New Year’s Resolution; Year TBD

Winter morning from January 14th, 2021. Click for full-sized image.

Hello, readers.  Feels like it’s been a while, but it has only been a tad over a month.  After the Jupiter-Saturn conjunction, I have done no astronomy activities beyond a few glimpses of Orion when the weather permitted.  This is truly the dead of Winter.

The current season as well as the state of political affairs have offered a lot of time for thinking.  One of many questions I have pondered is what to do when (if) everything ever returns to normal?  It’s a good question that sparks regret.  For to ask the question of what you should do in the future is to, perhaps, insinuate what you should have done when you had the chance.

If there ever is a a true normal again (a real normal, not a fake “new normal”), I would like to plan my vacation time around travelling to dark sites across the United States.  It’s been a long time since I was in such locations, even fractionally of what would consider to have a dark sky.  Most such places are further out west.  It will make for interesting road trips, to pack up my telescope and camera equipment, and see what I can find.

So here is hoping to better days ahead.  I will try to keep my innate optimism up as much as possible.  But I will admit, in the dead of this Winter, it’s been tough.  20 years ago, I felt there would come a day when the travel we took for granted would no longer be possible without government sanction.  That day is here, or soon should be.  Once upon a time, beyond your reasonable (real reasonable, not politically reasonable) obligations to your family, property, and work, there was nothing stopping you from getting in your car, driving in whatever direction you’d like, for as long as you wished, then turning around when you wanted to go home.  In the near future, such a reckless disregard for planning, permits, and authorization could lead you into trouble, if the current trajectory does not change.

My greater worry is that what we take for granted today in regards to prosperity, opportunity, and decision privileges will be supplanted by the bureaucratic procedures of the emerging sudo-state.  It has gained great power during the pandemic.  If history is a guide, it will not give up that power by benevolent volition.

We shall see how the course of events unfold.  I would like to start visiting dark sites this year, but if not this year, I will hope for 2022.  If the pandemic continues, or is supplanted by a new crisis, I will plan for 2023, and continue planning and dreaming of those possibilities for the remainder of my days.  For regardless of how bleak things may look at any given point, always know that the trajectory of history is never a straight line.

Dreaming of Another World

When I was in high school, the foreign language teachers would say that dreaming in a language other than your native one was the sign you had grasped it.

What can be said about dreaming of life in another star system?

Last night I had a very vivid dream about traveling to and then starting to live on a planet outside of our Solar System.  I usually don’t ponder such things, but as it is still very fresh in my memory and the topic so relevant to this blog, it seems as good of a dream sequence as any to document.

This was the type of dream from which you leave and feel it as your reality, if only for a moment.  As I awakened in the pre-dawn hour to the sounds of high winds beckoning in an arctic blast, I believed for an instant of my life that I was still on a planet in the Alpha Centauri system.

What caused this type of dream, and why now?  I have not done a lot of stargazing recently.  I did have my homemade Dobsonian out on Friday evening to look at the Moon.  And I had been taking quick pictures of the Moon throughout the week, but none of these activities are what I would consider in-depth astronomy.

It began with my landing on the planet.  I noted to myself the journey from Earth and the ship taken.  The journey was long, but not years long, so the means of travel was by some advanced, as-yet undiscovered technology.  Only a handful of people were fellow passengers.  Everyone had a very tight and cramped seat for the initial liftoff, but then we had the liberty of modest quarters for the duration of the voyage in deep space.

I was not there permanently, but was visiting the planet, like on a very extended vacation.  I remember thinking how amazing it was to be on another planet, in a different star system, even though I was clearly not the first to be here.  We had landed and departed the spaceship and were now in a hanger.

I really wanted to go outside and look up at the sky, to see the galaxy from this different vantage point.  I was hoping I could see some familiar star patterns, thinking that I should be able to recognize familiar constellations if I gazed in the direction towards home, towards Earth.  This is because I would be seeing Earth’s angle to the galaxy from that side, just a few light years farther away.

Getting outside was difficult, for a reason I cannot explain.  It was dusk.  When I finally got outside and into an open clearing, I observed animals I had never seen before along with horses native to Earth.  Looking into the distance, I saw a mountain range bathed in a golden light, a reflection of this planet’s star as it was setting below its horizon.  Heavy purple clouds hung shallow over the mountains’ peaks.

There were clouds throughout the sky and still too early to see stars.  I looked in another direction and saw the markings of a budding civilization.  There was a town, along with a developed highway, and the clear signs of a manufacturing industry already present.  My last thoughts were focused on how that very alien sky would soon be tainted by the tragedy of the forthcoming light pollution onto this colony of Earth.