Despite the obvious perfection of today’s world with its marvelous surfeit of miraculous devices, some have raised concerns. Of course, there are always those who are never happy with anything, and must complain about everything. Nowadays they say we spend too much time on our screens, to the detriment of social connection and family and community. We are cutting ourselves off from reality, they claim (which implies they have a handle on what reality is, and how are they so sure?), and sooner or later there will be hell to pay, or something like that.
It is not for me to get caught up in this debate over grand consequences, but there is one thing I do suspect, and it greatly troubles me: despite acknowledging the occasional glorious sunset or pop-up rainbow, or being forced to react to things like the ever more frequent tropical deluges happening in many places, that pour from above with new ferocity and frequency as a product of our warming planet, people are generally ignoring the sky at a level previously unknown in history. Eyes buried in the glow of their screens. obsessed with whatever the hell is going on there, things have reached a point where they just don’t look up much anymore, if at all, and their lives are the poorer for it. And they don’t even know it. It’s kind of tragic, when you think about it, and nobody seems to care.
So I have decided it is long past time that someone spoke up for the sky, and have taken it upon myself to take a stab at this as there seems to be no one else stepping forward to do it, God knows why not. Hence this humble attempt, as vain and feeble as it might appear to some. Which is not to say it is undertaken without great passion and enthusiasm, as I love my sky! And there has never been a better time to pay it close attention.
Like just last night. By now you are probably aware of that silly NASA stunt with the asteroid, a fine bit of Hollywood inspired technical magic that happened at way too great a distance to offer a good look – unless one watched it on a screen. Hey, I say if our planet’s number is up its number is up, and why fret about some theoretical scenario which, if and when it finally occurs, may have just been meant to be? Of far more real interest and fascination is the current fact that Jupiter, in all its gargantuan glory with its many mysteries (is it possible one of its moons supports life? – hats off to you, Europa!), floats out there closer to earth than it has in 59 years, a mere 367 million miles away. It also just passed through opposition, an alignment with earth and the sun that only happens every 13 months. Are you impressed? Get out there tonight and take a look; it will be the brightest object in the sky, and with binoculars you might see a moon or two, and if you’ve hung on to that telescope you were gifted as a kid, you might see as many as four, as we did. You’ve got about a month to get this done before it’s too late, and all you have to do is look up and hope it’s not clouded over.
My generation grew up with these words firing our imaginations: Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s SUPERMAN! That kind of thing might’ve worked for me way back when, but talk about limiting! Compared to the possible thrill of seeing some flying guy with a cape – which in fact to this day has never happened – at this point I cannot imagine how a weird thing like that might measure up against some of the memorable birds and planes (and so much more!) with which my real sky has gifted me, at times. And I am not just speaking for myself.
For instance, here in the spaces of our own New England sky just in the past week, certain lucky people looked up to behold many thousands of hawks passing overhead – broad-wingeds mostly, along with a few other raptor species. It was the annual fall migration, of course, when over just a few days, almost all of the birds, or at least the broad-winged hawks that’ve spent the summer breeding in parts north of here, decide one day that it’s time and they all gather up and head south, in one long and continuous stream. Of course you had to be there to witness it, and “there” around here is mostly two peaks in the middle of the state, Mounts Wachusett and Watatic, about thirteen miles apart.
This was a good year: Wachusett had 7918 broad-wingeds over a few days while Watatic counted 6686. Most of this happened on the twenty first of the month, a bit later than most years, and please note that this was two separate streams of birds. If you happen to be obsessed with our national bird, the bald eagle, as so many are nowadays, what with its inspiring comeback from serious decline due to DDT poisoning, Watatic saw 158 of those. Another raptor, the osprey, with its strikingly similar history, was seen in exactly the same number and what is one to make of that? Hawkwatchers know more about the September sky than anybody around here, as they spend hundreds of hours scanning it, waiting for the moment they can start counting. Much of the time their sky can be birdless, or nearly so, and one can only wonder what they choose to observe or think about in those moments. When it comes to sky matters, they might have much to tell us, though on the other hand many might say that the sky is something beyond words, and would prefer to talk about the fine points that distinguish a first year bird from one that has reached full maturity, a topic with which most are far more comfortable.
