{"id":22030,"date":"2012-07-09T20:44:31","date_gmt":"2012-07-10T00:44:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/static\/?p=22030"},"modified":"2012-07-10T13:15:35","modified_gmt":"2012-07-10T17:15:35","slug":"last-night-i-walked-out-into-the-firmament","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/2012\/last-night-i-walked-out-into-the-firmament\/","title":{"rendered":"Last night I walked out into the firmament"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/p>\n

—Calvin Luther Martin, PhD (Winter 2003)<\/p>\n

Last night I walked out into the firmament. Ursa major hung low over the eastern horizon. The moon intense on fields of snow. And I thought of forebears who attended to these matters, although this says it too mildly. I thought of ancestors who found themselves within the events of the night sky, weaving it into stories and their understanding of who they are and what life means.<\/p>\n

As I thought this, I mourned—mourned a universe grown coldly silent.<\/p>\n

The ancient ones lived in a perception I have lost, within a reality no longer taught or learned. (I remember the Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon.)<\/p>\n

And I wondered as a historian: am I part of a degenerate race of man, now? I find myself surrounded by things, by endless stories borne along by media and every scrap of paper I encounter. Except that none of this flotsam and jetsam transports me into the reality those ancestors knew—for millennia.<\/p>\n

Last night I walked out into the firmament and wondered who I am, after all, and I grieved.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

—Calvin Luther Martin, PhD (Winter 2003) Last night I walked out into the firmament. Ursa major hung low over the eastern horizon. The moon intense on fields of snow. And I thought of forebears who attended to these matters, although this says it too mildly. I thought of ancestors who found themselves within the events of the night sky, weaving it into stories and their understanding of who they are and what life means. As I thought this, I mourned—mourned a universe grown coldly silent. The ancient ones lived in a perception I have lost, within a reality no longer taught or learned. (I remember the Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon.) And I wondered as a historian: am I part of a degenerate race of man, now? I find myself surrounded by things, by endless stories borne along by media and every scrap of paper I encounter. Except that none of this flotsam and jetsam transports me into the reality those ancestors knew—for millennia. Last night I walked out into the firmament and wondered who I am, after all, and I grieved.  <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[157,175],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22030"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=22030"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22030\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=22030"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=22030"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.windturbinesyndrome.com\/static\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=22030"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}