A Letter to the Stars

To my ancestors, The Stars

Image Credit: NASA

To my ancestors, the Stars:

I love you. Oh how I've loved you. Before I really knew who you were, you were to me wholly sacred. Early in my earth-life you caught my attention in ways nothing else ever could or would. There has always been something about you that was more than just twinkle or brightness that made you luminous. You are more than light. And before I knew that, I knew that.

The simplicity of looking at the night sky becomes complicated the closer we (I?) get to the city, to busyness. The more my gaze stays at my eye level, the harder it is to justify looking up. A part of me can feel like it's frivolous to not keep my eyes on what's right in front of me. There is so much to see right in front of us. Recently, much of it has been tragic. I've been straining for the simple, the wonder, the divinity. Where is the more-than-light when everything illuminated is about the dark of death? Hopeless, I heard you calling: Look up.

You saved me. I looked up and was given perspective on my perspective. When I couldn't see you in the sky, I opened a book or watched a documentary about you. You are why I know who Carl Sagan is, the one who so eloquently told us, "the cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself." Because of you, Marcie and I squeal over connections of who we are in relation to who you have been. Because of you, I look at the human in front of me and see the long-game of resurrection won. Because of you, I can remind the one in front of me of who they are cosmically - made. of. stars. - without a hint of hyperbole, and heavy with truth. Because of you, I am.

Humans may be a way the universe knows itself, but truly we are only a way. Honestly, I can't know myself without the cosmos or without you, The Stars. For millennia, we have looked to you to understand who we are. To plot not just location but also context. To navigate not just the seas but ourselves. To become familiar with the seasons of the years, our communities, and our personhood. We have always known you, because you have always known us. Because of you, we are.

You are faithful. Millions and billions of earth-years committed to being exactly who you are. You move in and out of your seasons of life without struggle, but with acceptance. In death, you resolve in your powerful ending that all the bits of you start on a trajectory toward being known differently. And here, on Earth, reconstituted with water and Imago Dei, you've come alive in us. May we learn from your brilliance, from your uniqueness and dignity, from your acceptance of change and of death, from your hope in resurrection. May we learn from you by being connected to our bodies and every body throughout creation. For you are alive in each of us as you are always alive in the sky, day or night.

Help us to love the darkness, for this is your home. Darkness is where you are born, where you live, and where you die. Darkness is your cultural context, the mother of your generations. As she is to you, may she be to us as well.

I imagine my future favorite place is somewhere I can be with my toes in the grass, surrounded by trees, far away from the just-lights of the city. In this place I can feel the more-than-light of who you are in a way where everything - every. thing. - is different. This is where I want to meet you. I want to be there with you, you whose ancient light can reach me and our descendants light-years away to always whisper your playful, loving, wise invitation: Look up.

Thank you,

<3 Nya

For Erin & Lillian

Hello! If we haven’t “met” yet, my name is Nya Abernathy and I am an ambassador of Dignity. Whether through my company The Dignity Effect, on social media, in my writing, speaking or relationships, my goal is to offer you an encounter with dignity when you have an encounter with me.

My working definition of dignity: The God-given (or universal) intrinsic worth and value each being carries that cannot be taken away.