Since we’ve arrived here the moon has been rising several hours after sunset. Although beautiful in itself, I cherish the time before the silver orb peeks above the palm frawns for its light obliterates a view of the stars as stunning as it must have been to the first of mankind. It is not only the sheer number or stars that is so awe-inspiring; the velvety blackness in between is equally striking. It can be hard to make out the constellations since all the stars are so bright but I’ve been able to find all the constellations on the star map given to me by family friends before departing. Last night we had a clear sky and a new moon. We were relived from lab work that night so Chris, Nick and I wandered to North Beach to gaze at the stars. We attempted to sleep out on the beach but I don’t think any of us were very successful. Its hard to close your eyes when the milky way is wrapped across the firmament demanding adoration and hard to tune out the crashing of the waves and the screeching of the sooty terns; sounds that have been here millennia before the first human ear perceived them. I always wondered how early civilizations were able to gain such a sophisticated understanding of the motion of heavenly bodies. How the planets were distinguished from stars always puzzled me but as Nick pointed out, after several nights of stargazing the planets become obvious. We just never take the time to look anymore. The main reason is probably that in many places there isn’t much to look at anymore due to light and chemical pollution.
This is the perpetual theme of Palmyra: It is a place from another time, a time before we entered the anthropocene. Although it utterly new to me it provides a powerful feeling of being at home, a feeling of proximity to the sprit of our early human ancestry.
