We Are All Made of Stars

Post by Eleanor Justice for the Love for Love series.

print by Katie Daisy on etsy

We Are All Made of Stars

Hello, dear one. This is not the blog post I’d originally written for you (a longer one about weeds and unconditional love) but last week was an especially dark one for the world at large and the universe gently suggested a different focus for today.

Right now as I write, I’m legally blind. This has been true for decades, but I can’t wear my lenses for a few days and the last time I was this blind for this long was a different kind of dark. I believe I’m supposed to share that story with you now.

Years ago in a time of great personal turmoil, I attended my first sweat lodge ceremony unprepared, not realizing I’d have to remove my lenses in case the intense heat melted them to my eyes. (Yeah, yikes!) Without a lens case or a backup pair on hand, it looked like I’d have to leave sacred space, hike back to my car and drive home dejected, without the answers or inspiration I so desperately needed.

Fortunately, someone had a coffee mug they emptied out for me and another woman offered me the use of her eyedrops. After leaving my lenses in an uncovered mug deep in the woods I crawled blindly on hands and knees into lodge, feeling both grateful and vulnerable and ready for an intensely transformative experience.

It wasn’t until hours later when I crawled back out of the tent and into the inky black woods that the intensity presented itself. I hadn’t thought about the darkness. I suddenly realized I’d have to hike back to the main lodge, sightless, and in unfamiliar woods, before I could put my contacts back in and regain sight.

I couldn’t see the ground, or the path, and even with a friend at my side gently guiding me away from the edge of steep hills, each step was deeply disconcerting — like stepping into a potential abyss.

At first I reacted with fear. Even though I knew logically the ground was there, my belly was cold and my monkey brain helpfully sifted through the various sorts of peril I could encounter — sharp branches in the eye, tumbling into a rocky ravine and splintering a leg, a collarbone… or my neck!

Then in the middle of this intensely unpleasant darkness something beautiful happened — I happened to look up, and discovered that I could see the stars. They were blurry, and impossible, and exquisite.

Something about not being able to see my hand at the end of my arm, but being able to see ancient light from millions of miles away was hilarious and amazing. Laughing and crying kind of hilarious and amazing. Instantly I was in the middle of the transformative experience I’d sought, surrounded by a sense of benevolent awareness and grace. All kinds of valuable personal epiphanies bubbled up for me during that slow, careful half mile trek through the darkness, enthusiastically punctuated by those impossible stars, and I returned home with my internal compass reset, ready to move forward in a new direction.

The woman who offered me her coffee mug to hold my lenses, the woman who shared her eyedrops to keep them from turning into plastic cornflakes, the friend who stayed at my side along the path — these women were points of light. Their actions were small in the grand scheme of things, but without their generosity I wouldn’t have gone through that emotionally important experience. Their kindness had a far greater impact than they knew at the time.

There have been many times when someone has graced me with a resonant kindness when they didn’t know I needed it, or someone has come up to me with heartfelt thanks for some small thing I’ve totally forgotten, and all of this brings to mind a Scott Adams quote “Remember that there’s no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple effect with no logical end.”

We are all stars. We’re made of stars, we are lights for one another in times of darkness whether we know it or not, and there’s a whole lot people muddling through all kinds of darkness right now.

The reason I’m sharing this story with you is because I want to you to shine. Brightly and on purpose. Share your light whenever and however you can. Know that your smallest acts of kindness and generosity help in ways that you may not expect, or ever know about. Know that your light may be an incredible comfort or inspiration to someone who perhaps, in the moment your light reaches them, cannot see their path. I want you to shine.

I’m Eleanor Justice and I’m a multi-passionate creative human. I’m a blueberry farmer, a reiki master, and a practical visionary who’s particularly fond of tea.


Related Posts

If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy these