Things are looking up

What are we forfeiting from our reliable relationship with the cosmos?

If the stars all disappeared from the night sky somehow, I’m not sure I would notice.

Don’t get me wrong - I often look up. But as someone living in a cloudy city, the starry sky is something of an anomaly for our artificially bright evenings. A beautiful surprise when and if it happens.

For our ancestors, the swirling starscape above offered guidance, perspective and marveling. The daily dose reminder that we are connected to our cosmos is something most of us have lost. How often do we contemplate our connection to the universe around us? My immediate reaction as I write that is, ‘Well, we don’t have time for it when the world is burning.’

Or.. could the fact that the world is burning have something to do with our general loss of connection with that universe? What wisdom are we forfeiting from our reliable relationship with the cosmos?

Darkness invites sensing beyond the visible - honing awareness of sounds, scents, and textures. Being in a place that’s dark enough to see the stars means being in a place that’s dark enough to stumble, to take slower and more strategic steps, to feel our way around the world differently. The darkness rekindles the imagination, reminding us unseen worlds constantly rippling alongside our own.

As Bayo Akomolafe observed, illuminating also obscures. To know something also means losing something. Science grants insights, yet blinds us to other ways of relating. Fixating on the seen renders the unseen ignored.

Like microbes in the soil, invisible but vital. The obscured sky still holds teachings easy to disregard in our electrified bubbles. Its beauty elicits awe, bestowing a bittersweet sword of equanimity and disquiet. Space can be that quintessential embodiment of ‘awe’; a complex cocktail of fear, wonder, reverence, surprise, joy. A staggering 97% of people fear space. And yet, how many of us hope to see a shooting star, catch a glimpse of the milky way or are filled with wonder sitting under that bright speckled blanket? Space is the unknown, it’s the fear of the infinite and the curiosity of what it all means. It’s a kind of magic. It’s awe.

In her recent book In Light-Years There’s No Hurry, Marjolijn van Heemstra reveals that gazing heavenward expands awareness and caring for others. Understanding our shared improbability fosters tenderness among neighbors.

The author articulates feeling overwhelmed by modern life’s constant barrage. She yearns to “zoom out” and find perspective beyond the “chaos at eye level” - much like astronauts gaining cosmic awareness from space.

That perspective has a name. The overview effect. It speaks to the cognitive shift that some astronauts report when viewing Earth from outer space. Researchers describe it as an awe-inspiring experience with self-transcendent qualities, triggered by the striking visual perspective of seeing the planet from above. Many astronauts return home with an intense appreciation of Earth's beauty, unexpected emotion, and an enhanced sense of connection to other people and the planet as a whole. A transformational moment of awe, translating to a new understanding of our shared home.

While few of us can rocket to the heavens (nor should we), the same cosmic vista wheeled nightly above our ancestors. Can we access this overview effect with our feet on the Earth?

In welcoming back shadows and stargazing, we lean into the unknown, reflected in those glimmering lights above. Therein lies wisdom essential in our chaotic times - the darkness inviting reflection and renewal. All we need to do is step outside, (maybe drive a couple hours away) and then look up.

With kindness and curiosity,

Laura

PS. An ode to what we might be missing.