Primeval Sky Watching

When I sit in the outdoor tub, the 100º heat soaking into my body, I often gaze upward into the sky. I am looking at stars and other celestial delights with naked eye (attached to naked body). As I get drawn into the experience, I sometimes feel it draws me closer to my forebears; to the ancient peoples who had no way but the naked eye to view the heavens.

Our astronomical discoveries have taken gigantic steps forward in the last few centuries, with the advent of telescopes and other technological sky-probing wonders. With these tools our knowledge of what’s out there and how it works has progressed unimaginably beyond what the ancients knew. We now know, for example, that all points of light up there are not stars, and that they are not portents from the gods. We know much about conditions on the surface of the planets (and many of their moons). We have built a massive data base of our universe’s sights and how it all works.

And yet we moderns—a sea of astronomical facts at hand—are quite unfamiliar with, even ignorant of the starry skies themselves. Astronomy has become a esoteric field of science—beyond all but professional astronomers and the most determined star enthusiast. Additionally, we live in cities whose skies are too light polluted to see all but a few stars. We have no time or inclination even to look at them; we are far more preoccupied with dazzling spectacles from TVs and computer screens.

We are strangers to the sky. We no longer are drawn into the celestial progression across the heavens, the cyclical motion of the heavenly bodies: the sun, the moon, planets, comets, and other delights.

The first accomplishment of modern astronomy was to conclusively demonstrate that the universe does not revolve around Earth. We are not the center of it all. Yet despite our intellectual knowledge of the true nature of the heavens, when we look up naked-eye and view the sky, we experience a geocentric view. As far as what I see and perceive, I really am at the center of my universe; it all does revolve around me.

So I sit there in my tub, naked-eye viewing, feeling connected to my ancestors, who watched the heavens just as I am doing. Over time I get drawn into the night sky and begin to notice patterns that the stars make—maybe not the same constellations of my forebears, but ones that I make up. I observe the cyclical progression of these star designs through the year; along with the moon’s monthly visitations, and the planets odd wanderings.

In time, the cycles and rhythms begin to speak to me. I intellectually know why they appear to me as they do (because modern astronomers and telescopes that I trust have told me so), but the direct, geocentric experience I have is quite different. The ancients watched, became familiar with the cycles, but didn’t know why. I watch, know much more about why, but have lost their acquaintance. I wonder if I can acquire their wonder, awe, and imagination.