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Worshipping Lali

You are home already

Have you ever lain flat on your back on a sidewalk with your two year old daughter and wife, late on a cold night, serenaded by chirping symphonies, pointing at distant stars and constellations? I am this specific, because I have done this – a bold number of times. During these hours, the senseless profuseness of twinkly nightly bodies steals our imagination, a fleeting comet commanding awe and gleeful clapping. But what’s more shocking is that this wonder we see is only a tiny bit of sky, and that beyond the square corners of awe and story, there lies the inexpressible – stretched across many skies, the measure of which is a deathly gasp, the sacred response to which is painful resignation and solemn silence. In a way, when we stare at stars, we are looking at the heart of things…and into the stupefying irony that invites our stuttering storylines of love lost, of victory gained, of redemption attained, of goodness wrought and evil vanquished, to be quiet. To hush. If only for a moment. And then I tell my daughter, even when she doesn’t seem to be interested in what I have to say, that she must never dishonor the heavens by trying to ‘reach for the stars’: “You are home already. They shine to remind you of this.”

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Falling might very well be flying – without the tyranny of coordinates.