Why study the stars except to enact the living wonder and proximity to countless possibilities for those infinite lives beyond the next inevitable end?
Why look at all, why make a telescope, except to measure the passage of time and a body’s position, except to measure by extension, the depth by which it might be penetrated by some unknown, swollen with original mystery?
In the beginning was the word, but the telescope came later.
This sequence depends on a certain view of time, doesn’t it, as a length of collected experience and not a renewable fountain of recycled water, and not as a looping circle, with every end the next beginning and every fresh possibility the natural conclusion to the most recent fall?
I read somewhere that Gallileo Gallilei unveiled his telescope on this day in a former century, which probably has something to do with why I landed here.