...a star broke on the sky

Looking up at the sky today reminded me of something I wrote early last year. It is part of the memory of the Universe now. One day, when someone captures the sounds of the Universe Past, he will hear the quiet whispers of this tale. It is, as of now, no more. It was, when it began, to not be in the sounds of the Universe-to-Reveal.

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Part the first: a star broke on the sky

when we were younger, there used to more stars on the sky than there are now.

we were also luckier to have more of the skies than we can have today: one could actually see the horizon curve at the ends, and there were more shapes and patterns for a child of four to find than John Nash ever could.

in sultry, warm nights - which were sometimes breezy if the day had been particularly warm - we slept on neatly arranged charpoys on the roof. When the cool air finally lulled everyone to sleep, and all existence was quiet except for the
occasional restless bat that flew over evoking imageries of wicked fairytale characters, a child used to rise from her
affected sleep, and indulge in that primordial human fascination: of staring, searching, probing into space.

the best first thing a human mind can do is to observe, to follow closely by wonder - and then question. In questions are their
answers, and they reveal over Space when Time so intends. And so she observed with wonder.

there are amazing wonders in the skies, particularly if one's mind isn't self-assumed all-knowing, the heart isn't heavy with some faceless, unrelated grief, and the conscience is only concerned with childish misdoings.

to the child's mind rose many images, questions, answers... besides, in a sky so vast there is always a marvel waiting to
reveal itself to the curious. Mostly, it takes the form of a broken star; for which the child had a constant amazement. A star! A shooting star! ... Only at those times it was more often construed as something to do with the image of the Snow Queen she had seen in a story, etched forever on memory...

a mind which wonders is a mind that wanders, in a beatific idleness. the beauty of a blue, blue night cannot be caught, much less the secret feelings it arises in the hearts and minds of the amused young.

"Where has this world come from?"

"Am I part of this, or is this in some way separate from me?"

"How many stars are there in this constellation?"

"What if I die, do I go up there?"

And then the occasional childlike: "Do fairies really descend in the night, and put that toffee under my head? Why not ice-cream? Fairies can do everything!"

My aunt, for one, had no answers - only a look of bewilderment. "Do not talk like that, your mind will go insane!" She would say in horror.

"You do not know the answer? I read in a book..." and those 'overage' books would be hidden that evening, locked for good by those who could neither manage o answer the question they led to, nor realize a mind needs no answer other than those of the questions it asks itself, nor understand that a mind that seeks will seek... for that one needs no books but an endless blue sky with a ceaseless variety of wonders....