One bright afternoon a star in the heavens began to feel very lonely and sad, and she said to herself (for the star was a she),
The sun is much nearer than I, and he (for the sun is a he) always shines so bright, therefore no one on earth benefits from all my wonderful brightness.”
Because of this prevailing thought, and since she began to think it quite a lot, the star began to feel a great lonesomeness and heaviness of heart. She became very sure that she was in fact not benefiting earth in any way, which is to say, she began to think she was of no earthly good, since; it was true; she was quite … well … heavenly. As a result, the star began to flicker: On and off, on and off. Well, technically this was not so; since a star can never actually de-ray its own light, not even as a temporary situation, flickering in the sort of way a light bulb does. She did, however, know how to make herself appear to turn on and off, on and off, using a method which she has been most adamantly opposed to disclosing to anyone. Although, when you think about it, appearing to turn on and off amounts to … pretty much the same thing as actually turning off and on.
So, as she flickered (or appeared to do so) the star thought to herself, “If only … I could get closer to the humans’ planet, then I might make a real impact.” She knew not what she said, for if the star were, in fact, to get very much nearer, she would most certainly make an impact, and not the helpful kind. It was therefore very fortunate that a particular angelic fellow happened to be zooming (as angelic fellows are fond of doing) through the very region of the galaxy in which the star shined, and at precisely the moment of some of the more poignant of these, the star’s, contemplations.
An important note should be made here that stars and angels have a very unique kind of understanding with one another, which is owed to a phenomenon quite outside of the grasp of human comprehension. You see, a human’s thoughts mostly happen in closed quarters—namely the skull—and cannot be easily arranged outside their very insular habitation—namely, the brain. In fact, it’s almost impossible to do, except on the rarest of occasions, in which the most extraordinary circumstances have enabled such liberation, as well as creating, through invisible, kinetic apparatuses, an electron reorganization facilitator—further discussion of which we must postpone for another time. Necessary for our understanding is the connection between angels and stars, for it is one not mirrored by any other two created entities in the universe (far as we know), and one which is uninhibited by the obstructive mechanisms so prevalent among humans and animals. In short, they can hear each other’s thoughts; not hear in a literal sense; but, with the right training and skill, they can recognize each other’s mental energy waves independent of verbal explication; that is, most of the time anyway … well, once in a while, to be sure … albeit with some limitations.
So, as the narrative was about to say—before being so rudely interrupted by elaborate and largely unnecessary explanations—the angel was flying through space without a care in the world. Now, normally, angels have many cares in the world, but when they exit a world, cares, as a matter of policy, are left there. Of course, in existence are a few well-documented cases of rogue cares stealthily tailing angels into space, but they are most certainly the exception to the rule: Only on the rarest occasion might a care be afforded the opportunity to break through the highly trained and well organized security of the first heaven—or as the angels call it, the “Cloud-Care Barrier” (not to be confused with Care Bear-ier). However, on this day, all cares were certainly held at bay. So, you probably are wondering why the narrative didn’t say exactly what it meant, since, if the cares were left in the world, well, in that case the angelic fellow’s cares certainly
