Sitting by the pool, under the blinding light of the afternoon sun, I read a small piece on light pollution in the July issue of O Magazine.
In 1999, Chad Moore was working as a park ranger near California’s Salinas Valley, monitoring the falcon’s nests and hiking back to the station after dark. “But it wasn’t really dark,” says Moore. “The glow from nearby towns was drowning out the stars.”
Since then Moore and his team have used a specialized camera to take photos at more than 86 national parks and found that in most, vibrantly starry skies–like the stunner that inspired Van Gogh–are fading, thanks to suburbs and illuminated highways.
But there’s more at stake than constellations: Light pollution can cause depression in humans and disrupt animal migration. In that sense, dark skies are a natural resource that needs protecting, just like the oceans. Moore’s research inspired the National Park Service to create the Night Sky Program, which covers park lamps so that less light escapes and educates nearby homeowners, since light can affect areas 200 miles away.
I was struck by the allegory. What we are doing to our environment–land, sea, air–is a mirror of what we are doing to ourselves. For centuries we have striven to illuminate our lives with artificial light and the convenience is irrefutable. A few hours without power is all the proof you need to know this is true. And yet, as a consequence of our actions, we are slowly losing a natural source of light and beauty. I do not see stars when I look up at night, not in my square of southern California. The more populace we become, the more desolate our future.
Likewise, so dims the light within us as we scuttle like vermin, vying for the next thing everyone must have in order to feel validated. Friends on Facebook. Followers on Twitter. These jeans, not those from last year. A new car; a nice car. The perfect house. The perfect shoes. The perfect handbag. Each beautiful, well designed object an artificial source of light in our lives. Their appeal is undeniable, but the quest is dangerous. The more covetous we become, the more empty our future.
I will no sooner live by candle light than I will cloak myself in burlap and take a vow of poverty. Balance reigns supreme. But, still. Still. Cosmologists estimate that in 1014 years from now, stars will have faded from view. How long before we do the same to ourselves?
Perhaps the saddest of all, will we even notice?
Some of us won’t, unfortunately. I don’t know that my parents’ generation will. My friend and I were just talking about this last night as we prepare to go through her parents’ estate. We estimate it will take us about a year.
I heard or read the other day that the only thing believers take with them into the next life is their soul, and it’s the one thing we work on or think about the least.
I do believe, all too often, that last bit is true. It’s the age old tactic of diversion. Thankfully, there are always signs, friends and family to keep us focused on what’s important. If we’ll just pay attention without being jarred with sadness or disaster. I don’t know why that is so hard … too many shiny, sparkly things I guess.
You know, it’s a funny place, this world. But the more we have, the more we seem to want; and the less we have, the less we seem to want. I guess the key is just start heading in the right direction.
I’m rambling, aren’t I? It’s probably not the best to comment at 5:30 a.m. Sigh.
I needed to read this today. Especially this: “Each beautiful, well designed object an artificial source of light in our lives. Their appeal is undeniable, but the quest is dangerous. The more covetous we become, the more empty our future.”
Thank you.
we completely “downsized” our lives about two years ago. at least that’s what i had been thinking/ feeling for awhile. as if giving up the things i had made me less. stepping off the fast track of more, more, more and sitting down for a second on the quiet front porch of my new life, i see things differently. just yesterday i was driving through the valley on the way to the grocery store and i exclaimed (please don’t think poorly of me for talking to myself in the car). i exclaimed, “i live in a fairytale!” and it’s really striking to me how that former me is not at all appealing. how much i LOVE my simple (ish) life. how thankful i am for what i have now that i’m not longing for what i don’t.
and…{someone} shot out the street light on our corner. so at night it is DARK. real dark. and starlighty. with some coyotes in the background.
love this post!
That is so cool. Secretly, I would LOVE to exclaim out loud in a car. That’s one of the things I am working on–I’m far to uptight, in control, etc. This past month has been a revelation for me. I’m sorry that it was at the expense of my friend, who lost both her parents, but it’s true. And, a part of her feels the same way. Life is very short.
my dad dying three years ago was kind of the start of this “life change” for me. i used to say if my dad died it would be the worst thing that could ever happen. now. i work extra hard to never put myself in the worst case scenario. i was super competitive, super in control, on top of work, super mom, best friend, blah blah blah. and that has gone. now i am just trying to love each moment. and trying so, so hard to stay out of the what ifs of life. just letting it happen. i’ve been reading your posts about your friend and my thoughts are with her for sure.
p.s. try singing in the car with your windows down. force yourself not to check and see who is watching. FUN! you can do it:)
Such a great, sobering, thought-provoking post. Thank you! Preach, sister, preach!
I’m always surprised when we get to our cottage in N. Michigan how many more stars there are up here. Of course, the stars are the same as those at home. Except up here, at the end of a dead end road, on a lake, we can actually see them. :-)
My most amazing experience with stars was just before sunrise on Mt. Haleakala in Maui, Hawaii. I had NEVER seen so many stars! They just covered every inch of the sky & I was in awe of the sheer number & radiant beauty of them all. My eyes filled with tears & I finally understood the phrase “stars too numerous to count”. It’s a shame that I had to go all the way to Hawaii to experience the night sky that is always present, just not visible from here. Those moments are one of my most cherished memories.
How incredibly observant of you to note & share the allegory. It is so right on & I shall spend some time really thinking about that…
Denise
What a beautiful post. I needed to read this.