Always Awe

When The Night Sky conjures a blessing & prayer...

An Attempt to Capture The Night Sky with my Cell Phone

I'm sitting under a spring sky on a cool and comfortable night. Given where I am, it's expected I'd be standing, looking, looking up to be exact. But I have to sit because I am so in awe.

I am set squarely in wonder and awe.

It's my first night at GA Tech's public night where the astronomy club sets up a bunch of telescopes outside for people to look at the sky.

Our local weather has not been cooperative for stargazing. It's been months since they've offered the event. I got the email earlier in the week: The weather is going to be great and we will be looking at the Moon, Venus and the Orion nebula. I checked with my schedule, my husband, and planned to go.

I then promptly forgot about it in the midst of a highly energetic week. The morning of, a few hours after I dragged myself out of bed against my body's request, I said to my husband, "I might not go tonight." With true disappointment and sadness he said "Oh no."

I was surprised. In the moment he was more sad than I was. At 10a I just wanted to be back in my bed. But it struck me that he was genuinely disappointed for me while I just wanted to hug my mattress.

What a difference a day makes.

By dinner time I'd committed to going, excited and unsure what it would all be like.

I got there just as the sky was twilighting. A knowledgeable club member started identifying the points of light we could see with the naked eye, naming stars from memory I'd never even heard of. It was like I had arrived as a guest to a party where I knew no one, but he knew everyone, and he was a kind stranger telling me the names of who was in attendance.

There were multiple telescopes around the small quad and the first one was pointed at the moon. It was a clear night, and at slightly more than half full she was bright and beautiful just to the naked eye.

When I took my first glance in the telescope I immediately recoiled.

Because of the awe.

Seeing the Moon's detail and brightness with my own eyes so vividly that I felt I could reach out and touch her...it was too much.

I took a deep breath and leaned into the telescope's finder a second time.

It took every cell in my body not to weep.

I was breathless, speechless, disoriented.

I was enveloped in awe.

With my own eyes I'd laid eyes on what I can only name as the liveliness of the Moon. My brain had a hard time processing it all.

After wondering around a bit, I got in a long line to look at Venus with the largest telescope present. But before I got to the front they changed the direction.

"You're looking for a cluster of four stars," the telescope operator instructed. "And there is a cloud around the cluster. That's a nebula where stars are being born."

"Bruh you don't have to tell me, don't you read my Substack?"

No, I did not say that.

But I did take a deep breath, lean in and see stars like I never had. They had a sharpness and texture you don't see with the naked eye. Like the Moon, they seemed alive. Seemed like they had breath. A kind of breath you can't capture with even the best camera. No, you have to see them breathe for yourself.

And then I saw it: the faint cloud. A nebula, the womb of stars.

My breath caught and I tried, again, not to cry.

I stepped away from the telescope literally confused about what to do next. My body responded with shortness of breath, inability to focus, jitters and wanting to sit down. But every place to sit was brightly lit.

I wanted to be in the dark.

I wanted to stay in the darkness that held what I had just seen. The man-made luminaries proved abrasive against what was going on in my soul. The blue-hot light of awe was bright enough - almost too bright for my body to hold. I couldn't stand any imposter illumination.

I was shaking and I wanted to cry again, but no one else was crying so I tried to hold it together.

Then I stood in line at another telescope and looked at the Moon again. Then I stood in line at another telescope, unsure to what it was pointing. While I waited I looked up. I kept looking up.

I couldn't stop looking up.

Ya Girl Looking At The Moon

And then a prayer bubbled up. I'm pretty sure I've prayed this prayer before. It felt honest and aged inside me. A bit worn like an old coat or well-known story.

May I always be in awe.

If I look at the Moon through a telescope 20 times tonight,

May I always be in awe.

Every time I step outside under a dark sky and look up,

May I always be in awe.

If I come to this public night 57 more times and visit other observatories and learn as much as my initial host knows about the sky,

May I always be in awe.

You know what else is punctuating all this wonder? The collective. There are so many people, so many different people, speaking different languages, of different ages, at varying intersections you can't name or know simply from standing next to them. We were all there for one reason: The Night Sky.

This brings great awe too.

When we come together in all our variety with a singular goal to marvel at the cosmos, there is a Oneness of wonder.

May we always always always be in awe.

If you are near a university with a physics department, see if they have stargazing nights for the public!