![]() ![]() It makes for heady daydreams, and an aching longing to leave the safe shores of Earth and go exploring. Coupled with a sense of awe is a tickle of imagination intertwined with a vaguely unsettling desire to cast our fortunes into both those deep seas. ![]() Perhaps most importantly, both inspire a visceral and compelling urge to explore. Both the sea and the Cosmos challenge the limits of our understanding both are inhospitable to life forms as frail as we and both have deep, hidden mysteries that we have yet to discover. While we know better today, the metaphor of the sky as an unfathomably deep ocean is not an untenable idea. The sky and the ocean are almost inseparable, as early legend, myth, and speculation suggested. But at night the ocean stretches to the horizon where it merges seamlessly with the sky. During the day, you can see the distant horizon line, a boundary between sky and sea. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, and often had the chance to walk up and down the lonely, rocky beaches of Oregon and Washington. The Milky Way rising over the Pacific Ocean at Ruby Beach on the Olympic Peninsula (photograph by Dave Morrow). ![]()
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