Hold on to human desire to explore

CHASING DOWN THE MUSE

Why do reach we for the stars? What primitive longing propels us

outward? When the Indians gazed at the night sky, they saw the

campfires of the gods.

We’ve always been wanders. Since we first stepped away from our

fertile African valleys and made our way across the steppes, we’ve

searched for undiscovered corners of the planet. Possibly it was food

shortages and climactic changes that drove us, but as we’ve grown

into ourselves, we’ve developed an insatiable appetite for foreign

shores. We have arrived at this time on earth, when not much is left

unknown or unpopulated by man.

Our attention shifts beyond the cozy ozone envelope that wraps our

sea-based planet. From a distance, we are but a pale blue dot in a

sea of about one billion stars tucked in the Milky Way Galaxy. We

float around a brilliant sun with neighbors such as Venus, Mercury,

Mars and Jupiter. To the best of our knowledge, we are the only of

the planets in our solar system that harbors and supports life. At

least, life as we know it. We struggle to step way from earth, to

know our neighbors, to land upon their shores, to better understand

ourselves.

The painful disintegration of the space shuttle Columbia was a

reminder of the cost of our exploration. We grieve as one of our

“sailing” ships fails. We are mere mortals, our “wings” fragile

titanium, but our hunger continues to drive us. If you offered me the

opportunity, I would launch tomorrow on an available shuttle. I would

step into the ultimate wilderness without hesitation.

We stand poised in a rather miraculous space. We have altered our

planetary atmosphere in profound ways. Our technological quest has

produced side affects such as ozone depletion, greenhouse gases and

the menace of nuclear winter. These threaten the foundational

conditions that make human life possible.

Understanding our planetary companions allows us a perspective of

the consequences of our choices. Our neighbor, Mars, has no ozone,

endures extremes in temperature and is constantly bombarded by

ultraviolet rays. Our neighbor Venus has too much atmosphere -- a

massive greenhouse effect filled with carbon dioxide, chlorine,

fluorine and sulfuric acid. Our atmosphere, as seen from orbit, is a

fragile thin seam of blue light, one that requires increasing care.

I wander my own night sky, a land-based stargazer ever anxious to

know more.

A quarter moon settles in the west, its white reflection slowly

shifting from yellow to gold.

I start out in the Pleiades, M45, 415 light years away. It’s a

relatively young open cluster, visible as six distinct stars to the

unaided eye. A rudimentary scope reveals hundreds more. Nine are

distinct, and I commit to memory their names: Atlas (the father) and

Pleione (the mother), Aclyone, Merope, Electra, Celaeno, Maia,

Taygeta and Asterope (the sisters).

I slip over to Aldebaran and dance for a while in Hyades, another

cluster 150 light years from earth of about 200 stars. Saturn,

crossing through these clusters on her elliptical path, shimmers with

memorizing gold. I continue to be thrilled each time I can actually

see her rings with my own eyes.

Past Bellatrix and Betelguese down into the belt of Orion with a

requisite stop at M42 -- and the incredible glowing blue light. Stars

are being born as I watch. An atmospheric laboratory at work.

Jupiter rises in the east. Four of her moons, Io, Europa, Ganymede

and Calisto jocky for position. The north and south equatorial belt

are well defined on the image of the planet, but I have yet to see

the red spot. Clearly, I need a stronger instrument for that level of

observation.

Sirius, the dog star, appears to the left, shimmering in the dark

sky and slowly the other pieces of the constellation come into view.

My planetary neighbors and beyond slowly become my extended world.

To know the map of that which surrounds me is now the quest of my

muse. I reach for those stars.

In my dreams, I watch the earth rise, a beautiful blue spinning

orb, from my retreat on the planet Mars. I feel a bit homesick for

her waterfalls and tree-covered slopes, but know that the science we

pursue provide her protection.

We journey together on one home planet intricately linked to each

other. Each of our choices affects the well being of our home. Travel

with consciousness. The earth depends on you.

* CATHARINE COOPER is a local designer, photographer and writer

who thrives off beaten trails. She can be reached at

[email protected] or (949) 497-5081.