a life creative
Today is my 44th birthday.
Old as the stars, probably, at least to the cats and dogs I’ve known throughout my life, who burn through our human lives like white hot flashes of joy.
And older still to the god kids, who, when their mum and I say, “when we were your age…” they just pffft and reply, “you guys were never our age!”
I have always been fascinated with the life and death of stars. The mind-bending size of them, and the length of time it takes for their light to reach us. That, in spite of their size and grandeur, they’re finite, like the rest of us. How, at their end, they transit from a big and bright and million-year psychedelic explosion of light at their dying, to the very sudden collapse of gravity at the core to to form a black hole, from which neither time nor light escapes. During their demise, it’s gold and silver and all the glorious metals high up on the periodic table that are created. All the gas and hot air burn away.
I love the theories, the weirdness, the symbolic parallels to how we human beings are in relation to one another and toward ourselves and others, to our pets, to our tiny collective history on our little planet.
On a simpler level, I also adore the names – quasar, pulsar, supernova, quark, Oort cloud, and so very many glorious others. The language of the constellations crosses various “terrestrial” mythologies (another of my soul joys) with astrophysics and together with the photographs and artistic compositions of our celestial surrounds it all sparks my arty synapses and make the stargazer child in me happy.