a fistful of starlight

A Fistful of Starlight
A scholar who was for long abroad on archaeological trips finally returned home. There was a reception given to him by the Board of Trustees of Natural History Museum. The night was clear and warm. Under a starry sky the old scholar surrounded by many who came to see and hear him felt at ease. A reporter for the local newspaper wanted to know what made him give so much of his time and resources to a time dead and gone.
“Dead but not gone!” the old scholar replied. He clenched his fist and asked,” What makes it possible for me to do this?” “Your body of course.” “Where do you think that my body found its elements in the first place? Did it not come from stars?” the scholar asked.
“I guess so.” The reporter nodded,” We are made of stardust and all that.”
Catching the young reporter looking at the starry sky he asked, “What is the night sky lit up with? Does not light from stars dead and gone still reach us? Do we take them for dead?”
“I guess not.”
The scholar made his point. We are made by the past. The dead count as one with the living. Events from the past do affect us still. For better or worse.
That perceptible aura each life form radiates, is drawn from what is past. I might clench my fist yet it is not empty: in that very gesture I hold the brightness of life.
* The past shapes us as much as we will, our future.

benny