Where Stars Still Shine

From the beginning of time, people have looked to the stars for guidance, wisdom, and a sense of something greater than themselves. For me, this fascination began with my father. A man who loved the stars—not for their mystique, but for the science behind them. He marveled at the forces that shaped the universe, the intricate dance of celestial bodies. But my love for the stars took a different path. Where he saw facts and formulas, I saw wonder. I became intrigued by the novelty of the stars—their stories, their mysteries, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of our lives and beliefs.

In many cultures, stars have always held a sacred place. The one star that stands out most for me is the one that led the wise men to Christ’s birthplace, guiding them toward something divine. That star reminds me of the purpose and faith we carry in our hearts—a beacon that, much like the stars themselves, points us toward something greater than ourselves.

At the same time, there’s the notion of zodiac signs and constellations, often interpreted as guiding influences in our lives. While I recognize their presence, they don’t hold the same weight for me. Being a Capricorn, I’ve come across the associations of resilience and patience tied to the sign, but my faith in God is where my true allegiance lies. The stars may tell a story, but they don’t define the one I live. I leave that to my Creator.

The stars have always been more than just distant lights in the sky. They’ve held deep meaning in ancient civilizations, guiding not only travelers but entire belief systems. In Africa, where I come from, stars carried their own weight. The Dogon people of Mali had a profound knowledge of the stars, particularly Sirius, long before Western astronomy even recognized its existence. For them, stars were sacred—symbols of life, death, and the cycles of the universe. The constellations were guides, much like the one that guided the wise men, leading people through the mysteries of existence. Stars, to many African communities, represented ancestors watching over the living, their presence felt through the twinkling lights above.

And then there’s the notion of wishing upon a shooting star. We do it almost instinctively, believing in that fleeting moment of light, hoping that it carries our dreams into the unknown. Perhaps it’s our way of reaching out to something we can’t fully understand, or perhaps it’s our attempt to make peace with the things we can’t control. In a world so vast, it’s comforting to think that the stars—these ancient, burning giants—might be listening.

Yet, when we think about the cosmos, it becomes clear how small we really are. My father once spoke about how the elements that make up stars—hydrogen, carbon, oxygen—are the same elements that make up us. In a way, we are connected to the stars, bound by the same cosmic dust, and perhaps that’s why we’re so drawn to them. It’s humbling to realize that we are part of something far larger than ourselves. We stress about so much in life, but the universe reminds us that we are but a moment, a spark in the vastness of existence.

And yet, in that vastness, there is redemption. My father may never have realized his dream of exploring the stars, but in a way, he is now among them. I like to think that he, along with the ancestors, watches from the heavens, his spirit moving among the constellations, guiding me as I continue to navigate this life. The stars have always been a symbol of hope—whether through the wise men following the light to Christ or through the ancient African belief that stars are ancestral spirits. There is something comforting in knowing that we are never truly alone.

As I look up at the stars now, I see both the scientific wonder my father loved and the deeper, spiritual connection that has always fascinated me. I see the stories they carry, the mysteries they hold, and the reminders they offer: that life is bigger than us, that we are connected to something far greater, and that, in the end, we too will become part of that endless expanse.

As the world has evolved, the stars—once our primary source of light in the night, along with the moon—have slowly been overshadowed by the lights we created ourselves. In some parts of the world, like the Northern Lights, the night sky still dazzles with brilliance. But in most places, our cities glow so brightly that we can no longer see the stars as our ancestors did. Where they once relied on these celestial bodies for direction, wisdom, and inspiration, we’ve invented our own sources of light that seem to outshine the heavens above.

And yet, the stars are still there, waiting to be seen.

So, the next time you find yourself beneath the night sky and you can see the stars—or even if you have to search for them—just remember: you're not just looking at distant points of light. You're witnessing the same mysteries that guided generations before you, the echoes of your own soul, and the reminders that, no matter how much we evolve or how bright our cities shine, we are still part of something far greater, something that humbles us and connects us to the universe beyond.