Coastline Pilot

February 14, 2003

 

Chasing the Muse

By Catharine Cooper

 

Why do reach we for the stars? What primitive longing propels us outward?  When the Indians gazed at the night sky, they saw the campfires of the gods.

 

We’ve always been wanders.  Since we first stepped away from our fertile African valleys and made our way across the steppes, we’ve searched for undiscovered corners of the planet.  Possibly it was food shortages and climactic changes that drove us, but as we’ve grown into ourselves, we’ve developed an insatiable appetite for foreign shores.  We have arrived at this time on earth, where not much is left unknown or unpopulated by man.

 

Our attention shifts beyond the cozy ozone envelope that wraps our sea based planet.  From a distance, we are but a pale blue dot in a sea of about one billion stars tucked in the Milky Way Galaxy.  We float around a brilliant sun with neighbors such as Venus, Mercury, Mars and Jupiter.  To the best of our knowledge, we are the only of the planets in our solar system that harbors and supports life.  At least, life as we know it.  We struggle to step way from earth, to know our neighbors, to land upon their shores, to better understand ourselves.

 

The painful disintegration of the Space Shuttle, Columbia, was a reminder of the cost of our exploration.  We grieve as one of our “sailing” ships fails.  We are mere mortals, our “wings” fragile titanium, but our hunger continues to drive us.  If you offered me the opportunity, I would launch tomorrow on an available shuttle.  I would step into the ultimate wilderness without hesitation.

 

We stand poised in a rather miraculous space.  We have altered our planetary atmosphere in profound ways.  Our technological quest has produced side affects such as ozone depletion, greenhouse gases and the menace of nuclear winter.  These threaten the foundational conditions that make human life possible. 

 

Understanding our planetary companions allows us a perspective of the consequences of our choices.  Our neighbor, Mars, has no ozone, endures extremes in temperature, and is constantly bombarded by ultraviolet rays.  Our neighbor Venus has too much atmosphere – a massive greenhouse effect filled with carbon dioxide, chlorine, fluorine and sulfuric acid.  Our atmosphere, as seen from orbit, is a fragile thin seam of blue light, one that requires increasing care.

 

I wander my own night sky, a land-based stargazer, ever anxious to know more.

 

A quarter moon settles in the west, it's white reflection slowly shifting yellow to gold.

 

I start out in the Pleiades – M45 – 415 ly away.  It’s a relatively young open cluster, visible as six distinct stars to the unaided eye.  A rudimentary scope reveals hundreds more.  Nine are distinct, and I commit to memory their names:  Atlas (the father) & Pleione (the mother), Aclyone, Merope, Electra, Celaeno, Maia, Taygeta & Asterope (the sisters).  

 

I slip over to Aldebaran and dance for a while in Hyades, another cluster 150 ly from earth of about 200 stars. Saturn, crossing through these clusters on her elliptical path, shimmers with memorizing gold.  I continue to be thrilled each time I can actually see her rings with my own eyes.

 

Past Bellatrix and Betelguese down into the belt of Orion with a requisite stop at M42 – and the incredible glowing blue light.  Stars are being born as I watch.  An atmospheric laboratory at work. 

 

Jupiter rises in the east.  Four of her moons, Io, Europa, Ganymede and Calisto jocky for position. The north and south equatorial belt are well defined on the image of the planet, but I have yet to see the red spot.  Clearly, I need a stronger instrument for that level of observation.

 

Sirius, the dog star, appears to the left, shimmering in the dark sky and slowly the other pieces of the constellation come into view. 

 

My planetary neighbors and beyond slowly become my extended world.  To know the map of that which surrounds me is now the quest of my muse.  I reach for those stars.

 

In my dreams, I watch the earth rise, a beautiful blue spinning orb, from my retreat on the planet Mars.  I feel a bit homesick for her waterfalls and tree-covered slopes, but know that the science we pursue provide her protection.

 

We journey together on one home planet intricately linked to each other.  Each of our choices affects the well being of our home.  Travel with consciousness.  The earth depends on you.

 

-xx-