As for birdwatching in general, those unfamiliar with the practice might assume that all or most birders are “friends of the sky” but this is hardly the case. The focus of most birding activity tends to be on or near the ground, in the bushes and thickets and trees, and many a time with birding groups my concentration has wandered up towards the sky, where nobody else happens to be looking, to reveal a passing wood stork or osprey overhead. People are grateful when I offer them a chance to look away from a scene which is not showing them much of anything, to get a look at a bird right above in plain sight. Of course, by the end of the trip most of them have compiled more sightings than I have, but they also have keener eyesight and a lot more patience for birds reluctant to show themselves, and often only briefly. I miss a great many of those birds, but for the most part I don’t care, for I have the sky.
It is also a fact that even among sky fanciers, there is a range of taste. Media weather personalties love to cheerily announce things like “Another beautiful day, bright and clear and sunny, a great day for the beach!” if there happen to be beaches nearby, or they might say that it is simply “a great day to get outside!” They are echoing the sentiment expressed in Irving Berlin’s classic, Blue Skies, where the singer raves about “nothing but blue skies” and golly isn’t that just great? Frankly, I find a clear cloudless sky to be the least interesting or inspiring, just a whole lot of brightness without any distinguishing features. Maybe it is a reaction to the glut of cloudless skies to which I was exposed in California throughout childhood, or maybe I’m just a bit put off by the featureless immensity of it all, a sky daunting in its seemingly infinite and featureless depth. It is a fact that hawkwatchers are not fans of a featureless blue sky, as it makes the birds harder to see, especially those at a distance. Nothing beats a nice cloud to accentuate the outline of a raptor, or any flying species, for that matter, and it also gives you a sense of how far away the bird is flying.
Of course humans have long associated the sky with religious meaning. Zeus tossed down his thunderbolts from up there, and gods and angels have long been associated with cavorting in the clouds. The Great Spirit of many native religions is thought to have a presence up above, and there is the classic scene of Jesus (or perhaps any messiah of your choice) descending from a dramatic sky full of puffy clouds and cherubim and God knows what other airborne religious entities of note. And of course, when you die your soul or spirit ascends ever upwards to its resting place, assuming you’ve been a good girl or boy. Why hell and all its related negativity is associated with the earth, as opposed to the sky, is a topic for religious scholars, but at its simplest, the message seems to favor “above” and not “below”, at some gut level, an assumption many might find questionable.
The allure of the sky I am trying to express here has nothing to do with any of that. It is far more experiential and immediate and rooted in the day-to-day and not at all with God or eternity or an afterlife. My sky is far too wonderful to load it up with so much abstract and totally unnecessary baggage, and if emotion tends towards the spiritual, it is only out of the awe and inspiration offered by what the current sky might evoke in the moment. The emotional possibilities are also much broader than merely that, of course, as the sky can evoke such things as thoughtfulness and sober reflection and of course, the blues, such is its power. My sky is not to be messed with.
It might also be said that those who ignore the sky, both literally and figuratively, whether willfully or out of neglect, do so at their peril. I am thinking mostly of those multitudes these days living in utter devotion to their screens, but anyone self-absorbed to the point of excess can get in trouble with this, and both they and the world suffer for it. You hear these days how levels of depression and anxiety are up, especially with the younger generation. The clinicians are of course suggesting that people get a good therapist or try meds, while the holistic crowd says we should all start a meditation practice, and then one can always consider coming to Jesus or something like that, a time-honored practice. You and I know that most people are not about to do any of this.
So as simplistic and naive as it sounds (hey, I’m raving in beantown, here!) maybe spreading some simple message for people to avert their eyes sometimes, away from the screen and upwards towards whatever sky is up there in the moment, might be a good start. Call it a meditation if you must, but a very basic one. Maybe doing that will get a few people to react in an emotional or thoughtful way, and just might shift their focus, if only briefly, away from whatever world is contained in their screen or is overwhelming their mind, to something bigger than that world, or at best bigger than themselves. The immensity of the sky can sometimes have that kind of effect on people. And maybe it could be called spiritual, though only in the vaguest sense of course, and that just might be a good thing to experience, at least now and then. And the sky is always there, available, though you may need to step outside or at least find a window. Wear a jacket if it’s cold, and consider sharing the moment with someone else. There are a lot of closet sky fanciers out there, if you didn’t know, and they’re not all hawk watchers, though everybody has that potential.
