Thoughts on a Starry Night

[photo credit jordanmurph.com]

I am delinquent in updating this blog and there is such a backlog of stories that the thought of writing them is almost daunting. Slowly, over time, I will relate the events surrounding moving into a house, having all our household goods delivered, fishing in goose ponds, entertaining family, and going on vacation that all happened within the space of a month.

Right now, however, I just want to write about some thoughts I had while I was off-grid enjoying family and nature.

I love swimming in the ocean. There is just something about the saltwater, the expanse, and the push and pull of the waves that soothes and calms me in a way that nothing else does. I can float in the ocean for the better part of the day and not get tired of it.

One of my favorite things to do is to swim in the ocean at night. Partly because I’m the only one crazy enough to do so, and partly for the stars. Because when you sit on the coast in a rural area with no light sources across the water, the universe is a fantastic scene.

Lift my head slightly out of the water and I hear the white rush of the shore softly breaking the waves. Let my ears sink below the surface and I hear the crackle and crinkle of sand brushing along the sea floor. It’s a symphonic cacophony synced perfectly to the constellations, shooting stars, and even satellites.

There are a few caveats to make this work. The first is that I can only look westward. While there is no large population center nearby, the coast is still lined with apartments, condos, and small homes. As long as I don’t look back, their light is insufficient to pollute the cosmos. The longer I gaze west, the better the view.

The second is that the moon can both enhance and detract from the show. The best gazing occurs when the moon is waning and sets early in the night. I love to watch the concave sliver of a blood moon set on the horizon and then observe the very faintest stars develop in its absence.

The third is the road that follows the coastline. To the south, cars follow the rocks as they jut farther west then fall away. This is by far the biggest threat to the experience. Headlights in my peripheral vision aren’t enough to contract my pupils. But it takes some serious willpower to override the instinct to look at a suddenly appearing bright light.

In fact, the first time a car comes around the bend it’s inevitable that you will look directly at it unless you are prepared. They are brief and appear erratically, but they can ruin the experience if you let them.

And that’s the deal with life. On many levels, it’s very hard to enjoy its beautiful intricacy if you focus on the wrong things. Even when those things can have a beauty in their own right.