Starstruck Solstice

The Winter Solstice has come and gone and I can't quite grasp the brevity of the whole affair. I expected the darkness to have a much bigger impact on me, or at least a more negative one, and now the northern hemisphere is slowly regaining its light. I will actually miss the dark, I must say. I know that's a strange notion, as the days are only about 5 hours long as it is, and waking up is quite difficult, but I've grown rather fond of being able to stargaze at 4 in the afternoon. That's something one doesn't experience everywhere in the world. What a treat! I think my former astronomy teacher should come to visit me during the next winter, and we can spend our afternoons watching the constellations revolving overhead, and lose ourselves in the magical presence of the "Vintergatan," the Milky Way.

I'm infatuated with the night sky. I can't get enough of the stars. It's as if I develop an unquenchable hunger once my retinas catch the first glimmer. This evening Johannes and attended a cozy Christmas party at Rosenhill. It was grounding to be back out in Nature. I had to hold on to him for support while we were walking the pitch black road back to the bus stop, so as not to fall into a ditch, because my nose was to the Milky Way and my eyes were scanning the heavens as if it was my own life code.

The constellations are they same, of course, (as the ones in Hawaii and everywhere else in the world) but standing on their heads. The big dipper looms like a seriously big saucepan boiling with importance, like hearty morning porridge for some vikings about to set sail, rather than hanging pathetically, as if forgotten on a rusty nail in the back of a cupboard—at least that's sort of how I see it in Hawaii. It's funny how the direction can influence my imagination and perception of the constellations. That's probably how different cultures around the world saw different pictures and created different legends to represent their celestial brothers.

Speaking of celestial brothers, I have to bring out an old poem from 11th grade Astronomy class. I can't help but recall some of my best moments in school. Astronomy was definitely one of my favorite topics ever. Who wouldn't love having a night-sky-journal and 30-minute moon-staring sessions as their homework? This poems references supernovas and fusion and hydrogen and how elements/ atoms were originally formed... Pretty big stuff, those tiny pricks in the black velvet...

Julia DeHoff

Astronomy- Ms.L

Due: 6/1/10

Feet firmly placed on earth, 

and lungs in harmony

with the waltzing wind;

Arms reaching out

to hail our creators, 

to touch our brothers.

Mighty, distant turmoil, 

spurs our cloudy beginning,

forms us.

We are stardust.

My mom nicknamed me Sternchen, little star, when I was 3 or 4. I loved stars so much that my first earrings were golden stars with tiny jewels in them, and I'm still wearing them today—literally! On my 20th birthday I still loved stars so much that I got my second piercings in silver stars.

The most common lullaby, which is probably so common that it's now heard as boring, "Twinkle Twinkle" is actually quite profound. Sing it and consider the words carefully. "Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. Up, above the world so high. Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are."

It's like the question "what is life?" wrapped up in an innocent, catchy tune. Of course, now we do know what stars are, and they aren't as docile as the imagined diamonds set into a cloak of woven sky. They're massive balls of gasses millions of light-years away. Some of them aren't even there anymore. In a way they are legends; stories still being told, but no longer being lived. That thought is slightly unsettling but so cool. It shakes the ground of believing what we see and perceive. We're seeing something that no longer exists, but because we're limited by the speed of light, we see them as if they were hung there this morning, decorations for a solstice party....

And here we are, celebrating the solstice, the day where we are tilted farthest from the sun, our closest star. I'll miss these dark days, because each freezing walk home becomes a luxurious, heavenly stroll rather than an express attempt to get inside. There's always a bright side, even to the Scandinavian darkness. In my case it comes in the form astral acquaintances.