I often look to the stars and try to take the entirety of the universe into my thoughts, but it is too much and I become overwhelmed even before leaving the galaxy. Watching the night sky is examining deep time, stretching on for billions of years, encompassing billions of stars, trillions of planets, infinite possibilities. It is deep space, the rarity of a star surrounded by oblivion, but that oblivion is so vast that the presence of a star is not a rare thing at all. A nebula appears frail though a telescope, but it is held together by the constant strength of gravity, and within its gaseous bonds is a natural drive to create. Beauty within beauty, order masquerading as chaos. So much of the universe is like that, frailty belying incredible strength and resilience. Sometimes the inner strength is so powerful that even something small can tear apart worlds and entire star systems. It is easy to admire the endless black of oblivion and define our place in the universe as insignificant and fleeting, but I'd rather look to the stars, their immensity shrouded by distance and time, and define us as meaningful. We were once supernovas and nebulae, beauty and power without equal. We were born of stars and in death and the final destruction of our world we will return to them. Let's not strive to be black holes in the meantime. Let's illuminate the world instead of darkening it, instead of tearing it to pieces. Let's prove we are worthy of being forged by stardust.
This is something I wrote for book 3 of the Emergence trilogy, Arrow of Entropy, and I think it is the narrator, Zella, speaking to Rassa. I'm not officially writing it yet, but I've taken a few notes as I'm working on book 1, Sand into Glass. Book 2 is already complete, though it will need some minor rewrites and a couple of rounds of editing.