...so do my eyes.

And as the Universe opens, so do my eyes.

What remains in front of me is hardly similar to what flies behind me.

I used to look to the stars for experience, for joy, for an evening well spent; now I look to that which flashes not from the cosmos, but from the common.

And yet, is there such a thing?

That which is tethered to the fibers, which tether anything, is itself a part of the everything. To see these fibers is to see what lies beneath you, around you, within you, beyond you. To see your tether is to be self-aware and also to be free. Recognize that which grounds you to the jacks, that which pulls you amongst the winged, that which strikes you to your stance.

What frames me and what calls me can be as connected as we can.

Still, the streetlamps of the sky and the constellations of the earth do not mirror each other.

A star doesn’t burn with intent, it doesn’t expand with a motive, it reacts to enact reaction; it fuels itself until it can’t, then faces the consequence—not of self-preservation, but of its own existence. Though we come from the stars, we are blessed to be otherwise: we rely on more than our individual. We rely on the beauty of humanity, on the conflict of society, and the purpose of reality.

We rely on each other in a space of constants and crises.