When I look up at the night sky and see that bluish, grayish, black sky; with tiny specks of light scattered across it, in the most genuinely random of places, I do not see anything special. I am not impressed by something I can recreate with a flashlight and felt. I see nothing special in giving shapes, names, meanings, and mystical purposes to the twinkling dots above me. Seeing that means nothing to me.
The thing is, when I look up at the sky, what I just described isn't what I see. I have to take a step back from myself to see that. When I look up, I see the vast distances between me and each of those lights. I think of how the planet I am standing on has roughly 196,940,400 square miles of surface on it, and how we have yet to explore all of that. And how that space is less than an insignificant fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fucking fraction, compared to even the space between me and one of those tiny little specks I see.
I think of how that tiny little light flickering above me, is really a burning ball of gas so large and powerful, that it has the potential to create life, heavy metals and elements that cannot be created anywhere else; and it has the power to destroy them unlike anything else in the Universe. I see what may be the final smile of that powerful star, long after it has ceased to exist.
I see a universe so large, my mind cannot comprehend or even see all that it truly is. I see thousands of the possible 70 sextillion + stars in the Universe. Stars exactly like the one[s] that died in order to create our solar system, our planet, life, and the air that I breath.
When I look up at the night sky, I do not see tiny specks of light twinkling back at me from behind a bluish, grayish, black sky. I see the true creators of life. I see the future of mankind. I see more than stars, and emptiness in between. I see the mothers of creation, stars that are, on an atomic level, related and connected to me and everyone else on this planet; and that is fucking beautiful. Truly fucking beautiful.