Longing for a Starry Night
Longing for a Starry Night
Are we losing something by not embracing the dark?
I grew up in a part of Australia that was far away from any kind of city glow at night. The sky was huge. The inky black enveloped you as you stepped out into it— a dark velvet cloak. Without a torch, you’d have to inch your way along, hands out in front of you, careful to not break your nose on a tree branch or stub your foot on the giant metal sprinklers dotted around the place.
Other times the sky was a shimmering, sparkling blanket of stars. We were bathed in silver starlight and moonshine. Breathing in stardust and magic. It was magnificent!
A sky so big that if I stretched up onto my toes, reaching up my hands, the universe would embrace me, drawing me up into its expanse. I was never afraid. It was a vastness that was welcoming rather than frightening. Twinkling planets, balls of glowing gas, the Milky Way—bilabang in Waradjeri—stretched out above like splatters and smudges of silvery paint on a giant black canvas.
I’ve started dreaming of those night skies. On waking, I realise I haven’t seen a sky like that in a very long time.
I’ve lived in big cities for the past 30 years. Until I moved here, to this archipelago in the north, I was surrounded by a million (or four million in Melbourne) souls, the night sky drowned out by our love of light and fear of the dark. Only when I headed north to camp by the river did I meet that sky, away from dark-fearing communities.
I miss the skies of my childhood. A vast sea of stars above me, bathing me in starlight, giving me a glimpse of other worlds, other times. Perhaps it’s not so strange I have a deep love for the tv program, Doctor Who. Imagine being able to fly around in a Tardis, exploring other planets and universes! It’s a longing, deep within, surfacing when I tune into it—close my eyes, breathe, listen to my body, my breath. I can see those silver nights, crystal clear, in my mind’s eye. Maybe I’m bending time and I’m here and there at the same time? Young and…not-so-young. All at once.
Despite now living in a much smaller town, in a part of the world very used to the dark, I still haven’t seen anything close to the skies I remember as a child. Perhaps it’s not something you can see here? My husband doesn’t seem to remember seeing a sky as I described—and if you’d seen it, surely you’d remember? The vastness, the shine, the silver light—bathing in magic stardust.
Is it possible for us to let go of our fear so our night vision can develop, so we can experience the greatest show on earth?
Perhaps growing up with inky-nights and star shine is why my night vision is well-developed. I avoid turning on lights at night if I happen to wake, needing a drink or the loo. I even used to walk to the toilet at night with my eyes closed. That stopped once I had children I think (have you ever stepped on a Lego piece, barefoot?!), now relying on outside street lights, or since moving here, strings of fairy lights in our apartment. I’ve never liked the blinding, burning feeling when a lamp or overhead light is suddenly turned on after blackness. It hurts.
Could we embrace the dark a little more?
Katherine May, in her memoir Wintering, notes that this new century has flooded our homes with added light in the form of electronic devices that pulse and flicker. Walk the streets at night, street-lamp lit, the curtain-less windows show blue flickering lights in almost every window. People stand, sit or walk with a screen lighting their face.
We are not alone, Katherine and I. A global campaign to monitor stars and light pollution with data collected by amatuer astronmers and scientists over a twelve year period has revealed that ‘Skyglow’ has increased by nearly 10% every year since 2011. Globally, we’re seeing less stars every year. Children born today may not see stars at all by the time they’re ten. Imagine! Losing the magical wonder of that blanket of glittering diamond stars! The vastness, the glimpse of times long gone, of other worlds. Gone. Because we’re scared of the dark.
So here’s my challenge to you ~ start embracing the dark. Turn off some lights. Sit with darkness. Go for a night drive away from the city glow. Pitch a tent and bathe in the starlight, a million points of light from times long gone, nourishing your body and soul. See and be with the stars. Drink it all in. Enjoy.
Stay well,
Lisa x
I’m curious…
Here’s something to really help you drift off into a magical sleep ~ Bilabang: Sleep stories from First Nation Storytellers
Join the amateur astronomers to count stars in your area ~ be a part of research and discovery.
I’m writing:
The universe sighs,
Expanding, contracting,
Twinkling planets swirl
Ghostly gases whirl
Frozen crystals hang in elegant rings
Around firey-red glowing globes.The universe sighs,
Expanding, contracting,
Speckled space spinning,
Sending sparks and comets
Shooting across black velvet space
Fizzing and hissing into the void.The universe sighs,
Expanding, contracting,
Breathing infinitely,
Building cosmic communities,
Planets of raw raging fire,
Freezing spheres of ice.The universe sighs,
Expanding, contracting,
Bleeding black into infinity,
A silent sparkling void,
Silver splinters shimmering,
Marking time in millennia.
Published in Weeds & Wildflowers on Medium
Such beautifully expressed memories Lisa - of those star filled, moonlit nights where we could walk in the moon shadows or feel our way around on the darkest, moonless nights. The Milky Way can be viewed best from the Southern Hemisphere, so we are very lucky. 🌕🌜🌛
Beautiful words and ideas. Yes on all counts. We are in need of returning to many things that are fundamentally important and that we took for granted. Where the world finds itself now is a result of long term denial of such wrong turns.