The sky is falling. Stars, like teardrops, and clouds like waterfalls. Around us, they swirl. We catch shooting stars on our tongues and hold galaxies in our hands. A whisper echos throughout the universe, asking questions and circling the answers.
And we are reminded of where we came from. We are reminded that our worries, our stresses, all that we held heavy, were once as light as air and as free as the stars. We have forgotten what we were, all that we ever will be: humans, and citizens of the universe.
Even the oldest presence to grace the earth would identify as such. Perhaps not consciously, for we don’t tend to think so… big. We unknowingly confine ourselves, to our own brains, our own world. Our horizons, the possibilities we see in life, are greatly lessened because of this.
Lack of perspective, humans are good at a lot of things. Some of the things we excel at are things that we shouldn’t necessarily be good at, though – such as placing our faults on other people.
When things go wrong, we point fingers. We force blame, and incite arguments, anger, and frustration. When all is said and done, the blame lingers, waiting to be found by someone, who will innocently shepherd it off to the universe, to fate, to whatever they believe won’t push the blame back to them.
This all leads to a question, one that isn’t so often whispered through the universe’s signature, constellation-filled night: Why are we blaming the stars?
Shakespeare got it right when he wrote, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves”.
The stars are not ours to blame, and nor are the galaxies, or the universe, or the idea of life itself. The scrambled ideals that we hold so dear can be traced back directly to ourselves. And so, you ask yourself, where does the fault lie?
Perhaps you’ve clarified the question: the fault of what? Death, perhaps, or humans without humanity, or starless nights or hopeless hearts. The faults that lives are devoted to changing; the faults to which so little is owed, and from which so little is gained.
I think it is only appropriate to end with a quote from John Green’s The Fault in our Stars: “The only solution was to try to unmake the world, to make it black and silent and uninhabited again, to return to the moment before the Big Bang…”
Because in that moment, there was no fault – not in the stars, or in ourselves.