A Sea of Stars

There’s a quiet ritual I keep—in response to a feeling, an urge, luring me out of The Cabin whenever the night lies clear, crisp, and dotted with stars.

I step outside, even if only for a moment, breathing in the cool night air, thick with scents of cedar and pine, earth and grass. The world is still, as if holding a big breath. 

Tipping my head back, my gaze drifts upward, letting go of everything below.

As I lose myself in the sea of stars above, I find a profound reminder of our shared existence, where each twinkle whispers stories of the lives woven beneath them.

The stars—thousands, millions, billions of them—scatter across the black sky like drops of light cast by some unseen hand, ancient and infinite. While my view doesn’t reach into the Milky Way, the stars above my little slice of Vancouver Island are enough to remind me of something larger, something I almost can’t put words to.

(You best believe I’ve figured out how to convey this galactic experience into words.)

Gazing into the heavens, the universe has a way of revealing perspective.

There’s something humbling in knowing those little points of light have burned for eons, watching silently as our own lives play out like brief flickers in comparison. 

The vastness makes life feel smaller, but smaller in a way that sheds the weight of everyday worries. In that unending expanse, every task, every worry, every moment of impatience or doubt, suddenly feels manageable—or small enough to set aside.

Yet, the sense of peace runs deeper than mere perspective.

Beneath those stars, I feel part of something vast. Eight billion and more lives are unfolding beneath this very same sky. Countless people scattered across the planet are gazing up, wondering about their place, perhaps breathing in the same night air while looking at the same set of stars, sensing this same comforting awe.

We all lead wildly different lives, but for a moment, the sky we share brings us closer.

The stars offer their light as a quiet, ancient reminder:

Staring up, I’m reminded that peace isn’t in understanding every detail but in feeling connected to something larger, stable, and constant beyond the noise of daily life.

So I stay a little longer, breathing with the stars, letting their quiet constancy wash over me—each breath carrying the smallness and significance of simply existing here, now, in a universe that has room for it all. 

In the presence of something so vast, I feel not only peace, but a sense of place, a strange calm that lingers long after I go back inside. 

When I do, the stars remain—ancient lights guiding us home.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander