Why do I write about the stars, something that is—let’s be honest—pretty insignificant and trivial, when the entire planet seems to be convulsed in war, denialism and mistrust? I guess the answer is why not. In my mind, right now, we need a little magic, a little something that reminds us that we’re capable of more than our worst traits.
I believe stargazing holds the possibility of countless magical moments. I’ll speak for myself. I need them.
That’s why, for two days in December (and very probably a few other days along the way) I plan to purposefully seek some balance, to look for a little magic, and gaze upon what might be a very special night sky event. I hope you will as well. It may deliver a wonderful counterbalance of amazement against all the things that weigh us down.
The Geminid Meteor Shower will reach its peak on the evenings of Dec. 13 and 14. You may see a meteor at any time past sunset, but the most will appear around 2am. With a waxing crescent moon departing early, we will have dark skies as a backdrop.
Some predict as many as 120 meteors per hour. Others believe the highest number will be around 50. I’ll be happy to see one every few minutes.
The Geminids is the result of Earth crossing the debris path of Phaethon, a rock three miles in diameter, that has been described as an asteroid, a failed comet and, conveniently, a rock comet. As its orbit takes it near the Sun, its outer layer peels a bit, leaving chunks behind. As we also speed around the Sun, we collide with some of those tiny remnants, causing them to burn up in our upper atmosphere—meteors.
Astronomers connect this celestial collision to Gemini because the majority of the meteors seem to originate near Castor, one of the Gemini twins. In the middle of December, the constellation will be nearly overhead so it should be easy to see the meteor shower from any location.
Now, a disclaimer: in October, I got up early for several mornings to catch a glimpse of the Orionid Meteor Shower. I saw nothing. It happens. It was still better than the news that spewed out from my TV a few hours later. It was still better than hearing how people have mastered the art of hurting others.
And, it was still magical because I could do it, because unlike so many others, I was still able to take a safe, short walk outside in the middle of the night. Ah, what we take for granted.
You know, maybe stargazing is, ultimately, mostly useless because it changes nothing about day to day life. I mean, I’m sure that horror and tragedy will continue on a daily basis even if I discover a new planet or see 100 meteors light up the sky. Maybe the magic is so fleeting, along with the internal sense of peace that it brings, that it just doesn’t seem worth the effort.
So be it. It’s not unlike so many other things that we do during the course of a single day that bring us some level of joy and satisfaction. The truth is, most of us seem to believe that we live in a world where even a little bit of magic—from whatever the source—is a good thing. Indeed, I’d argue that it’s vital.
That’s why I’m going to take a few steps outside and look for the magic in those little streaks of light that seem to zoom right past Castor and his even brighter brother, Pollux. Each one of those streaks will give me a window beyond the mundane. Each one is an invitation to see so much more than what we think is everything.