It is the stars, the stars above us, govern our conditions

I see that I can’t see the Milky Way as I used to. It may be my eyes, but it seems I’m not the only one. 

Children born on vast areas of our planet may never see firmaments of stars laid across deep space, all glittering and winking like diamonds in chandelier light. They will, no doubt, be told they’re there, and will accept it on pure faith, like tourists believing in the MacGillycuddy’s Reeks on a rainy Kerry day.

The poet John Milton described the Milky Way as “a broad and ample road where dust is gold/ And pavement stars”. It must have been the near death to him (as to anyone) when he went blind. He was, figuratively “Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves”, with “... that one Talent which is death to hide, Lodg’d with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve there with my Maker...” For the mighty Milton, the stars would, henceforth, be in the mind, no longer seen.