Newsgroup: it.scienza.astronomia
Titolo: Dancing with Angels

Lo scorso Settembre mentre ero alla ricerca del file perduto ho
ripescato questo strano documento. Non so se vi ispira qualcosa. Io non
vi dico nulla. Leggetelo attentamente.
Eliseo
==================================================================
Dancing  with  Angels
by  XXX
	With a bemused expression on his face, a curious straggler at the star
party asked, "Why do you astronomers stay out all night just looking
up at stars?" I had heard the question before - phrased with varying
degrees of sarcasm - and the underlying implication was always the
same: We astronomer are an odd lot. But his questioner somehow seemed
sincere, so I tried to answer.
	I don't remember exactly what I said, but my answer seemed hollow.
How could I explain what I did under diamond-dappled skies, far from
the artificial aurora of city lights? How could I convey the mystical
love I felt for the universe and my yearning to commune with it? My
inquisitor listened to my answer (hollow or not), thanked me for
letting him look through my scope, and walked away.
	But his question remained. In the days following, I began jotting down
some reasons for this love affair with the sky, hoping that he and
other puzzled by nocturnal pokings around in the cosmos will read these
words and come to understand at least some of us astronomers.
	First, time spent beneath the stars, ironically, makes us feel both
vital and insignificant. The unimaginably remote and majestic worlds
out these restore priorities - in all that vastness we seem to matter
less. Oddly enough, this can be comforting: if we are insignificant,
our worries and concerns are also insignificant. So cares vanish in the
velvet night. This leads to a new vitality, for no longer fragmented by
the demands of daily life, we revel under the healing of distant suns.
On rare occasions when the magic eludes us, we can remember the phrase
from Oscar Wilde's Lady Windermere's Fan and still believe
ourselves fortunate: "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are
looking at the stars.
	Another reason is that the heavens feed us - first the body, then the
soul, then the mind. I called out as a meteor lances the frosty night
and watch my breath form a miniature gaseous nebula. I inhale the
frigid air, am chilled by the too close sound of wolves, smell the
sweet odor of burning oak in an unseen fireplace. This sensory richness
changes my spirit: I begin to feel a part of something infinitely
larger than flesh can fathom. This leads to thoughts I cannot speak,
possibilities too grand for expression.
	Also, in this venture is purity of purpose. We stalk but do not kill,
collect but do not hoard. Stored in wrinkled cortex are images that
delight; objects have not been snatched from the sky but remain for
other generations. We take only sensory impressions from nature. We
experience fellowship with kindred minds that share in the celestial
ballet, with others who have danced with the angels in the pale
moonlight.
	Fourth, the skies provide mystery, magic, and majesty, not security.
They teach us the vanity of seeking "final" answers and compel us
to come up with better questions. We are blessed in that we can wonder.
	Fifth, many pleasant  evenings under the stars are enriched by the
eloquence of ordinary people grappling with the extraordinary. Robert
Frost relates this phenomenon beautifully in his poem, "The Star
Splitter." Two  men are observing double stars. The first, Bradford,
had purchased his telescope with insurance money obtained by burning
down his house. The second man speaks:
		Often he bid me come and have a look
		Up the brass barrel, velvet black inside,
		At a star quaking at the other hand.
		I recollect a night of broken clouds
		And underfoot snow melted down to ice,
		And melting further in the wind to mud.
		Bradford and I had out the telescope.
		We spread our two legs as we spread is three,
		Pointed our thoughts the way we pointed it,
		And standing at our leisure till the day broke,
		Said some of the best things we ever said.
	So we dream of star-pronged summer nights as we huddle in the
gathering chill of December's breath. We peer into limitless depths
as if searching for the fountainhead of the pale river of light
coursing above us. We drink deeply, parched spirits refreshed, and
speak frail words that build windows so other may se our deepest and
best selves.
	Finally, we do it all for fun! Fun! Most of us would admit this
without hesitation. Observing the universe is fun. We shed adult
shackles that chafe the spirit. We are reminded of faraway times and
games prolonged beyond the setting sun. Gazing into the beginning of
everything, we are young again. The child within is set free.
Remembering the joy of a time we thought would last forever, we play in
the starry night.
August 1994
==================================================================

Bello, 
veramente bello... anch'io mi ero chiesto il motivo per cui faccio
cose così "insignificanti"
claudio