It has been over 40 years since the singer Stephen Stills recorded “Southern Cross,” his magnificent tale of discovery and redemption. I’ve always been drawn to it, especially the line in which he states that it was only after he’d seen the small constellation—Crux—that he finally came to understand why he had sailed to the South Pacific.
I wondered if I would have a similar experience while on a long-delayed trip away from home. As it is visible only in the Southern Hemisphere, I’d never seen the Southern Cross. So, there was that. Something new for me to see in the sky. Perhaps, there would be more.
I wound up catching it by accident. I woke up in the middle of the night with a stuffy nose and stepped out onto the balcony of our port-side cabin to clear my head. It was the first time we’d had clear skies since we had come onboard. It was there, not far off the horizon, clear, unmistakable and really, not nearly as impressive as the Northern Cross—Cygnus—or any number of constellations that one can see on any given night from Patagonia.
And yet, I was elated. I woke my wife and, together, we stood quietly staring at it. Had we chosen a room on the other side of the ship, it would have remained hidden. Sometimes, you just get lucky.
I got back into bed, unable to sleep. I wanted to keep thinking about my good fortune, about my new connection to a well-loved song. Would it become a symbol for me as it had for the songwriter?
Instead, my mind drifted back to a walking tour we’d taken a few days earlier in Auckland. The guide had told us a little about the Maori Origin Story, and the important role the Pleiades has within it. The Pleiades, of course, is the Greek name of what we often call the Seven Sisters, an open star cluster that’s easy to find right now and throughout January, well up in the sky, and just a bit to the west in the early evening.
The Maori call it Matariki. Their story is different than the Greek version. But, lying in bed, all I could think about was the common desire among distinct cultures to make sense of their lives. Different people at different times see what they see. But, underneath it is the common thread, the human drive to imagine, to understand, to keep trying to make connections even if those connections have already been in place for billions of years.
Our differences provide color to the world. They provide endless interest. Our commonalities, I think, are the themes. We need the former for inspiration, the latter for survival. As sleep failed me and the rocking rhythm of the ship became ever familiar, I realized, like Stills, why I’d come this way.
Finding the Southern Cross is part of my personal origin story. I’ve always loved the stars. They help to define me. But our own origin stories and the progress we make in life to fill in the blanks can, perhaps, leave little room for those times when we must understand that there really is a single accounting, a common history for all of us.
Call them whatever you want, but the Pleiades/Matariki and the Southern Cross were there in the sky long before different folks gave them names and meanings and concocted explanations for their shapes and sizes. At the end of the day, the obvious fact of the matter is that we share a universal origin story. We need to be reminded of that even as we treasure our differences.
To see the Southern Cross forces one to leave home behind, to accept that there is always more to discover and much more to accept. So, thank you Mr. Stills for writing those words so long ago. The truth is, that no matter our stories, to look at another, is to look at oneself. For all our distinctions, we’re not so different. The stories we create may be unique, but the unstated need to create them and to be sustained by them is the same for all. If we’re going to repair the planet, that’s where we need to begin.
Harold Meckler can be contacted at glusk@proton.me