to grin ear to ear, make you shed a tear in wonder…and maybe, if you are among the fortunate few who are not afraid of words, you will want to start taking dictation, becoming the scribe of the night, passing forward your wonder and wizened knowledge.
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Maybe you will write down something so ancient and perfect that some reader somewhere will be inspired to sneak outside on a clear evening and play hooky to life…
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On a roof under the dome
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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.
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