The Art of Observation

This is the aspiration of the mosquitoes, moths, and mountain lions lurking in the dark woods. Here, we find ourselves in solitude while cars glide by, their headlights creating fleeting streams of white light, accompanied by the red glow of taillights—a reminder of the stars' own motion.

Few look up; only the stars bear witness to our presence. And deep down, we understand that the stars themselves are oblivious to us, consumed by their own brilliance. They are the same stars that forged the iron coursing through our veins, which intoxicates the mosquitoes, filled with life.

These celestial bodies keep us spinning and twirling through the vastness we often ignore while we chase ambitions like stock portfolios or late-night shifts.

We remain on this roof, in splendid isolation, waiting for the sun-warmed tiles to return their heat to the icy stars above.

And that’s fine. It's been nearly seven millennia since this comet last graced our skies; we can afford to linger for a while longer.

Rumi's Call to Awake

"Stay awake tonight," Rumi advised.

The longer we remain here, the more luminous the stars become. Perhaps soon.

In this serene anticipation, the soft melody of a fountain keeps us grounded while a sea of stars spins our minds. Our scars shimmer in the twilight, reminiscent of a rainbow birthed from the mist at a whale's blowhole. The universe longs to reclaim its essence, to unweave our threads and weave them into a grand tapestry.

But not tonight. We will leave only traces of our presence—remnants of skin and oils upon the rough tiles of the rooftop.

The Significance of Comets

How could a comet not signify something profound? Rarely do comets visible to the naked eye pass by, yet for millennia, our gaze was all the universe had to reflect upon itself.

It’s easy to overlook how much brighter the night sky once was, how bolder the stars appeared before we learned to manipulate light. Our ancestors, night after night, floated in an ocean of shooting stars.

Of course, we now understand that comets are not stars. These wandering entities emerge from the darkest corners of the galaxy, igniting under the sun's rays, shining more brilliantly than their stellar origins.

The Great Comet of 1680 was bright enough to be seen in daylight, while the September Comet of 1882 may have been the most radiant ever recorded, a shining blade against the Mediterranean sky.

Comets are travelers, but they follow predictable paths. Like butterflies, we trace their journeys around the sun, naming the once-mysterious visitors of our skies. Halley's Comet, for instance, appeared in the eleventh century, immortalized in the Bayeux Tapestry as an omen of the Norman conquest. Giotto captured its essence in the 1301 painting "Adoration of the Magi."

Aristotle discussed comets in his Meteorology, viewing them as weather phenomena. Thomas Aquinas disagreed, seeing them as harbingers of doom. Tycho Brahe discerned their origins from the cosmos, while Isaac Newton calculated the long elliptical paths of the 1680 comet.

Today, we recognize comets as remnants of the solar system's birth—composed of frozen gases and rocks. Yet, knowledge does not diminish their allure.

In fact, the poetry of their infrequent visits surpasses any tales we have spun around them.

Halley's Comet is renowned for its regularity, with a 75-year cycle allowing it to be seen twice in a lifetime. Mark Twain famously arrived during its perihelion in 1835 and passed away the day after its 1910 appearance—just as he had longed.

A Personal Connection to Comets

The last time Halley’s Comet graced our skies, I was just three years old.

Perhaps we will both witness its return in 2062.

I don’t recall Halley’s Comet, but I vividly remember Hale-Bopp, which lit up the sky above my father’s home when I was fourteen, shining for a remarkable eighteen months.

Back then, I could not foresee that I would find myself on this cooling rooftop with you, sharing hushed conversations while we await another celestial omen. That comet won't return until around 4385.

The Comet's Perspective

We can observe the comets, yet they remain oblivious to our presence.

It reflects a uniquely human arrogance to believe that these celestial wanderers hold significance for our fate. Ancient ice and rock have no regard for our job interviews or personal trials.

Like many exquisite wonders, they exist indifferent to our concerns, allowing the universe to play its slow, intricate melody through them without attempting to grasp its meaning.

But we are not mere comets. We are the progeny of stars. Like them, we shine for a brief moment, then vanish into eternity. The trails we leave behind influence our paths as we orbit what we cherish, our journeys shaped by powerful forces.

Perhaps a comet was instrumental in bringing life to Earth, or at least in creating the right conditions for it to flourish. We might owe our very existence to these cosmic travelers. The words I share with you now could trace back to a chaotic collision billions of years ago.

Time Passes

Midnight slips away, yet the comet remains hidden. Somewhere out there, it drifts, its fuzzy halo concealed in the remnants of the setting sun, retreating into the depths of the solar system even as it ignites—103 million kilometers away, speeding at 231,000 kilometers per hour.

We are familiar with earthly measures—a day's journey, a week's sustenance. In space, such metrics lose their significance.

We have missed our moment. Tonight’s comet won’t return for another seven millennia. The last time it was seen, early villages were just emerging, and a few brilliant minds were beginning to forge metal tools. Reading and writing were yet to be discovered.

The final herds of woolly mammoths were still trumpeting their calls into winter. This comet, which we could not find in the vast expanse of night, sailed above it all, indifferent to the world that existed then, as it is to this one in transition.

I know you feel detached. For centuries, we have measured the universe, yet wisdom eludes us. A comet is a breathtaking spectacle, but beyond our fragile atmosphere lies a cold void. A vast emptiness we traverse at 1700 kilometers per second, covering distances that would take years to traverse on Earth in mere moments.

But here on the rooftop, our blood pulses with life. I seek it as the mosquitoes do, drawn to the warmth in your neck. If comets streaked through the sky nightly, exploding in brilliant displays, we would soon grow indifferent.

Such wonders hold their beauty because we understand they are fleeting.