They say that we are all sparks of the Divine.  And so when I look up at the night sky peppered with streams of stars, I envy them.  They are indeed sparks, no, not just sparks, but huge, fiery, churning, frothing, storming forms of life; they are not merely living things: they are life itself.  In the sea of indigo blackness, they pulse out a rhythm that we can all feel but choose to ignore, and I envy them.  They simply are.  And because of this myriad existence of complex simplicity, they beat out a rhythm of fire and power, trembling between life and death as the pull of their own gravity and the pressure of their gases create a war for their existence.  They know they are beautiful, and better yet, they do not care, they are simply there…beautiful, powerful, and dynamic.  I tremble as I turn my eye inward and see the space within me.  Am I not too a sea of space?  A vacuum?  The atoms and the molecules within me are swirling and uniting, drawn and yet not, with lightning lancing down their shapes.  When at a distance, they almost appear to be stars.  Yet why can I not accept my beauty?  The very beauty of my cells uniting and dividing, working and moving together to create my machinery.  The sparks of nerve endings racing through my body, my heart pounding and creating pressures and waves throughout my delicate wiring, feeding and healing me.  Am I not like the stars, or the universe that holds them?  When I am continually broken down into my most basic matter, am I not infinite?  Then why do I find such fault, such flaws in the mechanics?  Why am I not like those stars that accept their fierce beauty by simply living?