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Watching The Sky

Science says some of the stars we see are long dead.

Yet there they are – vivid, flickering, brilliant.

And dead, I guess.

Science says half of our atoms come from far beyond the milky way.

I gaze down at my hands, sticking out from the sleeves of my white lab coat, and then back up again at the sky as if somehow I will suddenly be able to figure out what corner of the universe my left index finger derived from.

Science doesn’t say much else. The government says nothing.

The pyramids I’ve studied for decades whose construction even blatantly defies our so-called modern technology? The ley lines, whose orbits around the Earth I’ve recorded in stunning detail, that are bursting with energy – and answers? Anyone of substance in this industry just turns a blind eye for fear of being labeled a quack.

The media is the truth, they nod, dreamily staring off into space.

Yet all the reality we can ever demand is there among the deceased stars, sitting pretty like a Times Square burlesque show sprinkled across a blanket of velvet sky. How I’d love to pull just one star down, take it to over to the lab, and spend the rest of my entire life studying its components, its elements, its origin, its looming death, and never once reaching one damn conclusion.