All, that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!
Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled:
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.
I have been thinking about stars, among a thousand other things, but stars really are quite beautiful, aren't they? Last week I went to the planetarium, which was quite fun--it was nice to see some old friends I have sincerely missed and to lay back and simply watch the stars. I was outside the other night, and the moon was just a sliver of a being, and there was just one single star floating next to it. It was so beautiful. Last night I couldn't believe the splendor of the sunset, just the very tail-end of its show; it caused me to stop and stare until the sun bled away and the stars began to poke through.
What are we really in this world? Just another dot on this eternal canvas it seems. I confess that I am still struggling to "come home" from London. Yes, I know I've been back for a few weeks now, but it's not as easy as it looks--especially coming back to the Mormon, concentrated, think-they-know-everything-and-then-some students of BYU. Some days I wonder what I'm doing here. Really. What am I doing here? Is there a purpose? In London things made sense--back in reality if that's what you'd like to call it, things are a little more fuzzy. It's like falling, but neither down nor up; just falling eternally with no direction. Maybe more like spinning. Something like that. The dark side of the moon looks clearer. Bottom line, it's confusing and irritating. But then I look up at the stars, and I realize how ridiculous I sound; the universe is bigger than all of this, than all of us. It's a humbling thought. Then I think of how beautiful the stars sparkle, and I make my wish, and I return to my dreams, knowing that after all, tomorrow is another day. I have begun to realize, more and more each day, how little I know. Like Socrates, All that I know is that I know nothing. And yet there is a peaceful happy feeling when I look at the stars at night.
Aren't the stars just beautiful? I know that much at least. Maybe someday I can have a star.