Up in Space

When you look out at the night sky in Toronto, what do you see? What can you see? The green glow of fluorescent lights gives a small buzz to the sky. It pulses and and spreads as the sky gets darker.

There is an interesting quirk in people, we usually don't look up. It may be a result of living in a city center for most of their lives. When we look up into the sky now, we just see a black sky with few stars. We used to look into the cosmos and be captivated by a vast opera of stars and planets. Living in a city has its distinct advantages. It does put a greater strain on opening up our imaginations. Where were the boogie men hiding in the shadows, where is that pull of adventure to see what's over the next hill? Where do we find that sense of adventure again?

We find it in the stars. It's looking out into space that we find the great unknown. Looking at the same photons of light, that Einstein, Sagan, Hawking, and Newton looked out on. Why have most of us stopped looking up? If you're reading this, you have some homework. Take one week, and just look up. What do you see? What do you think about? Do it at night, do it during the day, but look up, and see the world above you. You never know what will inspire you to move or to create. One of the hidden beauties about the sky is this: It is the same sky that everyone else on the world looks at. Kennedy said once: "We are all united on this world, not as Americans or as Russians; but as people. We breathe the same air, drink the same water, and look at the same sky and moon."

It's something that can unite us all, looking into the night sky. Wondering, "what is out there?" Maybe we'll find out one day. Maybe as we stretch our eyes beyond our own galaxies, we'll catch a glimpse of something out there.


We should always be looking to the sky. It's one of the few things that can unite everyone together, regardless of race, religion or creed. We all share the same home, and we should be working together to maintain it. We don't have a lot of options of going anywhere else. The one thing that everyone should pull from looking at the stars is this: "We are all connected." You, me, the trees, the rocks, comets and nebulas around the solar system. It's made of all the same materials that there are here on earth. The next time you look into a night sky, and can see the stars, recognize that, the light you are seeing, hitting your optical nerves, took light years to travel to you. Light years, being pulled by gravity in multiple directions, to hit your optic receptors and show you their image. You are also doing the same. It may seem large, empty, big and overwhelming. It's not, though. We're all connected, you just have to look and see the basic building blocks that put us together.























This star scape has been made for wallpapers, if you have some troubles getting it to fit, let me know and I'll adjust it for you.

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One last great piece of wisdom

Remembering a regular ol' Joe.

November 11th has rolled around once again. Most Canadians have a routine that follows the day. Some go to ceremonies, some take a few minutes to remember, and some make a pilgrimage. I usually attend the ceremony at the cenotaph outside Old City Hall. Unfortunately, I had a doctors appointment at 10:45 (what!?) and missed most of the ceremony. I had just got home and was watching the tail end of the wreath placing in Ottawa, when Peter Mansbridge let loose an unsettling stat.

Canada loses, on average, four hundred world war two veterans a week. There are only one hundred and forty six thousand veterans left alive in Canada; "You do the math," he put it.

It was a sad realism that most had in the back of their mind, but not many have dealt with. So, to keep the tradition alive and going, I grabbed my camera and headed for the Cenotaph to place my poppy on the grass.

When I got there, the chairs and barricades were all but folded up. The wreaths still remained on the grass, and just a few Torontonians wandered about, looking at the various tributes left on the grass. Then, something remarkable happened.
A wonderful man named: Joe was wheeled next to the grass. He wanted one last look, with his grandson, at the tribute the city had left. A small crowd began to gather, to thank and talk with Joe. A few people had turned into a handful, then a handful turned into small crowd, and then that small crowd kept growing.

CityTv was in the area, and saw Joe was still around, so they sat down and talked with him. They got his story, where he had fought, and how he felt today about the state of the world. There is a reason why he is from the greatest generation. Because he said the same thing hundreds of thousands before him had: "It just felt like the right thing to do."

The crowd was compromised of students and young kids. Their eyes were locked on Joe, only moving to see his medals, as he described what each one was, and what it meant. It began to look like a football huddle, with Joe directing knowledge and history into their minds. Everyone squeezed in tighter, just so they could make more room, so more folks could get in closer and hear Joe talk. We were all just people, gathered for the reason. No differences, no divisons, all united to hear one mans story.

We all remember things our own way. We all mourn, and think about conflicts past and present in a way that is unique to us. Joe made sure I'd have a strong memory of that day. When the crowd disperesed, and everyone was giving their thank yous and good lucks. I got to shake his hand and say: "Thanks." He waved me off and smiled and said: "No, no, thankyou!" I was a bit confused by this, and I asked: "What for?"

"You're taking pictures of this. It'll be nice to know I was here, and people can remember. I don't know if I'll make it out next year." The tears just came rolling out. I didn't know what to say except: "You're welcome."

That was the first time I ever cried at a rememberance day ceremony. This fills me with a want an urge to make sure the more people come out every year, and that folks are proactive in saying: thanks, and talking to our veterans.

You never know when you're going to get lucky, and run into an average Joe, just like I did.