Sometimes when you are feeling drenched by the details of your own life, it’s time to pack a suitcase for your myopia, and send it on holiday. Look up. There is so infinitely much more matter than you out there, hurling forth glowing plumes, imploding into vortexes, converging into gaseous balls, then shattering into incandescent rain. It is endless and eternal and entropic and generative and holy in the most religion-irrelevant sense of the word.
