What does it matter, I wonder, that the stars we see are already dead? As long as we love, we see the light. Even the light of the dead. So many dead things around us to love. To light our way through the dark. Ancient ancestors whose stories are soft flame flickers passed from hand to hand. Hands that grasped ours, steadied our steps into a future nobody could imagine. As they pass from the light of day into the twilight of our memories, don’t think they disappear. They’re always with us, just like starlight. They surround us. They walk with us. They love us. They are the beating of our hearts, the thoughts that ping-pong in our brains. We are always connected, the living and the dead, the past, the present, and the future. We are part of the universe. We are stardust.
the first sentence inspired by:
published in Contemplate
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