We are made out of stars that once were. Our very own, individual pieces of carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen got their start in what NASA calls “the nuclear furnaces that are the deep interior of stars.” They exploded, and now they’re us. Examine your hands—they’re sparkling.
If we could chart this kind of DNA, we could find our oldest ancestors on star charts—we could incorporate them into our family trees. I’d like that; it would actually mean something to me. It would both expand and quiet my constant redefining of the concept of home.
If you’re an only child who learns early in life that houses don’t stand still, you hunt home everywhere as an adult. Your eyes slide over unfamiliar freeways exits and tiny towns 40,000 feet under your plane and other countries and you think, “There?” You are forever on the lookout. Then one startling day, you meet a person with home inside them, and ohmygod is it exciting. Far better than a freeway exit. And when you get to go visit them? Forget about it. Like, 14 terra electron volts exciting. Linear accelerator exciting. Unified theory of physics exciting. Ninety-six tons of liquid hydrogen exciting. I-remember-you-from-the-future exciting. Large Halcon Collider exciting:
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LCA
Brand New Monster
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